Him invited

Were I to make his likeness, I would need to sculpt perfect busts of him, in fine stone - any color would be apt since his image receives the light of the world, which is never the same - perfect likenesses, ones which are different from one another in the way his face is different from itself from morning to evening, from year to year, from wake to sleep, from dream to dream - Skin pores, face lines, facial eruptions, the mood of the sitting - perfectly replicated, re-presented, in stone.
These busts on pedestals, in no geometric pattern, standing in a room of wood.
Fragrances follow the air patterns created by false windows hiding fans.
His recorded voice, from a multitude of speakers (greater than the number of busts, much greater), fill the wooden room, syncopating in a realtime cut-up of his speech, recreating, re-presenting, the dialogue inside him.
Prior to the public reception of these portraits, each bust would be drenched in acid, so that they are disfigured by corrosion, and not by a hammer or fall - disfigured by the action of eating, of devouring, of an elemental hunger. Representing, recreating the action of vision itself.
And in the fragrances would be mixed decay, rot, putrefaction.
And the voices too would have sections of decay, distortion, stuttering repetition, non-human barks and insect volkslieds.
And the floor boards are not nailed down.
Were I to make his likeness.