Thought

A thought as such. A mysterious phenomenon... Its contact with a person? It does not go altogether smoothly... It comes from goodness knows where. If it comes at all — and if it is worth anything — it grabs you by the head... and pushes and squeezes and crushes. Perhaps it has to be that way, for otherwise it would probably not get through. In short, it would be gone, it would fly off and never become deed. Flesh... It is also a good habit to lie in wait for a thought. The gentle way — luring it out by every possible means. Or the hard way! So that it does not spring an unpleasant surprise, does not get in the way, does not make trouble, or would rather... not appear at all, or would at least send a nice little substitute sister in its place... In short, a thought is a burden. Because it hurts... And these days? Farewell to the stone girls, silent, sitting demurely in public places. Rubbing their foreheads. With fingers across their lips or at the bridge of the nose... “How can we help you?”

Our sculpture? Here and now?... A girl's figure. Feet to the sky. Plastic. Head in a vice. Standardised, prefabricated... Just like many of us.

What is left? To think the pain... Our sculpture is a metaphor. Do we mean it seriously? Are we being ironic? Both are true!

The realisation was supported by, and thanks are due to, Břetislav Bažant, David and Scoolpt.