Above: The Crystal (Michael Lee-Chin), as it is known. What more can be said about this angular disaster?
Upon entering one is greeted by constricting planar angles. Leaning inward, they creep upon the psyche. In contrast to the exterior, with its extreme bravado and careless material choices that suck in the unknowing passerby-ers, the interior is underwhelming. Carelessness construction contributes to a overwhelming feeling that the building might topple upon you at any moment. Spots of unfinished drywall, with their telling exposed screws, seem to litter the interior – “was it a hasty construction?” After five minutes in the ticket line the exterior waining influence is gone. No longer I am fooled. An interesting, possibly even good building is lost.
With a ticket in one hand and the other quite confused I ran. Straight forward toward the colossal dinosaur, seemingly the most sensible option at the time. Here I landed at the nexus of all that is new, old, and very old indeed. The three buildings merge. Their convocation a looming atrium just behind us. Stage lights dangle and light flying terrible-dactyls (the only well formed space in this crystal, of course it houses our somewhat triangular winged friend so its a quite “natural fit” if you catch my drift).
After a certain amount of hiding in the 1st floor galleries, searching for an alternative to returning to the crystal (and a brief phone chat with your Analyst), you decide to return. Its just a building after all. Finding the staircase is your first quest. Accomplished after a few minutes of searching.
Nearing the staircase you see more of the unfinished dry wall. Upon touching the handrail a cold rush flows through your hand. Looking down you see the drywall has transfigured into rough aluminum plates most likely cut to size with a nail file. Upon awaking from this horrible surprise we find ourselves bathing in the most putrid of light sources, varying shades of fluorescent bulb – orange and green – spilling from gashes in the walls. Any moment now the water beads might begin to hit our foreheads, the interrogator waiting patiently outside.
In the galleries and exhibits we sat; exhausted. Their crystalline tomb caught all the glory, causing headach and many a confused visitor.
Having lived here for some time, half and hour, my mind began to pulse. My eyes bulged from the strain. The end was near. I had to escape. Back into the older buildings I went. The walls righted, the ceiling came flat. Those exhibits past now merely a blur.
Upon leaving, I discovered the day had become night. The museum’s illusion broken. What was this crystal? Where had I gone. The few photos I found lay dormant on that little memoir stick. They were all I had to remind me of those many hours spent inside this colossal polygonal waste of time.
(The photos above show its concept. Forms within forms. New and old merging, Their triangular qualities meeting in harmony without the destruction of the old. A perfect meeting. Yet when I look back upon this time I think not of these abstract associations. I feel only my torn-psyche forged by this fine work by Mr. Libeskind.)