Tactination
the profound longing to touch and physically connect with objects that are typically forbidden to be touched, especially art. It’s the magnetic pull one feels to experience the texture and true essence of a piece, often accompanied by a knowing inner conflict about the taboo.
The gallery’s air was still, punctuated only by the curator’s heel clicks as they slipped behind the wall, out of sight. This was her chance.
She knew she shouldn’t.
Even in the absence of Ms. Louboutin’s red soles, Kama could still see a sea of red eyes peering back at her beside their framed companions. Sold. The stickers taunted her.
She felt the pull of each brushstroke, the call of the oils that lay ridged upon the canvases, like braille stories waiting to be read.
Before her hung a nod to Van Gogh. Thick, impasto, troweled through heavy paint, bringing the swirls of sky leaping off the canvas.
She knew the rules: the velvet ropes that weren’t to be crossed, the alarms that weren’t to be tripped, and the surfaces that weren’t to be tarnished by human hands. But the urge was there.
Her fingers ached with need. She reached out, the yearning in her fingertips so intense it was as if they possessed their own will.
Her breath hitched. She couldn’t. Her hands returned to her pockets. For now, she would be touched without touching, content to be connected by the strokes of color caressing her corneas.
The curator returned. “It’s one of the last in this collection”.
Kama knew just where she would put it.
She reached her hand into her purse, retrieving her card. “I’ll take it.”
About the Creator
E.K. Daniels
Writer, watercolorist, and regular at the restaurant at the end of the universe. Twitter @inkladen
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Comments (5)
For now, she would be touched without touching, content to be connected by the strokes of color caressing her corneas. That line was sooo deep and poetic! Loved your word and story!
This is a word that would get a lot of use. I collect coins. Once you decide a coin has value, you are not supposed to touch them, as the finger oils ruins the surface over time. Although I can see them perfectly through the plastic holder, I want to touch them anyway. I can’t help, lol.
As an artist and art lover I have felt this tug, especially in guarded museum exhibitions, to feel the work, rub against it, slide my finger across the edge of the frame or sculpture. Could I feign a fall and land at it's feet and while scrambling to get back up steal a feel? I am too old for that now, as in I might not actually get back up. Great topic and piece. I felt it through my computer screen by the way! ROCK
I thought it was just me who ‘felt’ this way. But you have such a unique way of seeing the world and writing about it. The picture you chose is a perfect fit for this too. ‘Her fingers ached with need. She reached out, the yearning in her fingertips so intense it was as if they possessed their own will. Her breath hitched. She couldn’t. Her hands returned to her pockets. For now, she would be touched without touching, content to be connected by the strokes of color caressing her corneas.’ Now that’s clever! It made me think of my unconscious desires whenever I’m in an art museum or gallery, but also made me think of my inner child and how much children want to touch everything. Perhaps the childlike wonder that makes us appreciate art so deeply activates this urge.
another great word to describe an all too relatable feeling!