The chairs were the only things in the room. About thirty of them, all lined up and facing the back wall. The window and doors behind, the wall in front, chairs facing, waiting. But the room wasn’t sterile. The floor was a bunch of chipboard planks, paint splattered, corners coming loose. The back wall was pockmarked with drill holes, constellations, freckles, an image of their own. The emptiness felt temporary, this was a room of constant activity. It had been cleared, it was breathing. The room was quiet for a moment. Only silence and sunlight, white walls and drill marks shifting under clouds. Waiting, for an audience, for something — waiting for the show to start. And then bodies, motion. Three people walked in, each holding a square wooden board. One had a drill in the other hand, one had a toolbox. They set about their work. One measuring a level line with a spirit measure and a pencil, one drilling along the line, one rummaging around in the box for fresh screws (not bent, not thread-worn, not caked in plasterboard). They stood back, surveying their work, eyeballing the level. It was satisfactory. The boards had a strip of wood attached to the back. They took the boards, flipping them, lifting them, strip to the wall, and slotting them into place. Perfectly level, perfectly spaced.

Three paintings hung on the wall. Three people stood back to survey them. As they stood, more people filled the room, crowding around the paintings. Some stood back, to look at all three images in the same glance. Some gathered close, taking in a detail. They murmured amongst themselves. Some silent, some pointing, some whispering, some shrugging and considering and nodding. They looked for a few minutes, then turned to the chairs in front of the paintings. They went to their seats.

A man stepped out in front of this audience. One hand on a vape, one hand in his pocket. He faced the audience, directed his questions to someone in the front row.

‘Ok, so what’s the status? Are these fully cooked, are they still in the oven, are they al dente, raw, where are we at?’

A voice answered.

‘Medium rare.’

The seated audience mumbled a laugh, huffed out through noses, audible smirks.

The man at the front nodded.

‘And titles?’

The voice at the front answered again.

‘From left to right: The Temptation at the Temple, Temptation of Christ on the Mountain, The Transfiguration.’

Nods rippled across the audience. Some had their heads down, taking notes. Some looked across the three paintings, considering them afresh.

The man at the front clapped his hands.

‘Great. Ok, we can get started. You know how this goes, we’ll do the talking,’ he gestured between the seated audience and the figure at the front, ‘we might ask you questions. You’ll also have some time to chip in just before the end. For the rest of us…’

He gestured out to the audience, they looked at him in response.

‘Shall we start with what we can literally see in front of us? Imagine you’re on the phone, describe these to someone down the other end.’

A brief pause, palpable intake of breath. Then, from the back.

‘Three paintings with the same figure across them all, the one in a red robe, with a blue cloak. They’re dressed the same, so.. I don’t know, are they the same?’

A voice answered nearby.

‘Yeah, I reckon. There’s also the same black winged figure in the left one and the middle one. They’re interacting, so, it could be a montage. Action, events.’

Another voice across the room.

‘Architectural.’

The man at the front nodded, looking back at the paintings.

‘Yeah, ok,’ he turned back to the audience. ‘Say more?’

‘There are pink flat buildings in two of them. In that one on the left, the building is large and affronting. The wall faces us and then angles away. The building is detailed with lots of little bits, ornamental bits. In that one in the middle, the buildings are like a miniature city. They’re out of proportion with the figures, the figures tower over the city.’

The man at the front gestured at the buildings as the voice narrated, pointing out the large building and the miniature city.

‘Any thoughts on how the buildings are painted?’

‘Yeah, I guess they’re pretty crisp, sharp lines, smooth planes.’

Then another voice from the middle.

‘There are mountains in that middle one too. And in the one on the right.’

The man at the front pointed out the mountains.

‘Do we think they’re the same mountains?’

The same voice in the middle.

‘They might be, but I don’t think so. The middle one, the red robed figure is stood on a grey mountain with brown mountains in the background, beyond the pink city. They all look steep and perilous. The right one, the mountain is brown but it looks flat and jagged. And like a different kind of brown, it’s more orange.’

The man at the front nodded.

‘So middle is cooler, right is warmer?’

‘Yeah, I reckon so.’

‘Right, ok. Good. We think they’re different landscapes.’

The man at the front paused, then stalked over to the side and pointed across at each painting with his vape. Left to right.

‘So. We have one painting where the red robed figure stands at a balcony, with the black winged figure, atop an affronting pink building. Lots of little details, ornamental bits. Two painting, the red robed figure stands on a grey mountain, towering over a miniature pink city. Red robes is pointing at the black winged figure as black wings walks away out of the frame. Three painting, red robes is in the middle, on brown warm mountain with flat jagged rocks. A crowd of other robed figures gather around. The ones at the bottom are crouching, they’re all looking up at red robes.’

He paused, scanning back over the paintings.

