Pentagon Museum of Art - Essay Example

Place and time are both texts. So my personal Pentagon Museum of Art is both a place and a long sequence in time. My hiding place is located on the roof of a Midtown Manhattan building. It is a light blue pentagon-shaped construction with a yellow little door as its only entrance. I retreat in that small space of paradise during my off hours. After work in an ad agency as a copywriter, I come over here to relax, to take a nap, to resume writing my first novel, or to take a look at its surrounding white-painted walls each one holding in its surface a masterpiece work of art by Salvador Dal and Pablo Picasso.

They are my favorite painters so I placed 5 of their paintings on the five walls of my private Pentagon Museum of Art right on top of a metropolitan apartment building in New York. My Pentagon is an arts Pentagon, not a military one. I find myself at peace with my own self here. It's a metalinguistic feeling that I enjoy to the max. I can lye on the bed. I can write my novel. I can watch closely at the paintings. I can read a book. I can listen to music. My favorite music. My favorite books.

Intertextuality. Intratextuality. Extratextuality. All of them merge within my own self. Intertextuality among the paintings. Intratextuality inside my novel. Extratextuality with the surrounding environment that feeds my urgings for creating a different and distinct world of my own. The text becomes a sign, and according to C. S. Peirce the sign can be an icon, a symbol, or an index. Intertextuality can be an icon, intratextuality an index, and extratextuality a symbol. I have decided to make everything in all out of my hiding place.

My Pentagon Museum of Art. My little piece of paradise on Earth. Here there is no place for luxury. Everything is common and simple. There is a fridge by the door. Five windows on each side of the pentagon. There is a computer table in the middle of the room with its corresponding PC on top. Five paintings of two master artists of all time: Salvador Dal and Pablo Picasso. There is a small bed by the top vortex, between the two top sides of the pentagon. A nice sound equipment with the Sony trademark right by the side of the computer table.

There is an executive rotating chair in front of the computer table. Here everything is interconnected. That's part of the hyperlinking of the objects. One leads to the other. I can go in a matter of seconds from the radio to the computer, from the chair right onto the bed. And I can jump from my bed in order to take a fresh look at one of the Dal's Christs. Texts are interwoven in my mind as well as in this little retreat of comfort and peace. Every text has its rhythm, and I find meaning in the rhythm of this small building with five walls and a quiet sound of the music in my ears.

That is Bob Dylan playing with The Traveling Wilburys. At the End of the Line. Yes. At the very end of the line I find a melody filled with harmony in the creativeness of my life. I find meaning in each and every white wall with the paintings hanging like sovereign pieces of wonderful signs. Picasso and Dal share with me their meaningful creatures of their minds. Dylan does his part beautifully singing "Blowing in the Wind". "Like a Rolling Stone" is coming up after that tune. I keep writing on my clone PC.

My first novel is taking