The Met Percent
Q: If I move to NYC, which I did, could I walk to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, view the collection, gallery by gallery, in ascending order, and how long would it take? The galleries begin at room 100 and end at room 999.
A: I propose to walk to the Met 100 times, viewing 8-10 rooms per visit, during the next 2 years. Each visit will be at least 1 hour, but not more than 4, depending on subject, condition, and the intensity of my response. The method will be “of Montaigne” via Gide. Documentation follows.
Alec Bernstein, April 2019-2021
0% (En Route)
Day 1, I walk through Central Park. My pre-viewing begins with all these curves, en route at 0%.
On Montaigne’s Essays: “Written without preconceived plan, without method, as events or his reading chanced to suggest, he claims to give us his whole self.” - André Gide, whose edition of Montaigne is in my left pocket. Sketchbook in my right.
On Frederick Law Olmsted’s Central Park: Pedestrians are led without realizing they’re being led. The sensation of feeling lost yet completely confident lets you easily return to your starting point. See his 4th Design Principal: Aim for the unconscious.
Weapons First
I am standing in the Met, in a gallery of glass, light, and quiet. The indoor weather is perfect for looking.
“When I express my opinions it is so as to reveal the measure of my sight not the measure of the thing.” - Montaigne
Yes, somehow it is always weapons first.
Kid Egypt
“Egyptologist” was my answer to “when you grow up. . .”. Why, I don't know, but I remember a friend and I built a cardboard plane in kindergarten. We set the course for Cairo Egypt, a difficult flight. I was the pilot in charge of the weather conditions and worried about the storms in March and April.
But the sands and winds, once we blanketed the windshield, didn't matter, and in the cockpit, totally dark, sleep was easy. Through play and rest. And when I woke, my co-pilot had parachuted. I was alone. But in my smallest pocket was the emergency payphone dime: call home: “Come pick me up, I’m stuck at the Cairo Airport.”
I was not alone in the swirl of “ancient Egypt” in the century of media. Was it National Geographic that sharpened the Egyptologist in me? Lon Chaney’s “The Mummy’s Tomb”? Or the rescue of a genuine Egyptian temple to 5th Avenue?
I collected Sir E.A. Wallis Budge volumes (the once-eminent British Egyptologist). My treasure, his very rare Dictionary of Hieroglyphics, was stolen from the parking lot of the Brooklyn Museum. Of course I searched for what any modern tomb robber would surely abandon, but it was lost in Brooklyn.
Regulatory Art
As it turns out, you can only get to the afterlife if you have a legitimate function there. Pharaohs are needed for “leadership” . If they’ve added your image into their burial art, you might have a shot. Otherwise, forget it. No reward for the unconnected pious.
Gold toe thimble polisher could be your ticket.
