The Atelier

I was upstairs, looking around in some stranger’s workshop, I didn’t see him on the way up. I saw the coordinated lines of artistry which appeared to me as mere chaos. Is that what she means? Is she trying to be confusing? Or is this poor perception a default in my 20/20 vision? I saw the stacks of papers that didn’t make the cut, left in a rumpled hump on the floor. Is this pile of rejected text the piece she intended to present as artistry? And the junk drooping on the walls a mockery? This is too much philosophy. I left. I walked down the stairs, and there, I saw him. The spider. Hanging, strung up in his own web, dead, and lifeless, just dangling. Her most creative masterpiece.