the fountain

Let's play sculptor. Let's imagine city planners in a spiritual utopia have asked us to design an installation for the center of town. The intended location for the piece is right in the middle of the main square, where citizens congregate for free social discourse. When we ask the city planners why they chose us, they say something artists will only hear in a true spiritual utopia and maybe nowhere else: "You have a history of being daring!"

After scouting the location several times and enjoying its energy, we decide on a piece and set to work right away. We are going to make a fountain. In the center of the fountain, we are going to put a single person, forged from bronze, surrounded by water, standing upright on a slight rise in the fountain's tile base. The rise is so slight that one of the person's feet is on the surface of the water, lapped by little waves, possibly afloat. The other foot extends forward onto the top of a large bronze hourglass with functioning chambers.

A small platform beneath the hourglass keeps its dry and also conceals the fountain's powerful pump, which periodically sends water into the topmost chamber. The water collects there in a swirling fashion and drains downward through a tiny opening in the iridescent glass. We have crafted the opening so that water going through it alternates from a thin steady stream to a trickle of individual droplets and back again unpredictably, a natural property of flowing liquids. Watching the water behave that way is pleasing and we smile as we proceed. The bottom chamber fills up, the water flushes into the base, and the pump recirculates the water.

The pump also sends water through the forward leg of the person in a secret pipe. The person stands with its hands extended forward, as if holding an invisible globe. The person's mouth is open. The person appears to be explaining something. The person is finishing a word or beginning a new one. It's hard to say which. The person's eyes are wide open and alive. An epiphany is occurring behind them and the person is trying to express it. The power and brilliance of it literally floods the person's head. We have taken special pains to assure that.

The water travels up the person's leg, through the person's chest cavity and neck, and into the person's skull. The skull is open on top like the petals of a flower. The rising water becomes visible there, emerging in thick vertical surges, ranging from two to six inches high. The lapping sound they emit is a substitute for the person's missing speech. The surges collect in a pool formed by the person's open skull and drain over the edge, running down the person's head on all sides, forming thin rivulets that intertwine on their way down the full length of the person's body before returning to the surrounding water below.

Now for the daring part: the person is us. We have molded the person in a perfect likeness of ourself, the sculptor. The dimensions are identical, as is the appearance. But owing to our enormous mastery at our trade, everyone who looks at the statue feels exactly as we do, that the person in question is none other than oneself. It doesn't matter if the onlooker is male, female, short, tall, young, old, heavy, thin. The effect is always the same. Whoever lays eyes on the statue sees oneself, and becomes momentarily mesmerized.

The unveiling of the statue is a great success, with plenty of surrounding fanfare. A large crowd gathers in the main square and watches the hydraulics commence. The hourglass loads its first chamber of liquid. The person begins bubbling over at the crown of the head. Everyone there beholds their own inspired likeness in the middle of expressing something magnificent, words forming on the lips, the fountain gurgling for the voice. In moments the shallow pool surrounding the person becomes choppy and stays that way forever. Little waves lap at the person's lower foot, possibly afloat. What exactly is the person saying? You do know. It's your epiphany too.