Walsh
red fish blue fish
What’s amazing about these fish is that they manage to retain a kind of power, despite having been caught and killed and frozen and carefully tessellated on ice, where they wait to be bought and thawed and fried, or steamed, or barbecued, or grilled, and finally eaten (with relish, but without regard for the history of their lives and the space they left behind in the seas).
These fish are not dignified; their eyes bug out and they lie in a smooth queue not of their own making. They are not beautiful; their scales and eyes have a slick organic shine that catches the gaze, but makes it want to squirm away instead of linger. And yet, there is something about them that compels the mind.
After all these years of evolution, who would have thought that this would happen to us? That we, alone of all the millions of species on this green earth, should learn, at last, to turn food not only into art, but also guilt?
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