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 over night 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.)


bedroom
bedroom_close-L
bedroom_close-R
pantry
pantry_close
attic
attic_close
attic_closer

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


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