A Space of Refuge

Growing up, I took my house, my home, for granted. It was a space to play, to eat, and to sleep, but I rarely thought about it as an object of significance. But after speaking with a Bhutanese refugee named Sed, I was reminded that much of the world was not so lucky to be born into my situation. For Sed, a house meant everything.

For the first seven years of his life, Sed lived in impoverished, oppressive conditions as his family tried to flee from Bhutan. He described this period of his life as “very sad”, but didn’t elaborate. Things changed when he and his family became refugees in Nepal. The Bhutanese refugee camps in Nepal meant at least temporary safety and some stability for Sed and his family. 

Sed told me that he does not remember much about his early childhood, but he does remember clearly when his family built their first house Nepal. Being a young child, Sed did not help much with the process of building the house, but helped to carry materials to and from the site. In 1993, the WFP (World Food Program) began to provide food and land to the refugees from Bhutan, causing more and more families to come to the camps, Sed’s among them.  Sed and his family built their house with their own hands, working day and night, often with little food, to finish construction. All this hands-on work and craftsmanship made the house all the more significant to Sed, and rendered a sense of pride and connection to the dwelling.

The sides were made of tall bamboo stalks placed vertically close together, held in place with string and a tacky mud and clay mixture. Bamboo and roofing material were provided to the refugees, and then assembled by the family. Heavy rain and wind slowed the building process, but once the house was finished, young Sed was relieved and overjoyed. Although simple, the house offered welcome shelter, accomplishment, and security. It had space for a small cooking device, five beds, and even a modest altar to show the family’s dedication to their Hindu religion. There were no decorations, but when the walls leaked they were patched with paper and plaster, and Sed often drew pictures with charcoal on the paper to serve as “something special to help us be happier”. 

A Bhutanese refugee camp

The shelter was the center of livelihood for Sed and his family. Small and cozy, Sed’s house was situated between two other almost identical ones, as part of a long row of refugee homes. Being in such close proximity meant that the house became a way to connect and help other people in the same situation. “Good luck to me for being a refugee”, were Sed’s words when I asked if he ever was unhappy with his house, his situation. He assured me that the ten years he spent in that house his family built were difficult at times, but “happy and whole”. Having a house was less about the actual building and space inside (Sed told me he actually spent very little time inside his home), but more about the community and friends he had because of it. Building and living in the house meant that you shared a community. If you were sick, you could go to your neighbor’s home and they would give you whatever they had to give, be it extra food, water, or just care. When they were unwell they trusted you to do the same. The small house gave him a bigger family.

Now Sed owns a different sort of house: an American apartment. He says the community cannot compare to the one back in Nepal. He misses washing his clothes in the river with his mother, misses sharing rice with his neighbors at their rice shed, and misses the simplicity of his life when his happiness was defined by safety and food in his stomach. Sed was the first of his family to leave the Nepalese refugee camp, and he is grateful for his modern, technically “better” life here, but still remembers his first house, and how it became an important home. His experiences and view about happiness and necessity are humbling, and I felt fortunate to hear his story. Sed’s incredible strength and positivity inspired me to look at my own home in a different way, and broadened my view of what happiness can be.

Death and Life

Visually, it’s easy to connect Gustav Klimt’s painting “Death and Life” to its title. Looking from left to right, the title of the piece delivers its promise: we first see a darkly robed skeletal figure, “death”, and our eyes then move to the right and come to rest upon the rosy-cheeked woman death has come to claim, as well as the billowing group of sleeping figures who envelope her, together representing “life”. As an artist of the Symbolist period, Klimt centered his painting around the grand and universally recognizable theme of mortality: the opposition of life and death. Many artists (and humans in general) have been fascinated with the portraying mortality. Gustave Klimt chose to depict the universally shared theme with his usual decorative and complex, yet balanced style. 

