Post by untitled on Jan 10, 2024 17:15:16 GMT -5
We see two security guards stationed on either side of a white marble hallway within Musée d'Orsay in Paris, France. They remain alert, eyes fixed towards the end of the hallway, as a loud voice screeches through the nighttime.
“So then I slapped him, and he did nothing! He just tripped and fell over his own screen door!”
The screech turns to a cackle, and is followed by another voice, slightly muffled, with a coo permeating their calm tone.
“I am sure that was quite embarrassing for him. Usurpation of one’s own throne, and without a struggle.”
In moments, the voices are identified, as Leo - carrying with him a backpack - and “(untitled)”, the living artwork, walk through the museum after closing in a private exhibition. Leo looks confused. “You served what?”, he says, struggling with his backpack for a moment.
The question causes “(untitled)” to gently shake their head, their long hair gently swaying from the top of their mask. Their eyes squint somewhat, and a slight laugh can be heard from underneath their covered mouth. “Forced removal. A coup d'état, perhaps?”, they say, hoping that gets through to Leo, but Leo just stares. After a few seconds pass, “(untitled)” lightly shrugs their shoulders and asks how Leo has liked the museum.
“It’s okay, I guess. Art’s a lot smaller than I expected”, Leo says with a sniff.
The piece nods their head. “Many say that, about many things.” Leo suppresses a giggle, and “(untitled)” ignores him. “Many assume that art is bigger than it is, but we all build an illusion in our mind that is hard for reality to meet up with. A method for setting up oneself for disappointment, n’cest pas?”
Unsure of what to make of the question, Leo whips the backpack around and opens it, fishing out a can. “Can you drink through that mask?” Leo asks. “I brought something we’ve been working on, and I want you to try it.”
Leo shows “(untitled)” the can - a can of Radbod beer - with a hopeful gleam in his eye. As “(untitled)” looks at it, head tilted in a quizzical manner, Leo reaches up to pop the top. “It’s something we’ve been working on for a few weeks, I think it’s pretty good.”
Before he can pop the top though, one of the security guards has walked over, club withdrawn from the belt loop, and points it at the can. “Aucun récipient ouvert dans le musée, monsieur,” the guard says. “(untitled)” reaches their hand up to their chest in feigned surprise. “How terrible. You must not open that, darling,” they say to Leo. “It is not allowed. But leave one, and I shall try it after the tour concludes.”
“Oh,” Leo says, deflated. He puts the can away, and continues to fish around in the backpack as the two start to walk again. “So tell me, why should I pick you for the Wit Trials, anyway? You said yourself that everyone’s got a lot of accomplishments, more than you. My team’s the best one to be on, so someone like you… that’s a tough ask, don’t you think?”
The piece nods their head as they walk, although their gait is a bit faster than Leo now as Leo continues to root through the backpack. “Are you familiar with screen printing, darling?”
“Nega…tory…” Leo’s voice mimics his pace.
“Well, I shall answer your question in this regard. Mass production of artwork first became possible with the introduction of screen printing, to where people can make copies of a piece simply by layering color upon color through the use of a screen to handle each layer. The process is quick, efficient, and generates identical work, so long as each step is followed exactly.”
“(untitled)”, as they walk, points to the pieces on the walls, painted by Impressionist-era masters.
“Yet, as you walk through this gallery with me, you shall not find screen printings on these walls. Though screen printings can produce great work, it is the pieces that are individually crafted, one by one, that truly stand the test of time. Passed down from generation to generation, revered as works of brilliance. Protected and preserved, because you cannot simply create another through a basic process.”
“(untitled)” stops, almost basking in their own glow.
“That is the difference between myself and those others who are eligible for the Wit Trials, Monsieur Leo. They are products of screen printing. I am a hand-crafted masterpi-”
“MONSIEUR! NE TOUCHEZ PAS À L'OEUVRE D'ART!”
The piece turns around to find Leo wearing VR goggles, stumbling blindly, almost into a van Gogh, only to be restrained by another security guard. The guard forcibly removes the goggles and thrusts them into Leo’s hands, as “(untitled)” watches from several steps away, hands on hips, eyes fixed to the team captain.
