Observers noticed that the photos taken at the beginning of the concert, of bands playing before Stars, were extraordinarily sharp and well-defined, and especially so despite the darkness of the venue and the movement of the crowd.
It would then surprise them that the quality of the photos worsened when Stars came on – they expected that the greater the love for the band, the better the photos. If art replicates life, love should shine through the camera lens, caressing each curve of elbow and glint of skin.
Instead, it was as if life gently nudged art’s hand away, saying: “Go rest, now; let me take over.”
And like the elusive stars (see what I did there) too quick for paparazzi, observers could only squint and guess: This eye belongs to Amy. This hand, Torquil.