Picture the Music

Imagine this..

An oil based painting capturing a busy street, capturing its colour and vibe.
You stare at this painting, neatly assembled in a wooden frame. It mesmerizes you with its simplicity, its common setting. No creativity, no uniqueness. Just a street, a modern yet regular vision.
It pulls you inside. You find yourself within its borders standing on the south east side of the street. The painting defines every detail of it, perfectly clear windows, perfectly sketched cars and bicycles. However it remains motionless and without sound.
You begin to walk north on the oily canvas, the side walk. You realize that walking south would have led you nowhere, a blank piece of paper. The street with all its detailed commodities strictly cut to the place you stand.
Slowly things begin to move. The cars on the busy street regain their speed. They leave a smudge of colour behind them.
You look down. The oil begins to wash out with every step you take on the pavement. Slowly, the bus to the left of you stops and opens its doors. Expressionless faces step out, they walk south, behind you, and leave the painting.
There is no sound. Not yet; for the street is slowly coming to life.
Red, yellow, and orange brick -2 storey buildings outline the street. Some are apartments others reformed into restaurants, cafes, and stores.
Soft and deep colours of green form the trees and shrubs which neatly decorate the small plots of land surrounding the buildings.
You see a smudge of light blue forming in the sky. It brushes passed the leaves on the trees getting tangled in the shades of green. You feel nothing, you hear nothing. But you imagine it is the wind.
You try to envision this wakening city. Reality. The roaring of engines, the ruffle of leaves, the laughter of children running in slow motion on the opposite side walk.
Here its different. All motion leaves the surrounding picture a blurr, a colourful mess.
You begin to hear a sound. One singluar humm in this painting. It grows louder. You start to feel the beat inside you, vibrating through your body, dictating your movement. One happy tune, a song, bringing jump and movement to your feet. It ignores all the detailed music of a real street. No lawn mowers, no cars, no chatter. A world with a jukebox in the clouds. A pepsi commercial, you think.
Everyone begins to smile, to dance along to the music. Not a grumpy soul.
The day on the street- like an outdoor night club.
You try to say something to a girl dancing passed you, twirling in circles and waving her arms. She can't hear you. Nobody can. No diction, just this one song expressing this painted world and its movement. Words are not needed, other sounds are not needed here.
Your every move and every thought is dictated by the colour you leave behind you.
You begin spinning, enjoying this new freedom. Your movement emitting all the colours of your body. The pink in your skin, the blue in your jeans, and the red in your shirt wash off of you, following your every twirl. Soon the whole painting is in motion. Even the bees leave a trail of yellow in the sky, leaving in the air a pretty circular design.
The colour is endless. It continues to empower the painting, springing out of every living entity.
This one song heard by all is like a battery.
Soon, the song will end. The melody slowly dies out, fades out in slow motion.
It gets quiet again. The girl long infront of you starts to lose her movement, lose her trail of colour. The cars get trapped, motionless yet expressing their original speed. The leaves on the trees are captured in a single take. The painting regains its sharpness, its detail. You turn back south and find yourself looking back at the neat wooden frame.
You've jumped out of the painting back to reality. You notice the detailed song of the gallery that surrounds you. Laughter springing from around the corner. An argument arises between two people not far from you. Nobody is dancing or waving their arms. Nobody pays attention to the soft melody playing from the speakers in the building. Here, nature is not dictated by sound and movement is not followed by colour.
A strict, detailed, and unique world -lacking rhythm.