*cover photo taken & shared by the wonderful Lida Pavlova (@lidapavlova_magic on Instagram)
after the Time Variance Authority
“In many cases [the items housed in a museum] are removed in time, place, and circumstance from their original context, and they communicate directly to the viewer in a way not possible through other media (Britannica).”
I didn’t expect it to be hung on a rope, like a rectangular noose, framed in blonde wood. It had the 12 x 12 foot white room to itself until our small party was led in. My eyes watered at the temperature change, trying to take in the roughly cut stained glass windows, a single shade of bright blue. A wave, presumably cold, crashed into rock over and over again through concealed surround-sound speakers.
“Welcome to the Icebox Room, part of our Egypt exhibit,” said our tall, grey-haired guide, “where we showcase paintings that feel frozen in time and place—that capture what there aren’t artifacts for.” Her voice seemed as dry, dead, and disinterested as the cold climate we were supposed to imagine—at odds with Egypt itself. Her dry brown fingers dug into a styrofoam tea cup with a decision, maybe, not yet made: would it be easier to just dissociate?
In my own fingertips, my pulse wished for a brush. Finally outside my brain, the painting still appeared peculiar. A dense city, both horizontally and vertically. The peaks of the buildings barely breached the bottom of the frame, but the airspace was saturated with floating buildings and bridges between them, all the colour of sand and terracotta. It was nighttime, and the city was aglow with warm lights. In the centre were three figures—like Star Trek? Marvel?—carved of the same materials as the architecture. Back to back to back, their arms held up several pyramids the scale of Giza’s. Two strings of thread were glued across the painting’s surface, in line with the base of the pyramids and the hands of the figures. There were two lineages here. And then there was the painting, and the fact of its being in this room.
“Wow. This is a fascinating interpretation. Ancient Egyptians couldn’t have built the pyramids, obviously. We don’t even have the tools to do that today!” A man in our group spoke up. Obviously, this was his lunch break between corporate calls.
“We. Interesting. Yes, that’s precisely the point, isn’t it? The tools to do it were eradicated.” Our guide replied coldly.
“So who has the alien’s tools, then?” The man’s face was nearly aglow with the harsh whiteness of the room.
“The tools don’t exist anymore. Or if they do, they’re rightfully protected by those aliens across that border, on Earth.”
“I know they’re hidden somewhere. Why not here? Unless they’re in the Vatican.” He laughed like this was an inside joke for everyone.
“It wouldn’t be us who has them. Or the Vatican.” Her voice was matter of fact. Her breathing even. Her eyes weren’t a predator’s, but certainly not a prey’s.
“See! You’re speaking in code! This is so cool.”
“Interesting, to come to that conclusion. Our standards of “tools” are Western. When we say we don’t have something, we mean the global North doesn’t or didn’t have it.
I glanced around the room again. Frozen in time, she’d said. My stomach sank, as if a bag filled with all the sand of Giza. I was commissioned to craft evidence of preservation and interpretation—to create an artifact of propaganda.
Her replies echoed off the white walls, crashing and colliding, as if voices I should’ve heard when I began this painting years ago. I swallowed hard, suddenly wishing the figures in the painting did know more than everyone: how to permanently lock the door to the Icebox Room from the outside, without leaving the frame.
I also write notes! ❤️🔥