Museum of Truth and Beauty

It is 6:41 a.m., May 13, 2004. I snuck into the room assigned for the Museum of Truth and Beauty. (Truth and beauty, whether subjective or absolute, can be fabricated or stretched.)

I called Room Service and ordered breakfast: a cup of tea, a soft-boiled egg and a hot dog with mustard on the side. (Lists of preferences and habits strengthen the personal traits of the artwork.)

Waiting for my breakfast to arrive, I emptied the contents of my duffel bag: socks and underwear, a furry vest, a t-shirt and thermal underwear. I laid these out in the top drawer, re-creating my bedroom back home. (Nostalgia is the stuff of dreams; aesthetic culture demands it.)

I had a game plan, a plot to transport me from relative obscurity to overnight stardom (and wealth.) Channeling my personal intent to creative ends, I laid out a mustard colored terrain on which I built the labyrinthine replica of my dreams out of strips of pumpernickel bread, sweetened by sugar. (The sublime can be discovered in the mundane and the temporary is the sublime.)

I emptied the remainder of my belongings into the bottom(less) drawer: a few packages, several works of art, my shoes, and miscellany, suitable for an attic. (Form, always, follows function.)

What happens will be considered as what happened, tomorrow. (Art is timeless.)


-Gülşen Çalik, New York City, Four Points Hotel, 7:14 a.m.

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