Doubt

[General Goose]

((Camille Bellegarde begins))

Camille looked up at the artwork before her.

If the signpost was to be believed, it was supposed to symbolise doubt. On first inspection, it wasn't clear how. A series of rather crudely crafted wooden spirals shot out from the ground, holding up a pyramid at the very top. One of the pillars looked rather rotten, the wood sodden and mildewy, decaying from a mixture of infestation and exposure to the elements, but Camille was uncertain if that was a sign of decay or a deliberate artistic choice.

She got it, she supposed. It was a kind of meta-artwork, some smart commentary. The observer doubted how the artwork embodied the theme, doubted whether it qualified as art, doubted how or why the damage and wear had come about. Camille got it. That it was the apex of her journey around the art exhibition, a listless and lethargic stroll around a place that had obnoxiously made its layout an exhibition in its own right, added an extra layer of appropriateness. She doubted where she was going, after all. She'd worked out the theme of the signage system rather quickly, but that was of little practical utility, especially when Camille's heart wasn't really in this task in any substantive way.

She got it. Didn't mean that she liked it.

Then again, Camille had to concede that she wasn't exactly in the most charitable or constructive of critical dispositions.

She stared at the artwork again, trying to think of how she could relate it to her current predicament. There were a lot of ways, Camille realised, without even straining or tasking her capacity for imagination. None of them, she realised with a sigh, would be worth thinking about further.

Camille picked up her bags and wandered off. If she looked up, she could tell from the horizon how to get out of the exhibition. She didn't look up. After all, once she was out of here, then what?

((Camille Bellegarde continued in Deep Red Bells.))