Anyway, elsewhere in the museum we saw a closed door and a sign: THIS IS NOT AN OPEN EXHIBIT. I asked the security guard about it.
"Well, you know the Magritte piece, The Treachery of Images?" she said, "The one with a picture of a pipe and the text that says 'This is not a pipe' in French? Well, a new up-and-coming artist made an enlarged exact reproduction of it. She used a thin nontoxic fiber coating for the pipe, and a tobacco-laced paint for the bowl. One person uses one of those disposable plastic mouthpieces in that basket over there, and another one uses one of the lighters in that other basket, and so the whole painting is a beautiful, flat, fully-functional pipe."
"So," my friend guessed, "Some kids got in and smoked it, and concerned parents insisted that the exhibit be closed?"
"Oh no, we expected that and posted plenty of guards. Actually, what happened is that René Magritte got so upset about people mucking with his semiotics that he rose from the grave as a zombie and attacked everyone in the room."
I never imagined that I'd approve of censoring art until now.