I can’t really remember what was going on here. In hindsight, it just seems a little…I don’t know, sad. Contemplative, bittersweet, possibly flavored with a vague hint of anise. A commentary on the fleeting nature of childhood, seasoned with mortality.
Why would the tree look so damned much like a hangman’s gallows, if there’s an angel swinging on it? I mean, it’s even nailed onto a slab of marble. That his slender little cord is about to snap, all the sadder. And then there’s the militantly-festive JOY looming behind, like an edict from a strange, but not entirely unkind, god.
Joy, the precarious state you get seconds before your rope snaps, and a moment or so before the rotten tree collapses after it.
Savers on North Loop and Burnet, Austin