Infinite Self
Experiencing Yayoi Kusama's INFINITY MIRRORED ROOM - LET'S SURVIVE FOREVER for the first time
I understood the “Infinity Mirrored Room” to be an optical illusion, where the observer would step into a new world expanding far beyond the physical walls of the art itself. But I didn’t know there would be another element to this installation, and that was the time limit. Each visitor would have only one minute in the room.
It was an illusion of both space and time. It was a manufactured experience of “living in the moment.” Assigning an exact time limit to a “moment” puts a lot of pressure on the visitor to make the most of it. The time is yours to spend as you’d like. Take photos, admire the art, analyze the space, get lost in thought, stare into the mirrored orbs, walk the circular path around the room. It’s all a metaphor for life, isn’t it? Life happens in moments at a time, and it is in our best interest to live those moments with intention.
“I’ll knock on the door to let you know when you have 10 seconds left”
I entered the room and the door disappeared behind me. It closed flush with the mirrored walls, leaving me to face my infinite selves.
I didn’t go into the room to see myself, necessarily, but as I looked around I saw I was the only thing in there that was different. Movement and breath while the rest of its contents were frozen. A still life disturbed by aliveness.
Seconds passed, and I felt like I was only observing myself, but observing myself was also observing the art. All four walls were mirrored, and so was the square column in the middle of the box that almost made me jump when I turned around and saw my reflection meeting me at eye-level. Maybe that’s why the experience only lasts a minute; you’re not meant to stay in it for a second longer because that would be too vain.
I saw myself on every surface, from every angle. Smaller, convex images of me reflected on the mirrored spheres hanging from the ceiling, and again in the ones clustered by my feet like chrome bubbles floating and falling to the floor.
“Please be careful not to knock the spheres hanging from the ceiling”
An angelic vocal soundtrack sang to me from above, coming from somewhere beyond the illuminated ceiling panel. Was that meant to be clouds? Was the room a representation of heaven?
The weight of time felt heavier and the urge to make it count was stressful. I recorded a short video and snapped a few photos on my phone in an attempt to make the moment last longer. I felt instant regret, wishing I’d looked around rather than through my phone screen. It felt meaningful to capture pure, unfiltered, organic memories with my “raw eyes,” but my fear of forgetting got in the way.
Let’s Survive Forever - what could that mean? I looked out into the illusion of distance and saw my existence continuing for…forever. I was watching myself and I never seemed to die. But if one of me disappeared, we would all disappear together in an instant. Because I existed in that moment, I allowed myself the opportunity to become in infinite ways. There were, and are, so many versions of myself I’d yet to become. Even though each self in the room looked like me, they could have been extremely different people, people I’d never met. They were born from decisions I’d yet to make, places I’d not yet been, people I’d soon meet, things I’d gained and others I’d lost. The circular path did not change, the props in the box stayed put, but the person inside was not and would never be a static image. It was a point-in-time observation, and a reminder that I’d never get that moment back. There was pressure to make some sort of meaning out of those 60 seconds, but I would not find that meaning until years later. In the moment, my thoughts couldn’t break the surface and travel deeper into what might exist beyond the reflections. In the moment, my selves were just me.
“Forever” happens quickly.
The gallery attendant knocked.
I clasped my hands behind my back and completed my final stroll around the room, walking along the path among the spheres, being careful not to knock the hanging ones. The door reappeared from the wall and I crossed the threshold back to the real world.
The gallery attendant invited the next visitor into the room, sealed the door, and allowed the next minute to begin. All day, she would continue collecting 60 seconds from each gallery visitor. Perhaps without even considering it, she was the keeper of time and the warden of memories.
September 2022
