I went to sleep one night and when I woke up my world had changed. Gone was Rip Van Winkle sleeping life away in quiet submission. Here was a world of man made cliffs towering over great bronze horses, blanketed, not by stars light years away, but by glimmering LED lights whose donors showered a museum with enough money to enlighten the minds of those who came after them.
Brightly lit galleries replaced dark caves, filled with the brilliant work of Renoir and Monet next to beautiful titians still reclining on lovely couches, flooding the eyes with an insight long outliving earthly bodies.
No peregrine falcons perching on these ledges. The eyes of people peer down on stairways and couches whose perspective plays games with the mind. And mixed in among the swoops and swipes of traditional hands are three foot cans of Campbell's soups for those hungry for the more familiar, or great moving definitions by Clyfford Still for those who aren't.
It is a world of imagination, a world of reality from the inside out, coming down through the ages in a man made mountain, meant, not for Rip Van Winkle, but for those whose spirits are alive and well, for those whose hearts want to feed on the present, which includes the past and the future of creativity in each and every moment.
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