But Is It Art?
I’m the sort of fellow who doesn’t necessarily trust you. Despite your strict adherence to current religious practice, which requires skyward acknowledgment of God whenever you clear the bases or sell a used car, I still suspect you to have moral failings. Is that you eyeing my bike with lust in your heart?
If I trusted you, I wouldn’t lock up my two-wheeler before popping into the CVS to grab a fresh styptic pencil. I’d just let it sit unfettered, as I’m told they do with their bikes in Japan.
You counter that you’re really not stealing my bike. You just want to steal parts of my bike. And what is left for me to take home, as I sniff back tears, is not just the remains of my trusty cycle, which has ferried me to and fro Harvard Square since circa 2008, but “art.” Art that needs to be explained, sure, but art nevertheless.
Like any piece of art worth the price of a headset, handlebars, front fork, and integrated shifter and brake levers, the remnant you’ve left locked to an iron rail outside the French Cultural Center forces me to think: have I been taking this machine for granted all these years?; have I ever really considered the beauty of my bicycle sans its front end parts?; while I was busy making sure the wheels wouldn’t disappear, did I not consider that those were easily replaceable and probably on their last legs anyway, while a replacement front fork will be not only difficult to find, but will just make this bike look silly?
No I haven’t and no I didn’t.
One question: If you’re looking to sell the bike parts formerly known as mine, would you mind terribly giving me a small discount?