A More More Kind Of Less

‘It’s a more more kind of less.’
‘Exactly,’ I say, nodding. I have no idea what that means.
‘It’s so disturbing.’
It isn’t the only thing that’s disturbing. ‘Yes, but don’t you think it’s derivative?’
‘How do you mean?’
We’re looking at a piece of art. I’m trying to act smart. ‘Hm, I don’t think it’s saying anything new.’ It isn’t saying anything at all. It’s a surprise that galleries are so quiet if each piece is supposedly jabbering away.
‘No, but it’s distilled.’
I’m in need of something distilled. ‘I think it lacks conviction,’ I bluff. My comment lacks conviction. I lack conviction.
A pause. ‘Interesting observation. Yes, you could be right…’
That’s it, I should become an art critic. I'm a natural. I mean, take this next piece, just listen to it, it’s so… so contextual.