The Gossips in Aubergine Chairs (The Whisper & The Listener), 2025

$2,304.00

Oil on canvas, Diptych, 24 × 48 in, © 2025 J.M. Bond.

The Gossips in Aubergine Chairs (The Whisper)

A seated woman in a green dress leans forward in an aubergine armchair, a cigarette holder lifted beside her face. One hand cups her mouth as if speaking; a soft ribbon of smoke arcs toward the adjoining panel. The palette is muted and interior, with the chair’s deep aubergine framing the figure.

The Gossips in Aubergine Chairs (The Listener)

Across from her, a woman in a dark blue dress sits in a matching aubergine armchair, a yellow fan lifted near her lips as she turns toward her companion, The Whisper. Her posture suggests listening; the fan partially obscures her mouth. Shared lighting and color link the two panels, creating a single conversational scene across the gap between them.

Oil on canvas, Diptych, 24 × 48 in, © 2025 J.M. Bond.

The Gossips in Aubergine Chairs (The Whisper)

A seated woman in a green dress leans forward in an aubergine armchair, a cigarette holder lifted beside her face. One hand cups her mouth as if speaking; a soft ribbon of smoke arcs toward the adjoining panel. The palette is muted and interior, with the chair’s deep aubergine framing the figure.

The Gossips in Aubergine Chairs (The Listener)

Across from her, a woman in a dark blue dress sits in a matching aubergine armchair, a yellow fan lifted near her lips as she turns toward her companion, The Whisper. Her posture suggests listening; the fan partially obscures her mouth. Shared lighting and color link the two panels, creating a single conversational scene across the gap between them.


This work was part of an immersive exhibition of new works in October, 2025, titled In the Company of Paintings.

Exhibition Description: 

Every secret moves faster once it reaches the aubergine chairs.
The smoke carries it, slipping from her lips and curling across the space until it presses against the other’s ear. 

And her fan pretends to be a wall. It isn’t.

By 10 p.m., the story will have grown legs—and they’ll insist it arrived that way.