In the past few days, a sculpture has appeared on my running route around Lake of the Isles (Minneapolis, MN). It’s a defiant sculpture, but it’s not the creation of an artist.
The remains of the tree wait to be felled and chipped: it was diseased, it has to go. New trees will be planted for the next generation.
But this week it makes a statement. An old, gnarled hand is giving the finger to xenophobia. Those who have squandered yet another opportunity to call on our better selves are beneath its contempt.
Note: “The Remains of the Day” by British novelist Kazuo Ishiguro is a good read.