I wandered to the Agora sculptures after a fairly unremarkable marathon dinner at Fred & Jack's, after announcing to my friends that I was leaving, them utterly ignoring me, continuing to argue about the mindset of Trump supporters, microaggressions, lead in the water, the new Marvel movie, how to host a Syrian refugee family in your home, kipping challenges, "Scandal," life on other planets, how we've all been pooping wrong this whole time, and I cannot seem to control myself, here in a room full of perspectives, lately I can't help noticing them everywhere--in restaurants, nightclubs, in passing Ubers and train platforms, on the radio and in the apartment above me, in videos of people fighting wild fires, everywhere, all of them having one thing in common: they are separate, uncontrollable, and during dinner I almost become unglued, plummeting into a state of near vertigo that forces me to toss money at the table as I stumble away, and then I'm outside, following 76th street into Grant Park.
It's misty out, sky on the verge of rain, the stores and restaurants out here empty, after midnight the streets are remote, unreal, and cutting into the engorged thunder clouds above are these crimson giants made of iron, headless and armless, crowded together but walking in different directions, aimless. They have to be at least ten feet tall. I walk under them, between their legs, weaving in and out of their maze. Their texture is jagged like a tree trunk. Some are gathered in a group, some face each other and others look away, brainless, unable to speak or think for themselves, and I'm horrified by the sentiment their ghost shells seem to echo. Still, I have to take a photo. I open my phone and close the article I was reading (Six Steps to Curb Materialism in Your Kids) and snap a photo. Only when the camera flashes do I see someone else slipping between the sculptures, who I immediately recognize as Marcus Halberstram, from his slicked back hair and chiseled jawline, his full length Armani Collezioni coat and burgundy leather gloves. He says in his opinion, if the sculptures had arms and hands (they don't), they would be clasped behind their backs as if in contemplation. They seem, to him, somehow, to be thinking, not as a group but as individuals. It's possible, and something metallic glints in the light as it's pulled from his coat, in fact, to interpret the piece as a representation of democracy. I suddenly remember I have to return some Redbox movies so I head back, except Marcus follows so I cut back across the dismembered bodies, heading further into the park... read more