How did I transform Tel Aviv into a global destination and myself into an international urban icon? Like Nero's Rome, I ignited Tel Aviv with the flames of renown. In the world's elite art academies, Tel Aviv and I became a subject of fascination.
It was on a mundane day, as I sipped my routine instant coffee, that the sight of cranes and towers in a construction frenzy inspired a radical vision. The monotonous skyline of concrete and glass, a testament to our own arrogance, became unbearable. I yearned to shatter the window, to reshape the cityscape with my bare hands.
Yet, no cataclysm from Isis’s bankruptcy or Iran's repurposed reactors would come to dismantle this urban behemoth. Then, as I cast my bitter coffee against the window, a miracle unfolded. The splattered droplets painted the towers anew, casting an artistic, dreamlike veil over the city. Seized by the gravity of creation, I called my aide, convincing him to deploy flying scooters for the city's artists.
We decreed: every Tel Aviv building over six stories must become a canvas. Engineers protested, corporations balked, museum directors scoffed, but the plan prevailed. Artists took to the skies, turning the grey into a spectrum of imagination. Astronauts snapped selfies with our painted city, proposals were made against cliché hearts, and Madonna even celebrated her 90th amidst the artistic fervor.
Now, Art City Tel Aviv stands vibrant, with a waiting list stretching to 2078 and only a handful of permits left. Art has bound me, the city's curator, to its service. "Art or die," the motto of our transformation, echoes, a youthful spirit unaware of the humble past of little Tel Aviv.
Artist: David Polonsky