“Sorry”, Leo says with a sheepish grin. “I heard this part of the tour was great in VR, and boy, they weren’t kidding.” Leo’s eyes are fixated on a painting across the room of a woman. He takes two fingers, points at his eyes and then flips his hand around pointing at the woman mouthing ‘I’ll see you in my dreams.’
“(untitled)” merely nods. “That is okay. Many come to the gallery with those devices.” They stretch their arms out towards the ceiling, eyes closing, and underneath the mask it appears as though they are yawning, but whether they are feigning it or not is uncertain. “Alas, I am afraid this is where our tour ends.”
“Aw, really? I paid for two hours.”
“Indeed. But time lapses quickly when we are enjoying ourselves, oui?”
“We… yes.”
“Oui. I am afraid I must return to my quarters now, but I am sure we will be in touch.”
“Return to your quarters…?” Leo quickly digs into his backpack, taking out breath spray. He quickly squirts the spray into his mouth, but after the spray hits his mouth, he looks up to find that “(untitled)” is nowhere to be seen.
“Aw man.”
Leo looks over and sees the security guard glaring at him and pointing to a watch. Moments later, we see him running outside of Musée d'Orsay, panting heavily as he clutches onto his backpack, the security guard incomprehensibly yelling at him. He looks down the street, spotting a vagrant leaning against a pillar.
“Hey! You! Wanna try a beer?”
Leo reaches into the backpack and thrusts a can of Radbod beer into the vagrant’s hand. Without a second thought, the vagrant opens the can and takes a sip, but immediately spits it out. Looking at the can in disgust, he shouts “c'est comme de l'eau sale mélangée à de la merde!” The vagrant pushes the can back into Leo’s hand and staggers off. Leo looks down the street towards the vagrant…
“IT’S BEING WORKSHOPPED!”
A sigh. “Weirdo.” Leo takes a sip from the open can, his face recoils. People are watching, he immediately plays it off and smiles, giving several thumbs up to whoever is nearby as he walks into the Parisian night, onto the next potential member to visit.
“So then I slapped him, and he did nothing! He just tripped and fell over his own screen door!”
The screech turns to a cackle, and is followed by another voice, slightly muffled, with a coo permeating their calm tone.
“I am sure that was quite embarrassing for him. Usurpation of one’s own throne, and without a struggle.”
In moments, the voices are identified, as Leo - carrying with him a backpack - and “(untitled)”, the living artwork, walk through the museum after closing in a private exhibition. Leo looks confused. “You served what?”, he says, struggling with his backpack for a moment.
The question causes “(untitled)” to gently shake their head, their long hair gently swaying from the top of their mask. Their eyes squint somewhat, and a slight laugh can be heard from underneath their covered mouth. “Forced removal. A coup d'état, perhaps?”, they say, hoping that gets through to Leo, but Leo just stares. After a few seconds pass, “(untitled)” lightly shrugs their shoulders and asks how Leo has liked the museum.
“It’s okay, I guess. Art’s a lot smaller than I expected”, Leo says with a sniff.
The piece nods their head. “Many say that, about many things.” Leo suppresses a giggle, and “(untitled)” ignores him. “Many assume that art is bigger than it is, but we all build an illusion in our mind that is hard for reality to meet up with. A method for setting up oneself for disappointment, n’cest pas?”
Unsure of what to make of the question, Leo whips the backpack around and opens it, fishing out a can. “Can you drink through that mask?” Leo asks. “I brought something we’ve been working on, and I want you to try it.”
Leo shows “(untitled)” the can - a can of Radbod beer - with a hopeful gleam in his eye. As “(untitled)” looks at it, head tilted in a quizzical manner, Leo reaches up to pop the top. “It’s something we’ve been working on for a few weeks, I think it’s pretty good.”
