The question has been walking me through the synapses and the scarce moments of doing nothing. What is a museum with walls full of works of art and immersed in the most absolute emptiness? There are no leisurely steps, whispers about the impression caused by that image, desires to have that work at home or to be the last one to be chosen in the world, the rush of children. What are the works installed in the most perfect exhibition, millimetrically placed to satisfy the desire that our brain feels for symmetry?

One day, another question intertwines that instigated me as a child: if a tree falls and there is no one around, will there be noise?

In Google times, it is impossible not to find the hiding places of impossible questions from other times. The answer is no! Sound does not exist because it is just a sensation, a perception of sound vibrations. Thus, 'when a tree falls, it does not produce noise, but sound vibrations in the atmospheric air' that become sound upon reaching our ears. Smells, too, 'are only odorant molecules in the air capable of activating the decoded olfactory receptors in the cortex'.

And art is emotion. Without her contemplator, emotion is lost, art does not exist.

The air is impregnated by everything that art can produce, such as joy, indignation, anger, strength, in short, it is a transcendental energy that travels with skill to our deepest unconscious. Without her contemplator, however, all this is lost, art does not exist.

And art involves a process that has wasted energy from the creator and that establishes an exchange between him and those who contemplate it. Art is a relief in this world of atrocities and exacerbated consumption, it transforms and expands consciousness. Without her contemplator, however, all this is lost, art does not exist.

And the contemplated art is a form of prayer, a high pleasure, a connection with the universe. If people - more and more distant and more involved with themselves - start to contemplate art, a kind of link is formed between them, bringing them closer with a kind of easier communication. Without her contemplator, however, all this is lost, art does not exist.

Ernest Fischer said that the function of art is not to pass through open doors, but to open closed doors. Without her contemplator, however, she opens the doors and finds the house empty.