The solid green background of the painting recedes, and presents flat, undefined space, forcing us to focus on the shapes of life and death only. Death appears on the left as a vertical column robed in an eerie pattern of black crosses, and bears the hands and head of a skeleton. Clutching his scepter, death leers at “life”: the woman on the right. The woman’s face is placed on the center vertical axis of the painting (symbolically suggesting a border between death and life), and is part of a larger shape that extends behind her and almost fills the right half of the composition. Light-hued patterns hold the somewhat simplified, slumbering people behind the woman together, forming a distinct shape which balances death’s. 

In “Life and Death”, Klimt uses strong asymmetrical balance to dramatize the opposition between his two subjects. Although death occupies less physical space than life, their visual weight is equalized using two principles of balance. Life’s form is larger, but lighter in value, and death’s form is thinner, but rendered in much darker value, so our eye views them as balanced. Symbolism is the second key element which balances the two shapes. For the viewer, the idea of death (clearly displayed in the grave markers on the left-hand figure’s robe) carries more emotional weight, and contributes more subtly to the balance of the overall composition. 

Klimt also creates a striking stylistic balance in his use of abstract and representational forms. Although their nude bodies are simplified, the faces of the sleeping figures appear almost naturalistic in their accurate proportions and the careful shading of their features. The skull displays the same naturalistic quality because of its shading and detailed individual teeth. Klimt contrasts this quality with expressive abstraction throughout the rest of the painting in the form of detailed (and sometimes symbolic) pattern. These repetitive abstract patterns envelope and complement the detailed faces and lend a dreamlike quality to the piece, transforming the composition into two main forms of symbolic pattern against a simple backdrop. Klimt was careful to make the painting representational, but ensured that it could not be categorized as naturalistic because of the simplified bodies and obviously abstract patterns he utilized.

The gaze that passes between death and the woman whose life he has come to take links the two halves of the painting together. The implied line of sight between them pulls up toward the left corner of the composition, and Klimt balances this by bringing the shape on the right down and to the bottom right corner. This intense stare is also important symbolically. It represents the crossing of the often invisible line of mortality. The waking woman death has come for does not appear frightened, her open features display curiosity more than anything else. The men, women and child behind her (the “life” she is part of), all sleep soundly in their folds of bright, lively patterns, oblivious to the dark, cross-clad figure who has come for the woman who shares their world. The gesture of the woman’s hands imply an innocent inquiry, which death answers with his steady and morbid leer. 

In his interpretation of the interaction between the two sides of mortality, Klimt philosophizes on the delicacy of life itself, and how easily we can be swept away from it. He portrayed life and death equally, and showed the viewer how he imagined the decisive and macabre moment of their first meeting. Although precarious, there is a balance between the two concepts in Klimt’s composition, perhaps a subtle comment from the artist on the balance of life and death itself.

Final Hoorah

"So, was going to Globals worth it?", my mom asked. We were sitting on the plane headed back home from Tennessee. My sister and I are both on Destination Imagination teams and all three of us had been at the Global Finals competition at the University of Tennessee for the past five days. 

My initial instinct was to tell her that no, it hadn't been worth it. Missing almost a whole week of classes and the stress of fundraising the cost of the trip had taken a toll on my life in a very busy time of the year. With the SATs, a new job, and finals week right around the corner, I had questioned if the pros of the five day trip were worth the cons. But sitting on that plane, I couldn't tell my mom that I wished I hadn't gone. The time I spent and experiences I shared with my team, my friends -- those were worth a lot.

Our set at Global Finals 2012

Destination Imagination is essentially a creative problem solving competition. Each year there are six categories of challenges to choose from: scientific, technical, structural, fine arts, project outreach, and improv. As I've gotten older, DI has become less about the competition and more of a vehicle for creativity, and the four girls I compete with have become some of my closest friends. Over the years, my team has always picked the fine arts or structural challenges, something with a prepared solution -- props, a scripted skit, etc. For our last year of DI, however, we chose the improv challenge, something we had never even considered, thinking it to be too risky and, frankly, terrifying. 

