For Lost Objects

Does a statue ever cease to be? Could we make it cease its initial intention of authority? Not until all its symbolic representations fall away, similar to how the statue's artists chipped and carved and cut to make its form from clay, plaster, stone. What's really depressing is that the moment of its creation, singular experiences shared by one or more, becomes merely an appearance of grandness of supposed unification. Maybe the statues' literal falling may not matter as much as the fragments left behind, either the fragments and pieces that were thrown away from the final placement of it, those pieces broken and leftover, gathered up in scattered disregard. Or the pieces and fragments left from its wreckage by our angry hands and hearts toppling them. To turn our heads and hands in their direction, the direction of wreckage, might mean to make new forms from those forgotten materials, seemingly useless. To make something of them, to help them stand in relation to those outmoded chimeras of power... to shed a real shadow that casts a meaningful signification of perception, if only its spiritous shift, not in comparison, nor in solidarity with an enemy, but a drawing out of something more.