"Temporary Wasteland"
By: Matthew G. Welter
A life long liberal and professional sculptor, I was 31 when I began to conceptualize a new theme piece. It was to be a testament to undisciplined abandon, a visual expose' of political deceit. I disdained television, and did not own a set. It was the government’s way of programming us all to one, controllable mind-set. Thus, I listened attentively to the radio as I contemplated the sculpture. The news was all about the republicans getting us into another war-- possibly even a world war. Obviously another deception. Before long, however, I would reassess the nature of deceit.
My method of sculpting clay is to let my hands work towards a loose theme without consciously dictating a particular direction. The new piece began with an eagles' profile, but this bird was far from undisciplined. No matter what I tried, it was consumed in a determined struggle just to free itself from the ground. Worse, it appeared helpless-- caught up in some sort of ooze! I labored into the night, frustrated, eventually retiring to bed indignant, wondering what was the matter with my sculptor's hands.
The next morning I found myself stumbling about, trying to shake an absurd, recurrent phrase that reverberated in my head. The words "temporary wasteland" echoed like a pesky jingle for some sort of junk cereal. It lingered like a bad dream.
The news on the radio was also discouraging, and the commentary was filled with pious opinions about the best way to go about killing each other for oil. The music was preempted frequently with reports of the impending blood bath. Thank God people were willing to object in peaceful protest.
My sculpture too was proceeding precariously. The eagle's exposed wing was reminiscent of a large human ear, while that lamentable phrase rang still in my own ears. Obnoxious.
Later in the day a human figure materialized just behind the eagle's wing. It was holding its stomach in sickley fashion. The other hand and arm were shielding it's head. Apparently caught up in frantic escape. An horrific blast arose from behind the figure, while an ominous disc hovered above. An interstellar invader? A projectile? This was forced discipline! I had to appreciate the composition none the less, and the balance was impressive enough that I decided not to destroy it -- at least for now.
The radio war was becoming more troublesome in potential consequence. Troops were in place and poised to do battle. I wondered how gasoline shortages would effect my little studio/gallery. I began to listen attentively. The AM ban was more interesting these days. Even radio talk show hosts were tolerable.
I decided to take a brief hiatus from the frustrating sculpture, which by now I loosely referred to as... "Temporary Wasteland". Regrettably, my time was preoccupied with financial challenges brought on by the war. I had to admit that I was beginning to like the president's style, republican or not. I wanted the insanity contained, so that I could work uninterrupted. Occasionally I was able to snatch a few hours of sculpting between the business problems. I began to work the other side of the eagles' profile, but was sorry to see the image turn to an abstraction, wicked in implication and wallowing in still more muck! While the imagery itself was an obvious disjuncture, I had to marvel the next morning at its' line and content -- the subtle variations of light and shadow. The proportions were bordering on extraordinary. "Did I do this?"
Next to the wreckage arose another human figure, elusive, like the reflection on a door knob, hopefully opening to more harmonious times. Farther on and down below, a woman sat shielded under a cloak, bowing protectively over something precious, yet undefined.
The radio war (which by now had my undivided attention) was coming to a close. A calm spot in the clay appeared victorious, high above the twisted, contorted scene.
The day I completed that dubious sculpture a new television arrived in my home. I had recently come to understand the importance of keeping up on politics. Besides, I wanted to study the deception in detail. I turned on the set and scrambled to a news broadcast. Here was an image I had seen before. A column of smoke leaned with the wind.
I walked around "Temporary Wasteland", which rested mockingly on a table. "Of course". The column was right there -- one of the burning oil wells I had been hearing about on the radio. Surrounding the man being poisoned by chemical weapons, and engulfing the mother nurturing her frightened infant was a torrential fury. Opposing this, a spirit escaped the chard remains of war. The American eagle, shielded by the mountain of turmoil struggled stubbornly on the other side, rising from a pool of crude oil, screaming defiantly as it did. The entire scene was under the watch of that mysterious, floating disc. I was then to realize something profound: I had been relieved that only the Persian Gulf, instead of the entire planet had become a temporary wasteland. The protesters were wrong. They were being deceived by their own leaders, who dominate the television. In a genuine epiphany, I glimpsed an expanded picture. I realized with awe that I was now a conservative and that my sculpture must be subtitled "Desert Storm".
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