My Perspective On Perspective

My train journey served one purpose - I had to see that photograph again. After wandering the gallery and viewing the new additions, I asked the gallery director to show me the piece I had travelled to see. As I waited patiently for the reveal, he returned to tell me that it was not to be found. Instead, he digitally sent me the photographer's catalogue. Seeing the art on the screen was as if I let go of a breath I had been holding since I first stood before the frame. When I asked how much the work was sold for, he looked up at me to unveil the grand figure. Almost as if he was analysing my reaction. Perhaps he saw my flimsy tote bag that I bought on the streets of Venice, cheaper than advertised. Or had his eyes dropped down to my used-to-be white trainers prior to the exchange? Despite my explicit inability to afford such a sum, he shook my hand and smiled as he would for somebody with clean shoes.

The photograph presents a suited man sitting at the bar of a restaurant, alone. Though others surround him, they fade into a dark background with his shape as the significant subject. Black and white - film noir-esc. Smoke rises from stoves to surround his head and the thoughts that may fill it. I choose not to share the piece alongside this article as perspective is a powerful thing. Perhaps what I see is not what you do. Art is personal and the eyes must witness what the heart does feel.

I was alone. Stepping over the streets of London to get to an unknown destination. Something to let me feel full. The gallery came into view unexpectedly and delightfully. I went in. Time stood still as I stood in front of Daniel Sackheim's art. I saw myself in that photograph. As if my solitude had a place in the world. The man in the frame, he did not appear lonely to me. No, he seemed content. At peace with his own company and mental. Smartly dressed, conveying that he respects the pride of his solo occasion. It was only when my vision reached the title that the joy in my soul began to diminish. 'A Salaryman's Night Out'.

Perhaps he is lonely. Is that how I must perceive this moment? A man who spends too many of his hours working for corporations so he is left without human connection. The smoke above his head suddenly appeared darker, as his thoughts may be. My experiences are often spent with myself, only. Despite my sometimes deafening solitude, I get the train, I visit London as if it is a person, I sit in my favourite French café. All of this, I do it alone. And, I know how they look at me. Their eyes of sympathy and questions of my stability fall heavy onto me but I keep my spine straight as I sip black coffee. Perspective, it is when the man drinking coffee beside me, alone too, sparks a conversation about the pile of recently purchased books resting on my table. 'So you're a reader?' He opens. The exchange trails from books to comic books to television shows based on comic books. Pleasant and kind, I enjoy speaking to the man and return happily to the pages in my hand once our discussion terminates. Throughout the entire duration of this dialogue, the group of people at the table adjacent watch with concern. Though I appreciate their bystanding support should I have been in an uncomfortable situation, my smile and funnel of questions should have disproved their assumptions. Perspective. It forces how we perceive solitude, how we perceive people and how we perceive art.