Surreal Thursday: Caravaggio at the Beach 2
Sitting on a brightly painted deck chair, staring out at the data waves rising up from the Ion Sea and rolling in onto the shore, Caravaggio ruefully smiled. The paint was peeling a bit, that didn’t matter at the moment. The blue surface of the sea shimmered as the emerald waves of data twisted and flipped their statistics above the the shoreline’s variables. Life wasn’t going badly for now, he thought, as he took a final sip of his pumpkin spice latte.
Rising from his chair, he lifted his arms with a flourish, then hesitated. The latte would work nicely. He threw it to the approaching waves. In response, the data waves eagerly leapt up into the air, weaving into a fine lattice that hung suspended just above the dry edge of the black beach. As Caravaggio began to masterfully paint in the lines and shadows along the fifth and seventh dimensional grid that he had laid out the previous day, he could see the airship Lester B. Pearson approaching.
The walls and sky took shape. He brushed out the Déjà vu smudges, allowing a large Arctic Tern to soar beneath the silver clouds. The airship was getting closer and the bird rose higher. The painter was confident that he could finish the next section of the grid before the airship arrived. Skillfully building up layers of information along multiple vectors increased the speed of the airship, but it also increased the size of the bird. Inspite of this, he was still unconcerned.
He had not, however, anticipated what would happen next. The tern suddenly veered from its gentle spiral to avoid an outcrop of urban blight that spread above a distant horizon line like a smokey haze. The bird, now the size of a mature eagle, was tracking the lateral line of the fourth dimension on Caravaggio’s left. If he did not work quickly , it would arrive in his peripheral past. He lightened the temporal patina in an effort to re-establish the tern’s original course. He adjusted the grid to track the lateral line of the fourth dimensional vector. Unfortunately, this would result in it arriving in Caravaggio’s short term memory.
As he adapted his brush strokes to increase the conceptual layer of the piece, the airship began to descend and prepared to dock at the CN Tower. Painting in an open window high above the Canyons of Toronto, where it could hang along the seventh spatial vector, would help stabilize most of the artwork. The painter vigorously weaved strands of hieroglyphs, hexagrams, and hexachords into his canvas. Just a few more brush strokes left to go, then the sound of approaching footsteps intervened. They were rapidly crossing the boardwalk that he had finished painting two days before.
“Peace be with you Caravaggio.”
“Peace be with you Beatrice. You are late. I had to start without your interface.”
“Anastasia and Naomi were finished early with the presentation, but there were problems. The buyers were not completely satisfied with the app for the temporal pinhole camera. We made the sale, but our bonuses will be smaller than we had anticipated.”
” Well it is your fourth sale, if you include the Syncopated Eyrie.”
Caravaggio was growing uneasy. He winced as the bird’s shadow obscured the freshly painted window. The left grid lines became fragmented. Distractedly he only caught the last part of of Beatrice’s continued description the day’s events.
“…….. and that guarantees our data stream. We will be ready for the next synchronicity wave.”
The painter became aware of a large Arctic Tern flying in the distance. He would need to remember to incorporate the bird’s flight path into the next quadrant. Why hadn’t he thought of that before ?
Considering both Beatrice’s unexpected arrival, and the now rapid approach of the tern, her remark was an obvious swell of an emerging synchronicity wave. As Beatrice chattered on about the rise in popularity of Singularity Credits after Justin Bieber’s reality quotient imploded, Caravaggio picked up his cup of latte. He had barely touched it. Somehow that did not seem right. How had he forgotten to drink it ?
As he sipped the latte he became aware of a large Arctic Tern flying in the distance. He would need to remember to incorporate the bird’s flight path into the next quadrant. Why hadn’t he thought of that before ? The bird was almost as large as the lone hang glider soaring through the Toronto Canyons. Even the now disembarking airship passengers could be seen pointing at the bird as they made their way down the crystal titanium ramp-way.
As if on cue a discordant note rose up. It grew louder. They now were both watching the huge tern as it rapidly shifted in response to the sound of the harmonium. The bird’s shadow flew through the window as the bird dove toward the hang glider.
“Life’s a beach.” Caravaggio threw down his cup.
“True,” sighed Beatrice, ” but we will always have Toronto.”
Through the window they could see a record player. A record playing on the turn-table. They were dimly aware of Doris Day singing, just before the data waves flat-lined into monochrome and rust.
For those who may be a bit confused: See the previous Surreal Thursday post to understand how Caravaggio and Beatrice ended up in this situation or at least how the narrative began.
For those unfamiliar with fantasy literature and why science fiction is an inaccurate literary term see blog page on this topic.
Thanks to Brent St. Denis for directing me to the tenth dimension (video).
Click images to see larger more detailed versions. Click links to extend your understanding and find surprises. The videos extend context of the narrative. Please comment/ ask questions. Enjoy the day! Hopefully another episode next week, when we find out what is going on on the other side of the window.