A couple of weeks ago I wrote kind of a fun/silly piece for Chicago Art Magazine about the Snow Days Snow Sculpture competition in Grant Park. I did, however, make one somewhat serious point about the sculptures on display, being that well... they would melt. The cruel wonder of ephemeral art and all. Part of the plan was that I would go back with my camera and capture the resultant display, which I did, but actually forgot my camera so instead used my phone. The pics aren't great but they're better than I thought they'd be. Thanks new phone!
Anyhow, I could write some sort of labored purple ode to the dead sculptures, and in fact probably should, but I'm kind of tired and have to do money work for the next three days so I'll just say I was struck by how much more meaningful the sculptures seemed to be in their distressed state. How much more respect the viewers seemed to show the work (in comparison to the frantic carnival of the competition). The quiet. The lack of children. The cemetery-like aspect. As if they had been given a thousand years of gravity in a few short weeks. As they say, rather than a thousand more words, the pictures.