‘Anything else? Any other bits our caller on the other end of the line might appreciate knowing?’

‘The sky is gold.’

‘Yeah, huge gold sky. In all of them. Even the one on the left, slithers of gold sky around the building.’

‘In the one on the left, there’s a doorway, and we can see into the pink building. The interior is striped, there are columns, but it is empty and enigmatic.’

The man at the front turned back to point, nodding.

‘Yeah, we can see a slice into the building, little doorway. Great. Last thoughts on description?’

‘There are no shadows.’

Everyone paused, peering back in.

‘You’re right.’

At the front, someone got up to look closer. The man at the front turned back to the seated audience.

‘What does that do to the painting?’

The person looking closer stood back. Shrugged.

‘It makes it look and feel like it is a dream. Like, unreal.’

‘Say more.’

‘I mean… yeah, ok. I guess these paintings have a bit of surrealism going on. They’re a bit off-kilter, a bit jarring. It’s the lack of shadows, sure. Didn’t Dali do that with his paintings? They’re shadowless, I think. But it’s also the way all the figures, across all of them, they don’t really touch the ground. They’re just laid across the board into the space. None of these figures feel real, none of the spaces feel real, or they don’t make sense in the way real things make sense. Gold sky, miniature cities, and — I mean, is that black winged figure the devil? A demon? His face is scratched out in that one on the left, I can’t really tell.’

The room was silent for a while as everyone considered what had been said. Then a voice from the side.

‘I mean, I feel like there’s an aura to these paintings, or like a vibe — the surrealism makes sense to me.’

The man at the front took a hit on his vape, head bouncing as he weighed up the words.

‘I invite you to expand on that point.’

‘Like, the gold and the stiffness of the figures. The way the faces and bodies are painted. They feel kind of Byzantine, like a mix between that Eastern Orthodox icon way of painting and like renaissance kinda style. It’s jarring because these paintings are all square…. I mean, I could say more about that, but that’s not the point. The bodies floating, laid across space. They’re arranged in a way that feels old, or different. Like you take a photo, like a candid, and it’s a frozen frame of a body falling through a natural rhythm. It’s got movement. These are different. They’re posing, they have an aura, an authority or a dignity to them. I think saying they’re stiff is…inaccurate. I think these feel like divine bodies. They are floating because they are holy and special. That one in the middle especially, it’s really apparent to me that these aren’t humans. They’re towering over a city. There’s a kind of paranormal feeling to it all. Like myth, allegory, legend.’

‘So you don’t mind the weirdness or the off-kilter-ness?’

‘No, I mean. Not at all. I think it is really compelling. I feel satisfied just by looking at that weirdness. The weirdness makes it all make sense. It is such a weird thing, a weird image, in a good way. I don’t think it’s meant to be read logically, there’s something else going on, so — I guess that weirdness feels like a kind of divinity to me, like I think it is meant to inspire some kind of reverence.’

The man at the front nodded.

‘Dyou want to say more about that? Where you think that sits, where it might come from?’

‘No, I think that’s all.’

More silence as the man at the front scanned the seated audience.

‘Any more responses or thoughts about the spatial weirdness?’

Someone put their hand up at the front.

‘I think it’s also how smooth all the scenes are. Like, across all three paintings, the paint has been laid down so flat it’s almost cracking. It’s opaque, like it’s not thin. It’s just laid on so smooth, it almost looks airbrushed? Maybe that’s part of why it feels weird as well, like a hazy smooth shadowless dream. Maybe there’s a kind of doll-like uncanniness to the floating figures?’

The man nodded sagely.

‘Uncanny is a good word for it, I think.’

A voice from the middle.

‘I keep thinking about that building in the one on the left, that someone said was affronting?’ They looked around, trying to spot the person who had spoken before. ‘That’s also a really good description, I think, because — sorry, not to go back on ourselves here, but— I feel like the architectural-ness is the bit I keep looking at. The buildings feel as important as the figures. And that tower in the painting on the left.’

The man at the front stalked back over to point at it with his vape.

‘It’s got a real presence. It is this like, total, fully encompassing plane. Everything else in that one just kind of bends around that front flat plane bit. I think, like. My thing is I think it has been measured so meticulously, it kind of supersedes real life. Paranormal is a good word, kind of the way it supersedes, goes beyond the normal. Like it’s been measured in a way that feels really careful and tight. Real buildings don’t get that crisp and clean. Our perspective is never dead on, is it? And that building is so aligned, so central. It’s like those photographs you take with those massive telescopic lenses. They are in higher definition than like the human eye. This feels like that. Perfect clarity, above and beyond human clarity. There’s no fuzz, only hard line. Like — oh, that’s probably the uncanniness isn’t it?’

