I walked into a white room, it had four walls. One had the door that I had just emerged from, opposite me was another leading to the unknown. To my left was an artwork, To my right was an empty wall. The walls were white. The floor comprised of light brown wooden floorboards. The ceiling had simple bright down lights.
I walked to the painting. It was of a boat on a stormy sea. The boat was slightly off centre, dark, almost a silhouette. There was someone onboard, pointing off towards the distance.
The Captain of the boat.
I walked towards the exit and moved into the next room.
This room shared the same layout and design as the previous one, except it was huge. As I took my first steps I realised that the floorboards were hard and polished. The walls were not plaster like in the previous room, they were painted concrete, hard and cold. Each of my steps thundered through the space, echoing back to me. I instinctively walked slower, more cautiously, minimising the sounds that I made, careful not to disturb the room's fragile silence.
I walked to the painting. It was the same painting, however it appeared different to me. In the vastness of this room, the boat now appeared tiny. The poor Captain's journey was now an insignificant footnote in the expansiveness of the space, and yet, the smallest details now stood out to me. The textures of the work, the direction of the brushstrokes, the white foam dotting the waves, the shards of light piercing through the stormy clouds. In the emptiness of the room, the seemingly insignificant became my centre. I walked towards the exit and moved into the next room.
This room shared the same layout and design as the previous one, except it was blue. Blue walls, blue floors, blue lights. As I looked around the room, I lost sense of where the floors met the walls. As I looked at my hand, I saw that they were blue in the room's light. I began to get a sense that I was becoming a part of the room.
I walked to the painting. The violent dark sea and overcast grey sky of the image had become one. I could no longer distinguish where one met the other. The Captain on the boat seemed now to be pointing, without a sense of direction, as if desperately hoping his finger would reveal somewhere defined, somewhere to guide his boat towards. But the image was consumed in blue, and the sea was consumed by the sky I walked towards the exit and moved into the next room.
This room shared the same layout and design as the previous one. It was once again regularly sized, but the walls and ceiling were padded with black sound boards. The floor was covered in heavy black carpet. There was no sound in the room, except for those that I created There was no light in the room, except for a single spotlight illuminating the painting Each step I took was silent, only capable of triggering the physical sensation of touch. The sounds I could create existed without an echo but I could hear them clearly. The brushing of my pants as I walked, the stripping of my skin as I scratched, the exertion of my lungs as I breathed.
I walked to the painting. The only source of echo. The only source of light. The only external thing interacting with my existence. It shared the light and sounds, whilst the room around me absorbed them. The captain was now a friend, Who was sharing my journey in this room, Who shared his journey on the boat. I walked towards the exit and moved into the next room.
This room shared the same layout and design as the previous one. But as I opened the door, I was blinded by a white light, I was scorched by a searing heat, I was overwhelmed by a putrid smell. The walls here were reflective, and the intense light prevented me from fully opening my eyes. The heat was unbearable, and I was unable to touch the burning surfaces. The smell was inescapable, bouncing off the floor and sticking to me, becoming a part of me, cooking into me. The longer I stayed in the room, the more I would sweat. The sweat turned my shirt yellow, and its stench was added to the symphony of scents.
I walked to the painting I could not think, I could not see, I just wanted to get out. The painting became a blur. I could only see the stench of the deep sea, and the threatening aura of the dark clouds. There was no desire to find comfort in the painting, I could only see the worst, and I needed to get out. I lost the Captain. I walked towards the exit and moved into the next room.
A gust of wind hit my face, droplets of salty water cleansed me, waves swelled and crashed around me, and I stumbled on the ever moving floor of the boat. For just a moment, the sun's light touched my face, warming it and drying it, But it was soon again obscured by the ominous grey clouds. The sea around me seemed infinite, and yet as I approached the wheel of the boat, I was able to subject it to a single course. The waves and winds chaotically crashed up against the boat, but despite this great force, the boat remained in tact. Partial order, under my own command. Dancing with the waves. I steered the ship, only selectively experiencing the necessary senses. Consciously and unconsciously. When the winds would change, I would alter course. When the waves would grow, I would brace myself. Thoughts passed through my mind, of my journey, of my senses, of my destination. The latter of which I spent the most time trying to understand. Visualising it in my mind's eye. The destination was not present to the boat, but the destination shaped the boat's course, Just as much as the waves and the wind. And then I heard something.
I turned from the sea, I unfocused from my destination, I let go of the wheel, And turned to see the source of the sound, that was present with me on the boat.
ehhere 
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