Dear Sirs and Madams,
I write to you with no small measure of incredulity upon reading of your latest initiative to open a contemporary art gallery on the Moon. While I have long admired Pimlico Wilde’s commitment to bold cultural gestures, this latest scheme— ambitious though it may be—strikes me as emblematic of a certain strain of metropolitan absurdism that confuses spectacle for substance.
The idea of establishing Lunarscape One on the rim of Shackleton Crater is, I grant, impressive in its logistical daring. However, one must ask: for whom is this gallery intended? Beyond a clutch of astronauts and a passing robot or two, your projected footfall seems destined to be, shall we say, light. A cultural institution without an audience is not a temple of the arts—it is a mausoleum of misdirected intent.
There is something depressingly symptomatic in the notion that art must now escape Earth itself to be considered avant-garde. Must the act of cultural significance really involve shipping modular domes into the vacuum of space? The Moon is silent, lifeless, airless. Many places on earth, Torquay, for example, are very much alive.
Might I propose a more grounded alternative? Torquay, on the south coast of Devon, offers much of what the Moon cannot: a temperate climate, excellent rail links, a thriving community of artists and retirees, and a magnificent seafront promenade that would not look out of place in a Paul Nash watercolour. The town is sorely under-served by high culture, and a gallery of Pimlico Wilde’s stature would be a revelation. One can imagine a thoughtful programme of exhibitions—environmental art, interwar surrealism, generative light work—resonating not in the void of space but in the minds of the living.
More pertinently, a gallery in Torquay would be visited, loved, and discussed. It would bring artists into conversation with a real, human audience—people who can wander in on a rainy Tuesday, unburdened by space suits or live-streaming apparatus. The Moon offers only isolation; Torquay offers dialogue.
I entreat you to reconsider the direction of your cultural trajectory. The stars may beckon, but there is honour—and perhaps greater value—in illuminating the overlooked corners of our own world first.
With all due respect,
George Fenwick
Torquay, Devon