I will never forget my trip to the Guggenheim. Ashley, Chris, Christina and I took public transportation, and so became subject to preaching in the subway car. We were pressured into donating change into the preacher’s empty coffee can… I doubt this man was credible and don’t believe the money will actually reach the “struggling children of New York,” but it’s the thought that counts. We exited the subway, emerging onto the bustling city streets and found our way to the Guggenheim. I was impressed by its circular white structure and could not wait to see the interior. However, upon entering the museum, we found that most of the exhibits were closed due to remodeling. We inquired about the gallery in Mapplethorpe’s name, and were informed that no such exhibit currently exists at the Guggenheim. Instead, we were directed to the Lasting Images exhibit. We were greeted by a large man in a suit telling us to, please, keep our distance from a brown blanket that sat on the floor. I stepped back, but was told to move away at least another two feet. I now stood five or six feet from the brown blanket, which I soon realized was guarded by another large man on the other side. The blanket appeared to have leaves on it, but due to the distance, I could not see it well at all. There was no plaque with information accompanying the blanket, so I moved along. There were long sticks hanging from the ceiling, almost touching the floor, across the room from the blanket. There might have been a plaque with this piece, but a third large man stood in front of it so, again, I moved along. I then noticed a series of pages ripped out of books and pinned to the wall. On each page, a circular design was drawn in pen. At first they looked like mere doodles, but a closer look revealed a much more intricate design. After Ashley was warned not to take pictures by the first guard, we decided to leave this room. Christina and I ventured into another small gallery with less threatening guards. The paintings were pretty, utilizing pastel colored oil paints, but none specifically struck me as being a masterpiece. We decided to call it a day and head to Chipotle. Although I was not particularly fond of this museum, the question of “what is art?” rang through my head at the sight of that brown blanket. I certainly don’t see a purpose to many of the pieces I witnessed at the Guggenheim; however, there is no doubting that the pieces evoked a strong reaction in me. I was itching to learn more about it: Who made the blanket? What was it made of? Was there a reason and rhyme as to how it was placed on the floor? Or was it simply tossed? What is the symbolic meaning behind such a piece? What is its dollar value? I suppose I will never know the answers to these questions. The trip to the Guggenheim was a puzzling, and somewhat frustrating experience, but quite a memorable experience nonetheless.