I could not comply. I worshipped that sculpture.
‘You’re banned,’ the curator said.
I employed a plastic surgeon. Unrecognizable, I returned to the museum.
Keeping my hands to myself, I knelt before the sculpture.
‘Yes, it is nice,’ a visitor commented.
‘“Nice”?’ I shrieked. ‘It’s sublime.’
The curator banned me again.
I contacted an artist. He transformed me into a conceptual artwork. Then he donated me to the museum on condition that I stand alongside the sculpture.
There was no room. The curator put me in the basement instead.