Work, a brazen giant is a hollow symbolic thing, a society, a chimera of Others, and a delusion by point of view. One moves and the illusion of camaraderie disappears.

Another chimera, this of Self, another symbolic thing, that exists from but one point of view. A point of view that claims to exist, but what reason is there to believe it anything but an image created by yet another, different point of view?  Cogito ad absurdum, I’m afraid.

Then art, seen in the observation deck, is an image of a topless beauty. The intellectual painting and the also topless, beastly tail conjoin and become a second chimera penetrating the first. Are they a petit objet a, that ever-missing puzzle piece, the piece that can be imagined, but never placed or held?