# Tate Modern 2150

As Bea approached the Tate Modern on London-3, the first thing she noticed were the cooling CRACs and CDUs still freckling the grey cuboidal building. She supposed the datacenter aesthetic *was* appropriately grungy for a modern art building — it harkened back to a simpler time.

Jay — her date — had already indicated to her that he’d been here many times before. Sure, he was probably just signaling that he was *cultured*, and capable of abstract thought; but she figured she’d let him try to impress her. And it might be interesting to see what artists have been up to in the past 100 years. Frankly, she’d been too busy to keep up with the art world (it had been a hectic time!).

As they entered the dour-looking structure, Bea noticed a six-metre-long corridor in front of them. The ceiling, the floor, and both walls were covered with…

“Wait,” Bea said, “That doesn’t make any sense. Why are all these paintings of me, and my memories?”

“Oh,” said Jay, “So that’s what you see? Interesting. Maybe a little boring.” He raised an eyebrow.

Immediately correcting himself when he noticed Bea’s pout, “No! Don’t take it so personally,” he laughed, “I was just joking! That’s what most people see. I myself see the past more generally; the people that suffered so we could be so happy.”

Bea asked, “So how is it we see different things then?”

“It’s nano-telepathy. They use small robots to scan your brain when you enter, and feed your current neural patterns to an image model. You know, like how adverts work, except instead of trying to get you to buy something, it’s trying to get you to feel as deeply as possible. With a bias to the uplifting, moving, or sublime!”

At this, Bea turned to take in the artwork. She started to tear up. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Jay was as well. After staring at the corridors for 5 minutes — watching the images shift and render new and more moving images from her life (they seemed to be getting more moving over time… was it still reading her brain?) — they decided to move on, into the main lobby. Thankfully there was no artwork exhibited here, so she could collect herself after the corridor.

Bea noticed she was skeptical that Jay really saw ‘people who suffered for our happiness’, and wondered if it might have instead been something much more mundane.

“So, where should we go first?” Bea asked.

“Let’s see the well-known stuff, it’s your first time here! You have to see the greats!”

“It’ll all be new to me, just show me whatever you like the most”

“Well, the stuff I like’s a bit more niche… it’s maybe… Let’s just see the famous stuff! It’s famous for a reason: broad appeal, and all that!”

“Sure.” Bea said, noting the not-so-subtle neg.

**Room 1**
----------

The room they entered first was bright, well-lit. There was a box sitting on a plinth in the center. Next to the box was what looked like a hologram of an enormous structure — mountains were rendered next to it for scale. It was impressive, perhaps in the top 10% of structures you might find in any big city, in terms of craftsmanship. But bigger, much bigger than would be practical.

“What’s this?”

“Well,” said Jay, “They’re doing an exhibit at the moment. ‘Ways of Seeing.’ The point is basically that each room has a theme centered around different theories of artistic value.”

“Interesting,” said Bea. “So what’s this room supposed to represent, architectural value? Use value?”

“Nothing like that! This room’s theme is ‘Effort’. Basically, does art become more valuable because of the effort of the artist?”

Bea must’ve looked confused. “But this doesn’t take that much effort to build? I’ve seen structures much more impressive than this? Are the mountains much bigger than I’m thinking, or…?”

“No. The mountains are regular-mountain-sized,” Jay said. “You see that box, over there, next to the hologram?”

Bea glanced at the box again.

“Well, that box contained a civilisation about 20 years ago. That civilisation was simulated for 10 years, running at a speedup of 1000-times. The civilisation had a God, and that God was the artist of this piece… or, not artist… he called himself the ‘composer’” Jay gestured air quotes.

“The God answered prayers occasionally, made itself known in the world, moulded the civilisation. And released a Book. Now, that Book contained a bunch of random rules that people could argue and theologise about all day — to act as inspiration — but there were two core principles: Good Works please the God; and steam and coal are unholy.”

“Steam and coal are unholy…? I don’t see… Ahhh,” Bea said.

“Yes, exactly, no industry. And after 10,000 years, they managed to achieve this. Now it might not look like much to you, but this final structure took them 1500 years to build. Another 3000 for the decorations and facades. Whole kingdoms rose and fell deciding whether the columns should be [Doric, Ionic, or Corinthian](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Classical_order#Greek_orders). At one point the Artist — sorry, the Composer — had to intervene because the theological disputes around minimalism and maximalism were getting out of hand.”

“I see,” said Bea. “Now that I know that… Nope, it still just looks like an extremely nice, big building. Just like most buildings, but bigger. I guess I just have the wrong baseline. It definitely adds *something*. But I don’t know if that makes it a much better-*looking* building. What other rooms are there?”

**Room 2**
----------

The next room had a big window on one side, and the walls were white. All the lighting came from the window, making the corners of the room slightly dim. In front of the window there were 10 marble stands. On each stand was etched what looked like some sort of chemical formula and a structure next to it, made up of Benzene rings. The one furthest to the left read:

> (6a*R*,9*R*)-*N*,*N*-diethyl-7-methyl-4,6,6a,7,8,9-hexahydroindolo\[4,3-*fg*\]quinoline-9-carboxamide
> 
> [Albert Hofmann](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albert_Hofmann), 1938

The rest had names that were far longer, and structures that seemed to be much harder to decipher. Most of them looked like honeycombs made by drunk bees — they were so filled with benzene rings and their respective offshoots.

“What is this?” Asked Bea, “Science as art perhaps…?”

“Nothing like that,” replied Jay, “This is the room focused on the viewer’s *experience* when perceiving the artwork. That plinth on the left, think of that as an homage to the original artists. Like Picasso paying homage to [Lascaux](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lascaux) — LSD is the Lascaux.”

“Huh?” said Bea, “They’re offering me LSD in order to… enhance the experience I have when I view other art in the museum? And a choice of other psychoactive drugs?”

“No,” said Jay, “The LSD isn’t really meant to be taken, it lasts for way too long, and you have no idea what you’ll even experience. I don’t even know if they *have* LSD here… No, the LSD serves as inspiration for the real artworks, those other drugs you see on the right, the ones labelled with different emotions.”

And sure enough, above the diagrams of molecular structure, Bea noticed that each plinth had a title. They were called things like: Monumental Achievement, Absolute Indifference, Why Alexander Wept, First Orgasm, Total Dissolution.

“What are they?” asked Bea

“They’re designer drugs, in a way. Not what used to be called designer drugs. These are drugs that have been designed to perfectly evoke a specific feeling in the user, by attaching to precisely the right neurotransmitters in precisely the right orders. These are trying to answer the question, is the value of art in the experience it evokes in the viewer — or I suppose, consumer.”

“Cool,” said Bea, “So they’re like Einheit. That drug that all the clubbers and ravers take.”

“Yeah, kind of... These generally evoke much more specific feelings than Einheit, but it’s the same principle. So, do you want to try any of them?” Jay asked.

“Sure,” Bea said, “I’ll try ‘Monumental Achievement,’ how long does it last?”

“Oh yeah… that’s the great thing,” said Jay, looking somewhat disappointed she hadn’t chosen a racier option, “You can decide, the half-lives are quite short, but they all have enormous [LD50s](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Median_lethal_dose), and taking more has diminishing returns pretty quickly, so you just tell the plinth how long you want it for, and it’ll dispense the right amount out of the top. You’ll feel the effects immediately.”

Bea walked up to the plinth and said “5 minutes,” and the plinth offered up a capsule filled with an off-white powder. She braced herself, and gulped it down.

She was waiting, waiting…

Nothing.

She looked at Jay.

“What? You don’t feel anything?” He asked.

“Nothing” said Bea, “Should I?”

“Yeah, definitely… Oh wait, is your brain totally… You know?”

“Is my brain what…? Natural?” Asked Bea defiantly, “Why should that matter? The answer is ‘Not really.’ But isn’t that everyone’s answer these days?”

“Of course, but it’s a matter of degree. It works using *neurotransmitters, Bea!* If you don’t have enough neurotransmitters, or have replaced most of them, then you have to tell the plinth you need the digital version, or some combination.”

“Ah,” said Bea. “Well, the moment’s passed anyway.”

Jay started expectantly, “You’re sure you don’t want to try any of…”,

“No,” interrupted Bea. “Let’s see one of the other rooms.”

**Room 3**
----------

Room 3 was much smaller, about four metres by four metres. Along the furthest wall from the entrance were a series of machines that looked sort of like matte-white tanning beds, but without any UV lights on the ‘ceiling’ or ‘floor’ of the bed.

Bea instantly recognised the beds, they were simulation machines. You could step in one and live an entirely different life, with varying degrees of awareness of the outside world. However, there was something slightly different about these tanning beds.

On them was written ‘[Ceci n’est pas une vie](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Treachery_of_Images).’

“So… what’s this room meant to represent? Is it ‘art as homage’?” Bea asked.

“Well, I suppose that’s a part of it,” said Jay. “Really, this room is kind of a two-for-one — maybe a three-for-one, if you count the homage aspect. This is subversion of expectations. See, it says ‘Ceci n’est pas une vie,’ on the machine where you can live an entire life. It’s surreal, the art comes from the juxtaposition.”

“But it’s not exactly that… special, is it? I mean, everyone has a machine like this? You don’t even need machines like this to simulate other lives anymore, you can do it easily at home. Kids can make them. Is it really worth having a simulated life in a museum?”

“Ah, and that’s the other part of it!” said Jay, “Maybe the art is just that it’s here, in a gallery. Sort of going for a [Duchamp thing](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fountain_(Duchamp)).”

“Right. I get it, so an artist takes something that any kid could make, puts it in a museum, and calls it art. I get it… Not my style.” said Bea.

“Fair enough,” said Jay. “Maybe you’d get it if you went in the machine… You know it’s Magritte’s life that you live, right?” Jay replied.

“No, I lived enough lives last weekend, and I can do a Magrittescapade whenever I want. I think I’d rather just see another room.”

“Alright. Alright. Nothing feels different about it being here, in a gallery?”

“Not really.” said Bea, and walked out.

**Room 4**
----------

Room 4 had one of its wall consisting of one big screen, subdivided into about 100 metre-long subsections. Each displaying what looked like 1960s era control-rooms and government offices. On one of the screens was a map of what looked like Earth-1, filled with a series of red dots in seemingly random places on the land, and a few in the sea.

“Alright,” said Bea. “I’m really stumped on this one. I suppose… 1960s, and government offices. So, something to do with JFK? Some twist on pop art? I don’t know.”

“Not a bad guess,” said Jay. “Based on the evidence you had. But no, it’s pretty different from that. Maybe art is participatory? It’s about the audience’s relation to the art piece. Art is created in the dynamic between piece and audience. Maybe looking at the wall behind you might give you more of a hint. This one is called ‘[Cut Peace 1964](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cut_Piece_1964)’.”

Bea turned to look at the wall that was behind her as she walked in, and noticed a big red button, covered in an unlatched glass case, covered in another unlatched glass case, with the word “LAUNCH” written on it, in big black letters.

“Wait… the 60s, the Cold War, I get it…” said Bea slowly. “This isn’t a simulation of real people is it? It’s not an actual 1960s being run on repeat.”

“No…” said Jay sheepishly. “It’s not a simulation, but, well, the artist actually built a replica of the 1960s, and the people in it. It’s in orbit around [Gliese 411](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lalande_21185).”

“How can this be allowed? Think of the suffering that happened in the 1960s!” Bea protested. “Maybe I *should* hit launch!”

“This piece has been here for 10 months, Bea.” sighed Jay, “Don’t you think if it was an actual replica, people would’ve followed your same thought process. No, all of the non-human animals are p-zombies, and anyone who starts suffering too badly gets a healthy dose of opium activated from a chip in the space between their toes… With one exception.”

“If I hit the launch button, it also stops the opium chips from working.” Bea deduced.

“Bingo.” said Jay.

“So, what? I’m supposed to just stand here and not do the obviously terrible thing? Is that what this piece is about?” asked Bea.

“Yeah, pretty much. Or you could do it?” said Jay, “I mean, no-one else has, and someone eventually probably will. Why not you?”

“Because I don’t want to be the person-” Bea started, “*or be known as the person*” she whispered, “who would destroy a perfectly happy civilisation for no reason other than ‘Art’. It doesn’t feel much like Art, it feels like the artist put a sword of Damocles over these people's heads and is asking us to swing it.”

“Well, no one has yet,” said Jay, “And if it makes you feel any better, the artist ran the simulation from 1930 to begin with. They put the sword of Damocles over their own heads just as much as she did. She’s down there too you know, I think she’s a waitress.” He paused and looked at the screen. “Oh yeah, that’s her, right there,” he pointed.

“Hmph” said Bea. “You know, I still really don’t like it, but I guess that makes me respect the Artist a little more. I still don’t see the value in it.” She looked around, and threw her hands up, “I’m just supposed to stand here in this empty room, or watch the boring control-rooms of the sixties, and *not* press a button?” she asked.

“Well, when the piece — ahem— finishes, that’s probably when it’ll be a bit more interesting.” said Jay.

“But I don’t *WANT* the piece to finish!” yelled Bea, “In fact, I really want to forget I ever saw this room. It should be illegal!” Bea stormed out.

“Well, I guess it got a reaction… .” said Jay, and followed her out.

**Room 5 - The exit**
---------------------

As Bea was storming out of the room, and then leaving the gallery entirely, Jay managed to catch up to her.

“One last piece,” he said. “You probably won’t *like* it, but I promise, you won’t regret you saw it like that last one. In fact, I think you might find it funny.”

Jay took Bea over to a tiny room — actually more like a closet — just off the side of the main lobby. Bea opened the closet doors to see…

"*A* *certificate of Art*?” Bea asked incredulously, “*Given by the council of AI Art Connoisseurs*,” she read.

“Yes, see ‘*Connoisseurs’ ”* said Jay, chuckling. “You know, I probably agree with you on this one. Is art that which is recognised as art by an authority?”

Bea continued to read aloud: “*the AI Art Connoisseurs officially declare the empty space in this broom closet of the Tate Modern on London-3 to be **Art**.”*

“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard” she said.

“Yes, I quite agree, but perhaps for the opposite reason” said Jay. “I agree with the AIAC that the empty space in this Broom closet *can* be art. This certificate that says it *is, in fact,* *art* can also be part of the art. But no certificate *makes* it so.”

“You know,” said Bea, “That might be one thing you and I can agree on. This certificate certainly does *not* make this art!”

With that, Bea grabbed Jay’s hand, and strolled out of the building.