I tried to stay home last night, because it was twelve degrees out and I'm not at my best when cold. Confronted by reruns of Dancing With the Stars, though, I decided to hit the road. I'd barely walked ten feet before I encountered a giant naked man laying motionless by the side of the road. I figured it was some kind of art piece or I'd have administered mouth-to-mouth.
Obviously what I'd run across was a giant foam copy of Michelangelo's David. That's a statue I've never understood: the man is totally, stark naked, but from the stupid look on his face you'd think he was a security guard at the mall. I circled it a few times, trying to figure out the story behind this version. Honestly, how many visitors to Rome have looked the original and thought, this would really be cool if it was twice the size and spray-painted gold? Not everybody's from New Jersey. Still, this roadside attraction drew scads of camera-wielding females who focused on the more interesting bits.
Now, here's where the sculptor completely lost me. I don't care if your statue is five hundred feet tall: if the dick looks like a hot dog, maybe you should go for quality instead.
Just out of curiosity, I hit up Google when I got home. The artist is Serkan Ozkaya, and after pausing for a day in New York the statue is headed to a museum in Louisville. As I perused the photos, I started to understand it. It actually started to look . . . good. Maybe we aren't so different, I thought. Maybe we're two of a kind.
We're both oversized. We're often found by the side of the road. And nobody should judge us when we're freezing cold, because when it's sunny out we're a work of art.
