Plastic Moments #2: June 13, 2009 11:42:00AM

555 W 24th St New York NY 10011
(40.749045, -74.005378)

The building’s facade uncluttered by signage of any kind, the massive doors made of polished metal and frosted glass, the entryway thick with the leaden silence and oppressive climate control that only art galleries posses. Drastically high ceilings, sealed cement floors, pristine white walls hung with oversize canvases. Each canvas is covered in its own intricate and distinct pattern layered out across its surface in thick textures of iridescent paint. Interesting from an aesthetic point of view but nothing is really captivating. A handful of people circulate the vast open galleries with a casual air. Save for one woman. As I enter the second room she stands transfixed by one of the paintings. It has sweeping textures rushing from left to right in thick greens and golds. I stop next to her, attempting to mimic her gaze I stare at the massive textural surface until my vision relaxes and gently blurs. Suddenly, as I am about to turn and walk away, the canvas ripples, the textured pattern begins to undulate ever so gently, hypnotically, as if I am staring too closely at a taught ships sail or stranger still the hide of a great beast. I try to control my reaction, not wanting to make a scene I step back from the painting gracefully and turn away. Glancing back the illusion of motion, unmistakable just moments ago, is gone. My stomach settles and I continue on to the third room trying hard not to look too closely at the pieces.

The paintings all remain static and my nerves relax. I enter the fourth room. The gallery now seems a bit long for a Chelsea block. I can no longer see the entrance. My innate sense of urban space is set off kilter. In the fourth room there are no paintings. The lights are dimmer and shadows play about in the corners. In the center of the room is a white rectangular structure, with a simple door at its front. A room within a room? I walk around its circumference looking for some minor detail or subtle clue that will unpack its meaning. But there are none, only cheap construction, white pressboard walls, and exposed nails. Obviously this is some manner of slacker conceptual piece, a poor man’s Whiteread or hell maybe the gallery’s supply shed. I’ve been fooled by these things before. I turn to leave the dimly lit room when I’m turned out by a hushed but stern voice :”Psst, hey you …come here”.

It’s a rather large security guard. He motions for me back toward the structure. He’s talking in loud whispers on a cell phone, alternately nodding at the person on the phone and gesturing at me to wait just a moment. I’m off balance and a bit confused but politeness and curiosity leave me waiting patiently until he finishes his call. Straightening up he ask in an over the top voice. “Hello sir, how are you doing today?” I smile, say that I’m well and then wrinkle my brow inquisitively hoping I can get some information without asking an actual question. The security guard glances at his watch. “That’s about enough, time to let ‘em out” he proclaims to no one in particular. He throws open the door. Inside its black as night but from the darkness emerges a family of four, all blinking and rubbing at their eyes as they adjust to the light of the dim gallery. “Enjoy the show?” ask the security guard / barker. The family nods and mumbles in agreement as they stumble out of the back room toward the exit. “In you go!” declares the guard as he gestures with his hand like a high end doorman.

I step in and the door closes suddenly behind me. I find myself in complete darkness. A single incandescent bulb hangs from a cord directly in front of me. My eyes try to adjust to the darkness but there is nothing to focus on. The single light is joined by a dozen others slowly brightening in the dark, and then dozens more, followed by hundreds, until there is seemingly tiny flickering lights for as far in the distance I can see. The lights dance about flashing on and off in a rhythm of their own making that grows steadily faster and more frantic until things begin to strobe and my head begins to spin. I nearly lose my balance entirely and then everything descends again into blackness.

I catch my breath, my eyes begin to relax and then the single light reappears just as before it is followed by others growing in number and intensity until the field of lights returns. This time though the lights don’t stop at a low wattage but continue to get brighter and brighter still until I can feel the heat from the glow and a bead of sweat runs down the back of my neck. I turn around reaching for the door but find only light in every direction. Still the light grows brighter, until I’m unable to discern one light source from another. I’m drenched in sweat and panic but still the lights get more intense, hotter until there is no longer any distinction left, only blinding white light. White out.

I can feel my eyes blinking but it makes no difference all I can see is pristine whiteness. I stumble around feeling for a wall or door but nothing. I can feel the floor on my feet but when I reach down with my hands there is only empty space. I stumble aimlessly in one direction and then another desperate for some sense of direction. Eventually I collapse, alone in the most extreme sense possible, my thoughts elevate to a roar, the panic and paranoia feed on themselves until I’m lost deep in the labyrinth of my own mind where I chase childhood fears and real world terrors through the shadowless light. My mind is miles away, flying fancifully through the white out abyss when they come for me. I don’t notice the smell, and I can’t hear their sloughing footsteps. I don’t even feel the cold sandpaper flesh as half a dozen arms rap themselves around me. I don’t feel anything until the razor sharp claws pierce my ribcage and rend my chest cavity open to the blistering light.