Of course the Saadiyat Cultural District was going to be a success. The sheer star power of its institutions and architects made success inevitable. But it was just how successful Saadiyat island became that took everyone by surprise. As soon as the Louvre and Guggenheim museums opened their doors, millions of tourists flocked to Abu Dhabi to experience these architectural wonders, and the artistic treasures they held. Spectacular images of Saadiyat were on the front page of every international newspaper and magazine. Celebrities made sure to be ‘spotted’ there. Art curators begged and bribed to have their names included in the upcoming exhibitions. Journalists flew to Abu Dhabi on their own expense for the opportunity to publish an article on this cultural phenomenon. The world could not get enough of Saadiyat, and Saadiyat always had more to offer.
The media craze was reignited with the opening of every new project, of which many were in the works. Announcements of newer, bigger, and better buildings were a monthly occurrence. The number of visitors grew exponentially, and ambitious infrastructural projects were quickly built to accommodate them: new roads, bridges, airports, hotels, tram lines, and subways. Starchitects raced to be included. It didn’t matter what they designed; they just wanted to have their names associated with Saadiyat. Koolhaas proposed new road signs. Gang designed bus stops. Calatrava designed streetlamps.
It didn’t take long before prestigious institutions—having naively dismissed Saadiyat as a temporary fad—felt the pressure to have a presence on the island. But by that time land was running low, so these institutions were forced to pay Saadiyat astronomical prices for even the smallest of plots. The British Museum was the first to be allowed in, followed by the Smithsonian, Hermitage, and Uffizi. Each was designed by a world-class architect, and each renewed international interest in the small island.
The competition between these institutions was fierce. To have the hottest exhibition in Saadiyat for even just a week was an impressive achievement, and museums were becoming increasingly desperate to make it happen. One notable example was when the Louvre calculated that more people would see the Mona Lisa if it was permanently moved to Abu Dhabi, and that’s exactly what they did—despite protests from French nationalists, and to the disbelief of Florentines. To match the Louvre, the Guggenheim joined forces with La Biennale di Venezia so that the Venice Art Biennale was held in the Abu Dhabi Guggenheim building for a summer. These types of publicity stunts accelerated in number, becoming more bizarre and ridiculous with every new announcement.
One day, Saadiyat’s board of directors was shocked to find out that the income the culture industry was generating had far exceeded Abu Dhabi’s oil revenues. Cultural tourism and art sales were more lucrative than anyone previously imagined. The city announced that it was going to shut down all its oil rigs. All of Abu Dhabi was to be reoriented to become an infrastructural appendage, allowing Saadiyat to operate as smoothly as possible. The city’s office towers were occupied by Saadiyat’s organizers, promoters, and curators. The Trade Exchange focused on artists, artworks, and auction houses (such as Christie’s and China Guardian). Warehouses were either converted into studios for aspiring artists, or became automated storage facilities for the world’s most expensive private collections. Local newspapers dedicated all their front pages to art. Local TV channels showed art news and documentaries almost exclusively: ‘Shark Week’ was the week they dedicated to Damien Hirst.
But this formula was destined to reach a point of diminishing returns. Eventually, growth slowed and tourist numbers stagnated. The world was becoming immune to new art and architecture. To correct this worrying trend, the board of directors decided to take immediate steps. They searched for the world’s most visited monuments and resolved to import them to Saadiyat at any cost. The surprise came after meeting several tourism and culture ministers from around the world. They realized that the name of Saadiyat had reached such high esteem that those ministers were only too eager to ‘donate’ their national monuments to be sited in Saadiyat. In fact, they considered it an honor that their monuments were deemed suitable for Saadiyat’s unparalleled standards.
Soon, the plan was put in action. Sections of the Great Wall of China were broken off and shipped to Saadiyat to be used as pedestrian bridges. The Sphinx of Giza was next: it was flown over to the island after some archaeo-plastic surgery was done to fix its nose. The Sphinx became the centerpiece of Saadiyat’s cultural water park, where gondolas filled with screaming members of the world’s elite would shoot out of its chest and land in a splash of water between its ancient paws. Then, the Stonehenge was sold to the National Museum (Brexit hit the British economy pretty hard), where it was hung above the main atrium with steel wires and called “the world’s first Neolithic chandelier.” Even one of the Ise Jingu Shrines, having been rebuilt in Japan every 20 years for more than a millennium, was scheduled to be torn down and rebuilt in Saadiyat in 2033. The crowds loved these new additions, a sentiment that was most importantly translated into increased visitor numbers and spending. Saadiyat solidified its position as the world’s cultural hotspot for at least the next few decades.
But this dramatic success of Saadiyat and the drastic overhaul of Abu Dhabi was bound to produce some social effects on the city’s permanent residents. Several years after becoming the undisputed mecca of art and culture, the residents stopped thinking of ‘art’ and ‘culture’ as special items and events enclosed in museums and theaters. For them, art and culture were part of their everyday life. It was all they saw, worked on, and spoke about. They began to see the world differently. Every visit to the grocery store was like going to an Andy Warhol exhibition. Every trip to the bathroom was haunted by the ghost of Duchamp. Every clock was a Dali. Every stain was a Pollock. Looking out a window was like starring in an Alfred Hitchcock movie. Smiling felt like impersonating the Mona Lisa. For them, life = art. The world became more beautiful and more terrifying. Throwing anything away was accompanied by tremendous guilt. Moving furniture was blasphemy. Hoarding became commonplace.
They learned to walk slowly, taking in their surroundings, and touching surfaces to appreciate their textures. They looked for explanatory plaques wherever they could find them. Their tastes became so elevated that the drudgery of an office job was unbearable. They were too cultured for the mundanity of life. Many thought earning money was socially demeaning. Others refused to eat unless the food was expertly prepared. Things were getting out of hand.
The city’s board of directors decided that this development was a threat to Saadiyat’s continued success, and even survival. They brought in the world’s top psychiatrists to study this phenomenon and reach a diagnosis. Surprisingly, the experts quickly came to a unanimous conclusion: Abu Dhabi’s population was suffering from a widespread case of Starving Artist Syndrome.
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