Continued from Part 2…

I tactfully waited until he exited the VR chamber.

“Excellent piece, isn’t it?” I asked coyly, as if he were a stranger to me.

“Better than reality,” he replied.

Maybe he is arrogant after all, I thought to myself.

“Do you really believe that?” I asked.

The artist’s eyes became fevered. “How could it not be? Everywhere you look people continue their empty lives, being false to one another and to themselves. That woman…,” he said, taking a deep breath and gesturing towards the VR chamber, “…that woman is the feminine spirit of the universe, the four quarters of the moon. She is truth. You, me, all of this…it’s nothing.”

“But I thought art imitates life?” I asked, playing along.

“Hardly. Life attempts to imitate art. And it never achieves it.”

“That is your subjective opinion, Mr. Spectra. Others would disagree with you, even other artists.”

“They are mistaken. I speak the truth. The truth is absolute, not one man’s reality.”

I changed my opinion once again. Not only was Spectra arrogant, he was a pompous ass.

“But, Mr. Spectra, if you could but prove it–“

He turned his shaggy black locks so that his emerald green eyes met my own firmly. His eyes were mysterious and bright, and I was strongly reminded of the woman’s eyes in “The Four Corners of the World.”

“Now that is an excellent idea! Brilliant!” he exclaimed, gripping my shoulders with glee. A moment later he was sprinting down the exhibit hall playfully running his hands through the floating holograms.

Then he was gone.

(break)

Over the following months I did not often think of Michael Spectra. The gallery was christening a new wing and I was occupied with preparing for a visit from the board of directors. The rumors were that Spectra was buried in a new project, and that was fine with me. The last thing I needed during this hectic period was another bizarre encounter with that odd man.

The new wing was to contain free-standing holomorphs. Unlike the VR exhibits, free-standing holomorphs could be enjoyed without a pair of VR goggles or a harness. Secretly, I was partial to the VR experience. There was something intensely intimate conveyed between the artist and the viewer as one hung suspended in a gyro harness in a darkened, solitary chamber (although unlike Spectra I would not describe the experience as better than reality, despite the fact that the timeless woman from his masterpiece haunts me nightly). In any case, it showed good political acumen to support the new wing and its creations.

To be continued…