Sometimes a work lands in the middle. In between interpretations. In between certainty of which way it might lean.

I shared my painting, “Code Red,” to a friend to look at it. She teaches Feminist Literature. “These Red Riding Hoods aren’t afraid anymore!” she said. But then the wolf looked petrified and worried. Surprised even. Sixteen red riding hoods surround him. Film him. Report him.

She could feel for the wolf too. The “red hoods” seem aggressive. Or are they just empowered? We felt like this picture might be a Rorschach test for gender studies. I can see how the woods aren’t safe for a wolf any more. I can also see that any girl can walk her path without fear. She said, “or are they ignoring a danger? Are they underestimating? Are they too cozy?”

Is the wolf performing for the camera? Why are two of the Red Hoods looking unhappy? Has the wolf done anything?

We didn’t know. I didn’t know.

“The artist is supposed to know,” she said.

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