A Day at the Museum

In 2052, you enjoy a day at the museum.

Your son tugs at your arm, losing patience before you've even scanned the admission tickets. Your pre-teen daughter stares into the crowd, absent-minded and wishing she found the right excuse to squirm away with her friends. Your wife just hopes you don't mope for weeks afterwards like you did last year.

Balancing trepidation, excitement, and anxiety, you walk through the security scanner into the museum lobby.

The canonical museum has, in many ways, not changed despite the torrent of technological changes readily apparent in other aspects of society. Perhaps it was not a surprise; were the exquisite renaissance portraits from the 16th century ever really in danger of removal?

Walk into any museum and one quickly realizes that museums curate for time periods and trends in the art world: ancient African sculpture here, Impressionist paintings there.

Climbing the stairs to the third floor and lifting out of the familiar hazy mid-day museum sedation, your eyes catch the sign pointing toward the modern section. Your heart starts to hammer in your chest and regret pools in your gut. What additions did they make this year that will keep you up tonight? Which new donated pieces will, even weeks later, haunt your memory?

You only give cursory glances at the Jackson Pollack and barely notice the Basquiat. The familiar glow of the screens lies just beyond.

With equal parts agony and excitement, you round the corner to see the newly expanded NFT gallery. Generative works hang wall to wall with sprinklings of photography and other assorted art; the familiar sadness begins to hit you. The earnest sympathy in your wife's eyes shows you more than you need to hear: "I know, honey. We all know. These could have been yours."

Returning home, you open your crypto wallet and gaze on your own graveyard of NFTs from the early 2020's.

You had the opportunity to gather undeniable cultural grails of history for fractions of their current worth, but you chose to chase the next pump.

You had the opportunity to participate in one of the greatest revolutions in art history, but you chose to chase the next airdrop.

You had the opportunity to steward the next generation of artists, but you chose to chase the next flip.

Your head tilts back, your eyes moisten. So close to greatness, yet so far.

You look, disappointed and downtrodden, on a wallet now filled with nothing but junk.