The Precipitator

‘Force-field?’ she scoffed slightly ‘Who do you think you are, William Shatner?’

It was raining indoors. It was impossible to comprehend how this was happening - but it was. He was in a large hall - dark - at one end a smaller lower room that was shining, reflective - he couldn’t tell whether this was due to the surfaces that the room was made of, or that these surfaces were wet. Somehow, around him, was some kind of shield - a force field is what you’d call it if such a thing were to exist - but it was the only way to describe it. It was as if you were in a fountain and all around you the water was splashing everything but you, as if you had an invisible umbrella.

The sound was intense, yet calming. And the smell. The smell of rain after months of dryness - that musk - that dusty tarmac smell. He wondered about putting his hand through the force field but was concerned. He wondered whether this was happening at all or some virtual reality technology. The darkness of the room made it impossible to make out much other than where the shining, lower room was and so he looked here for anything crossing this light, any shadows. He saw a few, mushroom-like shapes, they must have been people being protected, like him, from the rain. He walked towards the lighted room but it didn’t seem to get any closer. But it did seem to get higher - which he took to mean he was walking downhill, imperceptibly. 

‘Hey!’ someone shouted from behind him. A woman’s voice. He turned and right next to him - like a fluorescent jellyfish was a woman under her own protective veil. 

‘What’s going on?’ he asked her.

‘What do you mean?’ she replied.

He had assumed what he meant was fairly obvious - or was it - perhaps this is the kind of thing that happened here quite naturally.

‘The indoor rain thing’ he offered.

‘Oh, the precipitator you mean?’

‘I guess - the thing making it rain indoors’

‘It’s just an installation. Some artist who likes to play the weatherman’

‘Hmmm I thought they were only meant to predict the weather - not create it ‘

‘Ha, I guess so - but if you can create it, it means you have every forecast sewn up really, eh?’

‘I think what  I meant more was why I’m not getting wet - this force field think’

‘Force-field?’ she scoffed slightly ‘Who do you think you are, William Shatner?’

He wanted to sing ‘It doesn’t really matter ….’ but he guessed she probably wouldn’t have ever heard of the Wedding Present. He must have looked a little crestfallen clearly as she added:

‘Sorry - I didn’t mean to sound cruel. It’s all part of this installation - the rain is not rain but a huge number of controllable little robots that reflect light to make them look like raindrops. Because they have tiny heat sensors embedded in them and tiny magnets which they can switch the polarity and strength of, they can avoid anything warm - like us’

He was astounded. Really? And is this science or art?

‘I suppose both really.’

He was impressed. But secretly a little upset that such a beautiful thing was not magic but mere science.

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National Portrait Gallery, London, 2007. Nikon FM2

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