These dysfunctional siege engines creak and stumble over a blasted, whitewashed landscape. As they lurch aimlessly along, they enact desperate little dramas of anger, pain, sorrow, and shame; often their very action is the cause of their destruction. Their meticulously clad surfaces lend them a false sense of security; their wheels and shoes speak to a nomad architecture; their Thom Browne pants reveal inchoate aspiration and anxious vanity.
© 2010 Matt Ferranto