The improv challenge (titled "Pandemonium" this year) proved to be entirely less terrifying than we had thought, but just as much work. With five minutes of planning time to incorporate unknown elements with the ones we could research in advance, and then five minutes to present an improvised skit, the challenge was completely different from our past experiences with DI, but not unmanageable. Over the span of seven months, we all fell smoothly into certain roles, and found our rhythm as a team. I would be lying if I said that meeting wasn't tedious at times, however. Since the only way to prepare for our challenge was to practice, practice we did. Even after a particularly bad run, everyone had to get back up and do it again. 

Our team made it through Regional and State competitions with first place trophies, and even managed to earn a DaVinci Award for outstanding creativity (which was a complete surprise given our rookie-status in the improv challenge). After State, everybody bought their plane tickets to Tennessee, and the frantic fundraising began.

The scale of Global Finals is difficult to explain. 15,000 people from all over the world fill the entire UT campus, and the competition runs for five days just so every team can participate. The scale is also what makes the experience so incredible. Globals gives you the opportunity to talk with kids from everywhere from China to Texas, people from all over who all share the same value of the creativity. There's always something to do, new people to meet. Even though the gathering is a competition, it feels more like a giant celebration of the creative spirit. 

We stayed in a dorm quad with two beds to a room, and I shared a room with Charlotte. The five of us were together most of the time -- we ate the terrible cafeteria food together, walked together, competed together, went to parties together. Since we're older, we had the freedom to explore the campus without needing a chaperone. One night after we had finished our main challenge and our instant challenge (another part of competition in DI), my team, my sister, and a couple of kids from her team spent hours just talking and stargazing outside. 

My sister's DI team

The jumbo-tron when 3rd place was announced

Closing Ceremony took place on the last night, in the huge basketball arena. We all put on our Oregon DI tee-shirts and walked along with the bustling crowd to get in. The excitement was almost palpable in the air. After a nostalgic montage/wrap-up video played from the jumbo-tron, some DI alumni began handing out trophies and medals. I squeezed Julia's hand as the winning improv teams were announced. Neither my sister's nor my team made it into the top ten in our age groups, but the Theories of DI-tivity (an elementary team with the siblings of my teammates and my sister's teammates) won 3rd place in the improv challenge. There were tears of joy amidst the cheering and screaming as the little team ran up to the podium to get their medals. Their victory and excitement was just as special to me as my own team's would have been.

The Theories on stage

After closing ceremonies were over, we grabbed some snacks and strawberry slushies at the teen party, took some photos, and headed back to the dorm. The final scores were posted, and my team took 18th place out of over 90 teams. After our challenge didn't go amazingly well, none of us expected to get top ten, and so even making it into the top twenty was a great accomplishment for us. We competed in a category with a lot of incredibly talented and experienced improvisers. Everybody was happy and exhausted.

I'm glad I decided to go. I think it's easy for people my age to get wrapped up in stressful routine. Going somewhere and accomplishing something, creating something with people you care about can remedy that in a way that is both comforting and empowering. Global Finals marked the end of my journey through DI, and served as a final hoorah for me and my team. That plane ride back home was bitter-sweet as I reflected on all the good memories I had shared with my friends over the years, and accepted that I was nearing the end of my time with them. Perhaps in the future I'll go back to Global Finals as a team manager or even as a parent. In the meantime, I will remember it as the punctuation at the end of my childhood, and a testament to the power of friendship and creativity.

My response to my mother's question? "It was worth it."

Revised: Illuminated Suffering: Picasso's Guernica

"How can I depict war with canvas and paint?" Artists across time have answered this question in different ways. Velazquez with paintings that gloried peaceful surrender, Goya with work that focused on the fear and injustice of unnecessary deaths that came from war. Then there is Picasso and Guernica. The circumstances surrounding the birth of this masterpiece were as chaotic and grotesque as the painting itself. In exploring the symbolism embedded in the painting, and the time it was created, its purpose becomes clear: a potent reminder of the madness and suffering of war.

