This oak stood on L St not far from my apartment. It was not particularly old or impressive, but it was a nice tree. The canopy was full and cast an afternoon shade on the building it stood next too — a shade that the residents must miss.
The storms of 2023 snapped it in half, and the city sheared what was left down to this stump. Shortly afterwards, a local artist left their mark on it, deploying this vivid red background and a hastily spray painted word: “Art” in that classic yet safe Americana tattoo font. They could have chosen “Mom” or “Sailor” or something along those lines, but they chose Art.
Disposable art is a subject I have long been fascinated with. Sometimes it is intentional, like a simple statement on a tree stump that will soon be removed. Other times it is unintentional, as I will explore in future entries. The right materials in the wrong place catch my eye as a form of disposable art. A statement is made, whether or not the artist knew they were making it.
The aim to leave a fleeting mark on this world is a subjective pursuit. A canvas skillfully coated in layers of oil and pigment may last for centuries and inspire countless reactions. A cheeky act of defiance, or a willful act of outright public nuisance, may be seen by only a few.
What are these worth? Both artists live only one short life.
This stump is now gone.
Many lumps of incense on the same altar. One crumbles now, one later, but it makes no difference.
— Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 4.15