Jim walked down the old warehouse, arousing the thin layer of dust that coated the place. Jim’s love was art, and he was a curator at the National Gallery of Victoria (NGV). He also had an unusual obsession with art, always believing there was something magical to it, and within each piece lay a deep and meaningful message.
As Jim arrived at the room, he glanced behind him at his line of footprints, wondering how many layers of dust it would take to erase them. He turned his head back and started watched the fragments of light spill through the old plastic rooftop. It provided the room with a soft amber hue while his admiration resonated throughout the building.
After standing solitary for minutes on end, he approached a structure that caught his eyes. It was called ‘A Ship of Time’. He studied the skilful creases of the cylindrical object and the careful crafting of rice paper and bamboo. After a while, he walked around and ducked down into the structure’s opening and closed his eyes. After a few seconds in this state, he felt an unusual sensation. It was as if the world had fallen upside down, or something had shifted. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel quite right. He was immediately dragged into reality and walked out of the installation. After thinking about it, Jim was reasonably sure that everything was fine, and he may have just temporarily blacked out.
Beads of sweat ran down his forehead, and his heart rate was up still from the incident that had occurred mere minutes ago. He decided to close his eyes again and take a few deep breaths. After returning to normal, he decided to explore a few more artworks, but to his awe, he saw three paintings that he hadn’t noticed when he first entered this room and were certainly not supposed to be here.
Jim clamoured over to the first of the artworks and was struck by the expression of loneliness on the face of the old man in the painting. He was sitting on a chair and was sowing a broken umbrella, representing his need for protection and solace. The man seemed to be alone, with many of his possessions cluttered in a small space. Jim started to pity this man, whether he was real or fictional. Just by looking at this artwork, Jim felt a pang of loneliness.
His eyes were then attracted to a painting in the corner, the emotions from the first one still burning in his heart. This new artwork seemed happier and more upbeat. There were five people by a fountain with an assortment of differently decorated trees as the backdrop. However, as Jim looked closer, he saw that there was something odd and uncomforting about this. The faces were strange and seemed as if they were stitched on somehow and belonged to different bodies. The more he looked at it, the more confused and uneasy he felt. Perhaps this was an allegory of love and romance culminating with the phoenix rising during spring.
He then turned to the final artwork with an array of different emotions built up inside. It was Picasso’s ‘Weeping Woman’. “Why is this here?” Jim thought. It was the gallery’s most expensive and distinctive artwork. He had seen it hundreds of times before, but this time he saw it differently. “Who is this woman? Why is she crying?” were the first thoughts that popped into his mind. But afterwards, he saw her eyes and saw that she was somehow begging for help. Jim felt torn as he so desperately wanted to help her but felt ridiculous when he came to his senses. A strong feeling of sadness hit him anyway. His emotions were now tearing his insides like a pack of bloodthirsty wolves, and it was too much for him to bear. He decided to leave the warehouse.
Jim quickly did what he was meant to do, check the artworks, and after reporting the three paintings that were not meant to be there, he turned back to leave. But to his astonishment, his footprints were no longer there but instead an even thicker layer of dust.
Jim started to panic. He wondered if he was going insane. The events that had just passed were too much for him, and he had to get back to his apartment to get some rest. He tried to be optimistic by thinking that nothing could get worse from here. But he could not have been more wrong.
As he walked out of the warehouse, he noticed that the car park was empty. His car was nowhere to be seen. He immediately thought, “what death and destruction has happened here?” Melbourne had never looked so lifeless. Weeds were growing through the cracks of the road; shop windows were shattered. Everything was looted. Everything was astray. But from the corner of his eyes, he saw a sign. He turned to read it and collapsed. His chest felt tight, his skin felt pale and clammy as he realised, he was alone. A sadness came over him as he remembered the ‘Old Bachelor’ searching for the right thread of his identity. He rubbed his eyes again and looked at the sign in disbelief, but there it was. It was only hanging on to the wall on one side and was heavily vandalized, but it was unmistakable. He read it over and over again, but it stood there firmly and unmoving in bold letters:
