Sandy Supposes....

Dust Bunny Tableaus

PROMPT November 2nd

You are curator of a museum. This museum has an area of interest to you. Take us on a guided tour of your latest exhibition.

         

         

         

         

         As I settle myself before the keyboard I notice the unmistakable dust motes swirling around me and waiting to settle upon the keys. They're not hovering because my rapid-fire key strokes are dissuading them, no, not at all. They are lurking in the certainty that I shall soon lose interest and focus upon my blog response. The dust has never feared my presence. It blankets everything in this apartment. It has created a community right under my nose and it breeds rather large dust bunnies.

         A bright dagger of sunlight has exposed a colony of these furry buggers under the very desk I sit at. As I marvel at their appearance I agree with that old adage that rabbits propagate quietly and quickly. I never heard so much as a snuffle and I do not recall seeing them before. Most of these creatures burrow under the love seat safe from discovery and the occasional reach of a hurried broom. If I could muster the wherewithal to lift a bureau, or shift a bed frame I don't doubt I'd reveal more of them.

         Of course they flourish because the live-in maid lolls about with a laissez-faire attitude. Despite the generous bribes, pay package with bonus incentives she ignores the teeming dust. Obviously the dust does not offend her and an allergy does not plague her. I, er, I mean she does not suffer from watery, itchy eyes, or bouts of uncontrollable sneezing. As far as I am aware she possesses the requisite strength to wield a rag and flourish a feather duster. She definitely turns a blind eye and I know for a fact that I she has 20/20 vision. Perhaps she lacks focus, commitment.

          Focus, yes, back to the topic du jour. So, what in the world would, or could I display in a museum? Paintings have been showcased. Dinosaurs have been resurrected. Clothing has been covered. I do house an extensive collection of knick knacks, or bric-a-brac, but in the haughtier establishments they are curated as objets d'art, statuary, historical artifacts. My books are worthy of admiration, but to be fully appreciated they must be browsed not just viewed as eye candy. Museums maintain strict no touch policies.

         What do all of these things have in common? They attract dust. It's inevitable. It's unavoidable. Dust never discriminates. It will smother anything and everything. It refuses to vacate any of the premises it haunts. Dust is impervious to temperature extremes. Mysteriously, it reproduces, regenerates, reincarnates, whatever. It respects no boundaries and flourishes worldwide.

         I envision a stunning display of dust bunnies in my vaulted museum. No two will look alike. Perhaps a few could be persuaded to recreate the iconic masterpieces of the great painters as a tableau. Imagine The Mona Lisa dust bunny smiling as if harbouring a savoury secret, or Whistler's Mother as a stern, no nonsense dust bunny. No doubt the Picasso dust bunnies will be a sight no one could forget.

         It goes without saying, but people being who they are and unable to control their impulse to touch, I shall impose a look with your eyes and not with your hands visitor policy. Dust bunnies are inherently delicate. Some might describe them as wispy, or ethereal.

         I also will promote a kinetic display of dust. Watching it drift, swirl, dance and cavort is akin to witnessing a snowfall.

         Dust purveyors / aficionados will be encouraged to restrain from entering the premises with cleaning supplies. Alteration of any kind to the exhibitions will not be tolerated.

         But of course I shall accept donations of dust from those who have displaced / evicted it from their domiciles. Dust is not for everyone.