The cafe table was unconsciously set. My laptop, coffee, a tin caddy—I think an ikea design—holding napkins, cutlery, sugar packets. Each thing was placed by a different hand, was placed to serve a separate purpose, each of which are only coordinated at the level of life-projects, aesthetics, culture. At this level, set. On the table, unconsciously.
The corner of my laptop begins a line of perspective that touches the saucer of the coffee cup and terminates on the rounded tin edge of the cutlery caddy. At every point, this line is invisible, existing as a relation between the three objects but now that I see it, tangible. My eye can follow its course. Where ever it touches, other lines diverge. The base of the laptop, black metallic, sharp-edged and high contrast against the lacquered orange veneer of the cafe table. Diverging at a narrow, organic angle. The angle of a branch on a rose bush growing up to compete for light and blooming space. When it touches the saucer, the line meets the potential of orbit. I can see it as tangent, heading straight on with only the infinitisimal kiss, or embraced in the gravity well of the cup, describing a circle. It's escape velocity would take it to meet the far edge of the laptop, or maybe it never escapes. The saucer is a lighter, gloss grey, a fixed wetness, river clay still damp, held in its organic freshness for industrial consumption. The metallic dark of the laptop and light grey of the saucer are matched tones in a palette. Matt, gloss, harmonious contrasts. The invisible line, the tangent, splashes at the foot of the tin caddy. Touching on the apex of the curve, dividing an running off out of sight around the far and near corners. The height of the caddy makes it clear that the line is touching on the bottom of the tin. This is an object with more dimensions than the flat plane of the laptop base and saucer. It's matt tin surface is a tone lighter again in the grey pallette. Three objects, fallen together.
Until the waiter comes and asks if he can take the cup. Agreeably, I give permission while internally resenting myself and him. He carries it off and the relation is gone. The tin caddy and laptop drift apart in liquid brown space. Any line connecting them is now arbitrary. The space aches for the absent saucer. I feel my body respond to this longing.
This little thing that was unobserved by anyone other than me. I was tempted to say it never existed for anyone other than me. Language is primed for that expression. But it lacks skill. This still-life existed for anyone. It was witnessed by one.