Retired Art Critic Brian Sewell Gets Rehired as an IKEA Furniture Quality Control Manager by José Enrique Medina

Dear Artist,

First, thank you for allowing me to provide feedback on your metal-and-glass sculpture titled “Dining Table ContempoDempo II.” It takes gumption on the part of the artist to allow someone with an eye as discerning as mine to both judge and appraise their artistic endeavor. And for that, like Louis XIV, I remove my metaphorical ostrich-feather cavalier hat and bow down to you until the locks of my metaphorical powdered wig touch the dust at your feet.

Second, if only to get them out of the way, I’d like to dispatch with what I call “unpleasant realities” and which the common folk refer to as “constructive criticism.” In your rush to complete the first prototype in time for the company’s upcoming showroom convention, you made one of the legs two inches too short. In addition, I found six other examples of shoddy workmanship that, if not immediately addressed and rectified, will result in 1) millions of dollars of lost revenue 2) a six-month delay in our production schedule and 3) expensive litigation arising from injuries caused by collapsing tables. However, since these mechanical “shortcomings” did not detract from your piece’s aesthetic value (in fact, I think they rather added to its avant-garde flair), I scrunched up the paper on which I wrote down the six deficiencies and tossed it into the trash can.

Lastly, and this is my favorite part, I want to tell you how your art made me feel. Every evening, at six o’clock a beam of red sunlight comes in through the store’s west-facing window and strikes one of the metal legs of your table in such a way that it reminds me of the red scarf that Salvador Dali placed on the shoulder of Mary in his painting “Crucifixion.” Then that beam of light is reflected upwards and hits the mirrored ceiling fan. On that fixture, the light is three shades lighter and more begonia-colored like the flowers that half-cover the face of the nymph in Michael O’Reilly’s “Seduction of Daphne.” Finally, the fan bounces the light back to me. On my body, the light takes on a rosy complexion that makes me think of Botticelli’s “The Birth of Venus,” and the wonderful way he used one rose tone to unite the naked body of the goddess and the giant shell that gently propelled her forward. The shade of rose is so tender and envelopes me so completely, that, if I press my knees together, cover my groin lightly, and barely touch one of my nipples, I feel that I, too, am floating forward.

Humbly,
Sewell

José Enrique Medina earned his BA in English from Cornell University. He writes poems, short stories and novels. His work has appeared in Best Microfiction 2019 Anthology, Tahoma Literary Review, The Burnside Review, and other publications. He is a Voices of Our Nation fellow.