Sometimes when I’m out and about in public places (like parks) I’ll see large, abstract, modern sculptures that seem ideal for people like me to climb on and take pictures by. Naturally, I do so every chance I get, laughing and giggling and having the time of my life while engaging in such tomfoolery.
That’s when I like to imagine the artist as a tortured soul who was desperately trying to represent the existential emptiness that is mankind’s existence, spiraling ever downward into an icy, unforgiving abyss. I also envision the artist visiting the park to show his peers the culmination of 8 years of sweat, toil, and careful aesthetic deliberation only to find an uncultured boob like me using “Pain: A Study in Marble” as my own personal jungle gym. He then chases me from the park as I shriek like a giddy schoolgirl the whole way home.
The last laugh’s probably on me though, because I think it’s more likely the artist was simply trying to create an abstract representation of coitus, and I’ve been unknowingly pressing my face against a large man’s marble ass cheek the whole time.
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