Statue of limitations

I receive compliments the way Amazon Prime obsessives receive packages - every day between sunrise and sunset. Lately, I’ve thumbed through my dog-eared trapper keeper cataloguing them, a notebook that dates back to the Ford administration. Most of them hold up as coniferous forms of praise, barely losing any luster in the years since. But not all. There’s one word which has seen the cruel marks of my red pen, circled and starred, unsure whether to abandon or support it. 

“Statuesque.” According to this wonderful archive, I was first referred to as such in the fall of 1987, mere moments before the market imploded. A hot dog vendor a few mustard packets from the Stock Exchange delivered the good news. So I know what I’m talking about during our current non-debate about statues - having gone through life thus far with plans on lining the entirety of the eastern seaboard with oversized versions of my likeness. Maybe it was premature of me. Maybe the country isn’t ready for such a display of sculptural might. Like a lucid dream, I have the means and wherewithal to change it. And this is something I’ve done before. For a six month stretch in the early days of our young century, I kept dreaming about ordering lunch at a deli, getting marinated artichoke hearts despite my waking life’s love of sun-dried tomatoes. Needless to say, I changed the order.

Like public parks and gas stations, we have far too many statues in this country. We could just take them all down and be done with it. But it’ll be more gratifying to take our time. Unfortunately, a truly statueless society isn’t going to happen anytime soon. What we need is a reasonable compromise. The whole “who deserves a statue” is not for me. That involves too much deliberation and conversation. Of this, there should be no debate. The Big Guy is one more close reading of the Old Testament from cancellation himself. We must act fast.

The real problem is that statues are extremely well-made and well-maintained. Before we can get started, seriously considering each side of the argument needs to stop. Look, the solution is simple. Statues ought to be constructed using only perishable, ideally edible materials. We enjoy them and then, by the time values and cultural mores shift, the thing is melting away. The only people complaining are those in search of seconds. Is bronze really that much better than a 10-foot brick of Jarlsberg, from which any C+ art student could chisel their way towards artistic and snacking bliss? Remake every controversial statue using cheese and even if someone doesn’t like the subject, with the right cracker, they’ll come around.

Excluding Ray Kurzweil and his cranium cadre of immortality-bound eggheads, none of us regular people will live forever. Why then should a statue? Naturally, this opens up larger questions surrounding how much time in the sun any work of art deserves. Take the blistering Egyptian sun, baking people and sand alike. Isn’t it time we thanked the Great Pyramids for their service and moved on? How about making room for a new shape? There’s a reason nobody builds pyramids anymore – have you seen the penthouse? It’s tiny and windowless – so much for getting what you pay for. Guys like Shakespeare and Homer? Give it a rest, will ya? How many times do we have to sit through Hamlet again? If Cats annoyed you, just imagine it running for hundreds or thousands of years. It's time to set term limits for art. 

We need to forget the past before we're too far in the future. Because nothing lasts forever. Not even good taste.