‘Can I — sorry,’ a hand shot up from the front row. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt. But can I just say. I’m not sure what uncanny really means but I think I’d also like to mention that the buildings are pink. But like a sickly pink. They look like strawberry yoghurt. They look washed out. They look unwell. Especially against the gold in the background. The one on the left, the pink tower is so large and in charge, if you know what I mean. It is an overwhelming kind of yoghurtiness. And the one in the middle is so cool, especially against the gold. It looks like how snot feels. Even though it’s not the colour of snot, I associate that colour with snot, or the consistency of snot.’

The man at the front raised his eyebrows in surprise, then turned back to the paintings once more. He scrutinised them closely for a moment, then nodded.

‘Snot and the medicinal?’

‘Yeah, yeah. I guess.’

Everyone nodded. The man at the front gestured back at the paintings.

‘We haven’t spoken much about the painting on the right. Why is that?’

Silence from the audience. Audible blinking.

‘If you don’t know, I might hazard a guess.’

He turned to face the paintings, hands behind his back, clasping the vape.

‘I think the painting has an inner emptiness, a kind of compositional completeness. But it’s the kind of completeness that makes the painting feel kind of waterproof. The figures are gathered round that figure in the red robes. He is in the middle at the top, his robes are lined with gold in this painting, so — he feels very central, focal. Two more figures at the top, to his right and left. And then three figures crouching at the bottom. They’re all actually looking at the figure in the red robes, aren’t they? Centre, focus. My eye looks along the top, along the bottom, the middle is empty. It is all legs and feet, empty rock. My eye circles around the true middle, the actual geographical centre of the painting — literally in a big circle. It is more spatial weirdness — like we said earlier. It feels waterproof because the circle locks you into an arranged movement where you’re constantly circling, never penetrating the centre.’

He turned back to the crowd.

‘Now, I don’t give a fuck about classical composition as a rigid set of rules. Do what you like, there’s no right or wrong way of doing painting. But it’s interesting to think about the way this departs from what we expect from a painting’s layout.’

The audience nodded. Someone at the front put their hand up again.

‘I think — speaking of composition. I think that one on the left has a similar-ish thing where the building is there, big, empty. The figures are at the top. I look up at them, at the top. I look at the side, where the door is. I only just notice the rest of the building. I don’t really look at it directly. And when I make my eyes go out of focus,’ they squinted at the painting, ‘it disappears entirely. I only notice the dark doorway, the dark figures.’

The man at the front shifted his gaze back over to the painting on the left, and nodded, squinting.

An alarm chimed from the crowd, and someone raised their hand.

‘That’s the timer by the way.’

The man at the front gave a thumbs up, and turned to the person at the front, who had been silent since the beginning.

‘This is your chance to chip in, if there’s anything you’d like to add.’

The person at the front shook their head.

‘No, no. I mean, I guess. I can first say thank you to everyone for their consideration and feedback. It’s been really valuable, I’m already thinking about the paintings I’m making next. And I’m glad the emptiness and spatial trickery made it in because — I’ve really been playing around with composition on these. They are montage, there’s action, it’s just not linear like — these aren’t in order, there’s panels missing between them. So I wasn’t sure they’d get read accurately, but — I mean, I’m happy with what’s come across.’

The man at the front smiled and nodded, turning back to the paintings for a last glance.

‘Ok, next one is at half past — dyou think we can do a 5 minute turnaround?’

The person who had brought in the drill shrugged and then nodded. Unsure, but optimistic. Probably.

‘Great. Vape break. See you back in 5, at half past.’

The seated audience got up, stretching their legs and murmuring amongst each other. They filed out of the room. Two people approached the paintings, lifting them off the wall. They walked out of the room behind the crowd. The man with the vape remained and looked at the wall, considered the image of the drill hole constellations.

‘God, this room really is falling apart.’

Someone walked back into the room, carrying a huge canvas. As tall as it was wide, they hoisted it up with their arms spread wide.

‘Yeah, the walls are just like drilling into chalk at this point. But it’s fine, I can prop this up on the floor?’

The man who had remained at the front took a toke on his vape and shook his head.

‘No, don’t worry. Unless you’d prefer? I can just slot a screw into a hole up there. If it’s just this one?’

The person holding the enormous canvas nodded. Just this one. The man at the front nodded, slotting three screws into a series of level holes at the top.

‘Reckon that’s high enough? Yeah, ok… It’d be funny to do one of these crits in like a lecture theatre. With no lecture. Just the painting propped up in the middle of an empty stage.’

‘I mean, it already feels a bit like that already.’

‘Oh, yeah. I imagine the nerves feel the same. You’ll be fine though. It’ll be useful.’

Together, they lifted the canvas onto the screws, hanging it carefully. They stepped back to survey their work, tilting their heads. It looked relatively straight, but the man who had been at the front got the spirit level and double checked. They stood in front of the painting until the crowd filed back into the room. Half past already. They took their seats, ready to start again.