Before he can pop the top though, one of the security guards has walked over, club withdrawn from the belt loop, and points it at the can. “Aucun récipient ouvert dans le musée, monsieur,” the guard says. “(untitled)” reaches their hand up to their chest in feigned surprise. “How terrible. You must not open that, darling,” they say to Leo. “It is not allowed. But leave one, and I shall try it after the tour concludes.”
“Oh,” Leo says, deflated. He puts the can away, and continues to fish around in the backpack as the two start to walk again. “So tell me, why should I pick you for the Wit Trials, anyway? You said yourself that everyone’s got a lot of accomplishments, more than you. My team’s the best one to be on, so someone like you… that’s a tough ask, don’t you think?”
The piece nods their head as they walk, although their gait is a bit faster than Leo now as Leo continues to root through the backpack. “Are you familiar with screen printing, darling?”
“Nega…tory…” Leo’s voice mimics his pace.
“Well, I shall answer your question in this regard. Mass production of artwork first became possible with the introduction of screen printing, to where people can make copies of a piece simply by layering color upon color through the use of a screen to handle each layer. The process is quick, efficient, and generates identical work, so long as each step is followed exactly.”
“(untitled)”, as they walk, points to the pieces on the walls, painted by Impressionist-era masters.
“Yet, as you walk through this gallery with me, you shall not find screen printings on these walls. Though screen printings can produce great work, it is the pieces that are individually crafted, one by one, that truly stand the test of time. Passed down from generation to generation, revered as works of brilliance. Protected and preserved, because you cannot simply create another through a basic process.”
“(untitled)” stops, almost basking in their own glow.
“That is the difference between myself and those others who are eligible for the Wit Trials, Monsieur Leo. They are products of screen printing. I am a hand-crafted masterpi-”
“MONSIEUR! NE TOUCHEZ PAS À L'OEUVRE D'ART!”
The piece turns around to find Leo wearing VR goggles, stumbling blindly, almost into a van Gogh, only to be restrained by another security guard. The guard forcibly removes the goggles and thrusts them into Leo’s hands, as “(untitled)” watches from several steps away, hands on hips, eyes fixed to the team captain.
“Sorry”, Leo says with a sheepish grin. “I heard this part of the tour was great in VR, and boy, they weren’t kidding.” Leo’s eyes are fixated on a painting across the room of a woman. He takes two fingers, points at his eyes and then flips his hand around pointing at the woman mouthing ‘I’ll see you in my dreams.’
“(untitled)” merely nods. “That is okay. Many come to the gallery with those devices.” They stretch their arms out towards the ceiling, eyes closing, and underneath the mask it appears as though they are yawning, but whether they are feigning it or not is uncertain. “Alas, I am afraid this is where our tour ends.”
“Aw, really? I paid for two hours.”
“Indeed. But time lapses quickly when we are enjoying ourselves, oui?”
“We… yes.”
“Oui. I am afraid I must return to my quarters now, but I am sure we will be in touch.”
“Return to your quarters…?” Leo quickly digs into his backpack, taking out breath spray. He quickly squirts the spray into his mouth, but after the spray hits his mouth, he looks up to find that “(untitled)” is nowhere to be seen.
“Aw man.”
Leo looks over and sees the security guard glaring at him and pointing to a watch. Moments later, we see him running outside of Musée d'Orsay, panting heavily as he clutches onto his backpack, the security guard incomprehensibly yelling at him. He looks down the street, spotting a vagrant leaning against a pillar.
“Hey! You! Wanna try a beer?”
Leo reaches into the backpack and thrusts a can of Radbod beer into the vagrant’s hand. Without a second thought, the vagrant opens the can and takes a sip, but immediately spits it out. Looking at the can in disgust, he shouts “c'est comme de l'eau sale mélangée à de la merde!” The vagrant pushes the can back into Leo’s hand and staggers off. Leo looks down the street towards the vagrant…
“IT’S BEING WORKSHOPPED!”
A sigh. “Weirdo.” Leo takes a sip from the open can, his face recoils. People are watching, he immediately plays it off and smiles, giving several thumbs up to whoever is nearby as he walks into the Parisian night, onto the next potential member to visit.