Seventy-Eight

A heavy steel sledgehammer swings with full force, striking a piece of sculpture made of thick strands of gold and yellow and green glass. The glass, woven together in a rich tangle of color and form, is a work of art that took a year to plan and craft into a thing of beauty. Was. Was a work of art. Look at it now, sharp shards of time and silica and creativity and energy, all unbound and alive with loathing for steel and the people who make it.