A Conversation Between Two Works of Art

“What do you see?” said the old man’s cloth.

Hesitating, the man in the chair replied, “I see dirt. I see a tower. You may see a sky. I see a ceiling.”

The old man’s cloth sighs. The air is made of spices and lint. The old man’s cloth coughs, resembling a volcano that may erupt. A volcano’s grandeur is indescribable, but its dangers dismays travelers.

The old man’s cloth hints to the man in the chair that he wants an explanation to the man in the chair’s answer. The man in the chair remains oblivious to the cloth’s consternation. Out of anxiousness, the old man’s cloth breaks the silence, “Do you know what I am?” Confused, the man in the chair replies, “Yes. Of course, you are but an old man’s cloth. Why do you seem vehement all of a sudden?”

Of course, the old man’s cloth starts to ponder why he himself is discerned. It’s the answer, the cloth thinks. How can the man in the chair be so limited? He sees a ceiling. “I am made of riches. I am made of valuables. Therefore, am I valuable?” says the cloth. The man in the chair stands up, examines the cloth and says, “Why yes! You must have been made from only the finest of sands and stones in the world! You must be worth…I don’t know, at least enough to pay my struggles!” The old man’s cloth scoffs at the man’s response, as if the man in the chair had just ridiculed him. “No. Look closer. What am I? What do I do?” The man in the chair looks closer. Out of shock, the man in the chair screams, “You are made of liquor bottle caps! You are worthless now!”

The cloth and the man look away from each other. The man in the chair looks toward what he himself calls the ceiling. He sees immense factories; the factories are miles high. Water vapor escapes from the vents of the nuclear power plants that the man sees. He switches his vision from the ceiling to the dirt in front of him. The dirt is coarse and dry. There can be no foundation here. The old man’s cloth breaks the silence again, “I am made from human hands. I provide warmth. I provide protection. I provide aesthetic. Am I still not valuable?” The man looks at the cloth, “Is the chair I am sitting in valuable? Is the power plant ahead not valuable? Is the dirt valuable? I see a ceiling, and I also see my hopes confined to a mile high tower. Why is there dirt in front of us when there is a concrete structure in front of us? I did not ever imagine me sitting in a chair staring at a tower, I imagined myself staring at my garden, or a forest, or even a home or two. I see a ceiling because the power plants apex is the ceiling. You see cloth, for me, the dirt is the floor, and the tower is the zenith. There will be more construction, but I never awaited this. This is not the world I envisioned. Limited.”

The cloth smiles. “So you are to tell me, that I am not valuable. Yes I am made of recyclables. But why are you anxious? Why are you disheartened? Why are you sitting in a chair? You say that the top of the power plant is the ceiling, but as far as I know, the monetary value in working for a power plant is high! This dirt in front of us will eventually turn in to a structure!”

The man in the chair sighs. The air is all of a sudden made of brick, where breathing is illegal. When a volcano erupts, its ashes cover the terra’s surface. The man in the chair asks the question that the two have been wondering all along, “Are you happy cloth?”

The cloth smiles again. “I may be made of recyclables, but my usage and aesthetic is incomparable. I am made from history. I am made from hands. My external valuable is among none other. My internal value is that among the clouds. You may see caps, but most others see warmth. The more important question my friend is, 'what is valuable?' Find out the answer to the question and you and I may live the good life.”