Like

You might not like this but but you can always love it.

She liked it. He liked it. I didn't like it. I'll say it again more forcefully. I really didn't like it. I hated it. But she liked it and he liked it, so what was wrong with me? I mean I could have liked it, but not because she liked it and certainly not because he liked it. But maybe if enough people liked it, I could like it.

I turn around. It looks like most of the crowd behind me likes it. I get swept up in the moment and turn to face the sculpture again. I squint my eyes. Yes, I'm starting to like it, wait, I am liking it. I am definitely liking it ... it is stupendous. Heartened, I head out of the gallery and walk home.

I liked living in the city. I liked it because there were so many cultural happenings and I happened to live a couple of blocks away from the happeningest place of all, the Museum of Modern Art. I spent Friday evening at the world premiere of Germany's most prolific abstract artist, Eric Schlump. I had been looking forward to seeing his work for months so I got to the museum on the first day of the exhibit. As a result I was one of the lucky people to view his masterpiece early, a sculpture entitled “Cigarette Butts and Corn Husks, Redacted".

Abstract art is a funny thing and like I said, I didn't like the piece at first. But being with the crowd for a while, I became encouraged to like it, and I found the bravery to like it. Satisfied with my feeling, I walked home and went to bed, eagerly anticipating the Sunday review in The New York Times.

Saturday came and went without much fanfare, only whetting my eagerness to see the review and find out what a real critic thought.

I woke up early Sunday, performed my morning ablutions, made some coffee, then walked to the front door and opened it. The opening racket echoed down the hard walls of the hallway in the old building that housed my apartment. Looking at the tile floor, I saw a fat edition of Sunday’s The New York Times lying on my doormat. I bent over and picked it up, my back protesting, tired as it was from standing so long in the gallery on Friday. I brought the Times back to my coffee, sat down and unwrapped it to the Arts and Leisure section. I thought that I would have to hunt for the article but the bold headlines blurted out, Eric Schlump Sculpture Accidentally Thrown Away by Janitor at MoMA.

Horrified, I scanned the article. It turns out that the janitor had mistaken the sculpture for a heap of trash and unceremoniously thrown it into the dumpster. He said he thought the pile of rubbish had been gathered by his co-worker and left there for him to dispose of. He added that it looked disgusting and he was doing the museum a favor.

Rattled, I sat back in my chair and looked at my coffee. With my emotions in turmoil, I raised my cup and took a long sip. I held the comforting coffee in my mouth, then swallowed it as I thought about the situation. I concluded that what defines us as humans is our unique ability to make something be what it is not.

I put my coffee cup down and turned the page. That sculpture sucked.