Centre stage, a large canvas with a question mark painted on it. CURATOR and CRITIC enter, talking excitedly.

CURATOR: And here we are! Here is the masterpiece!

CRITIC: …My god. Splendiferous! How wonderful!

CURATOR: Isn’t it?

CRITIC: This artist of yours is a genius! When can I meet him?

CURATOR: He should be on his way right now.

CRITIC: I can’t see this fetching any less than $10 000.

CURATOR: Yes, I’m expecting a call from the Musee d’Orsay in Paris. They’re very keen.

CRITIC: It’s wonderfully… minimalist. Your friend was obviously drawing on the existentialist phase of Pablo Picasso. I can see a bit of Munch in here too. What’s it called?

CURATOR: It’s called Huh? (Grunting, questioning noise)

CRITIC: Eh?

CURATOR: No, no. Huh? Apparently, that’s the noise the artist made when he had finished the painting.

CRITIC: It suits it, doesn’t it? You see, to me, this painting seems to question everything. You know, life, existence, maybe even whether God himself takes an interest in the affairs in the workings and doings of everyday man. It’s vibrant. It makes me want to run across open fields! It’s bold and striking! A painting like this looks the audience right in the eye and says, Huh? This artist is a genius, I’d like to hear his opinion.

CURATOR: And here he is!

ARTIST enters. He is a stoner, wearing daggy clothes, no shoes, or otherwise crocs, and smoking a joint.

ARTIST: Dude!

CURATOR: Ah! The artist! We were just admiring your masterwork!

CRITIC: Congratulations! This is a brilliant piece of art!

ARTIST: So you like it, huh? Groovy! Can I have my money now?

CRITIC: Oh, first things first, I think.

ARTIST: Yeah! Money? (Holds out hands).

CRITIC: I’d just like to ask you a few questions.

ARTIST: It wasn’t me. I was nowhere near the department store on the 24^th of June.

CRITIC: No, about the artwork. What inspired you to paint it?

ARTIST: Well, I was tired and at home. So I smoked a joint. Then I smoked another joint. Then I smoked fifty-seven joints at the same time. Then I painted the picture.

CRITIC: …I see. But what does it mean, what were you trying to say?

ARTIST: What I was trying to say is… Huh? Except I was too stoned.

CRITIC: So you’re not questioning the futility of life, existence, God himself…

ARTIST: No.

CURATOR: You’re not drawing on the existentialist period of Picasso?

ARTIST: Who’s Picasso? Is he a motorcyclist?

CRITIC: But this painting! What does it mean?

ARTIST: …Dude. It’s a question mark on a canvas. What did you think it was?

ARTIST leaves. CURATOR and CRITIC look at each other incredulously.

CURATOR: A question mark on a canvas.

CRITIC: …It’ll never sell.

CURATOR: Absolutely not. It’s not even art!

They leave. Lights down.