Really large pencils. And a wall
Friday afternoons strain the limited resources of the imagination as far as inventive post titles go. So this one is stubbornly literal.
For all my wanderings round Fort Canning Hill, I'd missed this particular monument. Perhaps it is more accurately described as a non-monument. The plaque at the bottom of the picture reads:
I like the fact that the wall has been completely smothered by the plants - not just prosaically "grown over", but utterly obliterated by plant growth.
The other surprise on the Hill was new piece of installation art/sculpture (well, I'm guessing it's installation art ... either that or a really expensive piece of litter ... though I wonder if any odd thing left lying around in public tends to get assumed to be art ... "ooh look, a corpse! must be an art piece" etc). A really large pencil, and really large crayons. I'm not sure what statement this is making. Something profound about our lost childhoods? about the infantilization of contemporary culture? about how we really need a giant piece of paper to go along with that? And why are they all red? There must be a really, really giant teacher lurking round the corner, probably desperately marking scripts to meet a deadline.
For all my wanderings round Fort Canning Hill, I'd missed this particular monument. Perhaps it is more accurately described as a non-monument. The plaque at the bottom of the picture reads:
The Fort WallThis fragment is all that remains of the strong wall which once ran completely around the summit of the hill.
I like the fact that the wall has been completely smothered by the plants - not just prosaically "grown over", but utterly obliterated by plant growth.
The other surprise on the Hill was new piece of installation art/sculpture (well, I'm guessing it's installation art ... either that or a really expensive piece of litter ... though I wonder if any odd thing left lying around in public tends to get assumed to be art ... "ooh look, a corpse! must be an art piece" etc). A really large pencil, and really large crayons. I'm not sure what statement this is making. Something profound about our lost childhoods? about the infantilization of contemporary culture? about how we really need a giant piece of paper to go along with that? And why are they all red? There must be a really, really giant teacher lurking round the corner, probably desperately marking scripts to meet a deadline.
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