I know Amber Cortes recommended not taking selfies at this exhibit, but I recommend that you do. It's rather silly not to. Yayoi Kusama's art is not deep. Indeed, its key (or even only) insight is that the infinite is only present in the sheer surface of the present and nowhere else. And so you have the dynamic that makes many melancholy: the eternal present that keeps on slipping. Time exists so that everything does not happen at once. But everything is actually happening at once. This fact filled the life of 19th century German philosopher Hegel with a sense of horror. He wanted an infinity that could be counted. That was a good infinity. The bad (or spurious) infinite ("...the infinite as thus posited over against the finite, in a relation wherein they are as qualitatively distinct others, is to be called the spurious infinite") is that which cannot be counted. This bad infinity is great for a selfie: the shameless art of the me, myself, and I.
And then there is this other thing to think about: In a way, Infinity Mirrors reverses the collapse from all of the quantum spooks and ghosts into a regular Newtonian you. To be somewhere, you must also be everywhere else. But you collapse into you; and these mirrors re-ghost you, and give you a glimpse of the everywhere you always can be before being in one place in time. This is great stuff for a selfie. Take it and share it with your friends on Facebook and Instagram.
Infinity Mirrors is happening Seattle, but if you are in Manhattan, you can get a similar selfie-rich spectacle with some food at Milon Bangladesh Indian Restaurant in the East Village. Go there right before the sun sets, because there is bound to be a long line into this place. People from all over the US go there not for the food, which is average, but for the mini-infinity of mirrors, Halloween lanterns, red chili pepper lights, and Christmas lights. There is no other reason to visit Milon but to capture the kind of selfie that is sure to get lots of likes. The owners know this; the patrons know this.