Picasso painting Guernica, 1937

Regarded as one of the most influential artists of the 21st Century, the Spanish painter Pablo Picasso’s ability to illicit powerful reactions from viewers is especially prominent in Guernica. The massive painting is so intense that some viewers stand before it and burst into tears. Why does Guernica, composed of only canvas and paint, trigger such an emotional reaction, even seventy six years after it was created? For many people, the painting’s emotional impact lies in the subjects Picasso chose and the positions and expressions he gave them. Even without knowing the precise symbolism, viewers know that the space the painting portrays is one of darkness and suffering, seemingly illuminated by little else than a sliver of hope.

On Monday, April 27, 1937, mankind’s first aerial bombing of an undefended civilian population occurred in the small village of Guernica. In the throws of the Spanish Civil War, Guernica had become a center of resistance against the fascist leaders who had overthrown the democratic republic, making it a target for German military forces, who participated actively in the war. For more than two hours, bombs poured down mercilessly into the defenseless town like sea birds diving for their kill. Uncontrollable fires spread throughout the village, the air thick with smoke and pain. 

By the time the bombardment receded, one thousand people were dead, hundreds more left injured. Guernica was not a center of military power, not even a center of rebellion. The primary purpose of the attack was to intimidate the spanish population. On that day, peaceful civilians were slaughtered, a town destroyed -- there is no excuse that could validate that.

A street in Guernica after the bombardment

Picasso read many accounts of the tragic attack in newspapers (the French publication L’Humanité and others like it), by reporters like George Steer and Noel Monks, an Australian journalist whose coverage of the bombing appeared in the publication, Paris-Soir on April 28, 1937. Monks, who happened to be near Guernica at the time of the bombing, recalls the aftermath in his memoir:  “Some of the soldiers were sobbing like children. The flames and smoke and grit, and the smell of burning human flesh was nauseating. Houses were collapsing into the inferno. [The refugees] were wailing and weeping and rocking to and fro. They [all] had the same story to tell, airplanes, bullets, bombs, fire”.

Outraged and inspired, he developed initial sketches of Guernica, deciding how to portray the consequences of this tragic historical event, and how to transpose the turmoil his people experienced to a two dimensional canvas. Picasso felt an obligation to express the sadness of the catastrophic bombing, and to use his art as a tool of remembrance and warning for future generations. Guernica became just that: a powerful memorial, a cemented reminder of the travesty of destroyed life. Paul Preston, a British historian and Hispanist, asserts that “[with the] aid of Picasso's searing painting, it is Guernica that is now remembered as the place where the new and horrific modern warfare came of age...[without] Picasso, Guernica would have soon been forgotten as a regrettable but unavoidable act of war."

Guernica is composed almost entirely of black and white, set in a dark space crowded with people and animals, suggesting a basement, or an underground shelter. Picasso used blacks, whites, and greys to set a solemn mood, and express suffering. The dim space is lit up with starkly contrasting figures rendered in shades of white and grey, who fill the painting with their outstretched limbs. The shape and position of the figures indicates protest and pain. Picasso used pale, contorted figures throughout Guernica, their abstracted faces portrayed in open expressions of agony. These figures represent the suffering of hundreds after the bombing, expressing the pain of many through the depiction of only a few human forms. The horrors of the catastrophe that occurred at Guernica could not be fully expressed with realism, but demanded the rawness Picasso’s cubism offered.

Picasso's Guernica 

Miles away from the war raging in his homeland, Picasso relied on the photographs and articles dedicated to the bombing of Guernica to inspire his work. Combining the information he gathered from these reports, and important symbols of Spanish culture, such as the bull and the horse, Picasso was able to symbolically express not only his own sorrow, but also that of his people. Picasso once declared of his symbolism, “It isn’t up to the painter to define the symbols. Otherwise it would be better if he wrote them out in so many words." Although he wanted his viewers to find their own symbolism in his work, there are a few prominent examples of symbolism in Guernica that are accepted as defining characteristics of the piece.

The light-bearer in Guernica

Picasso's Minotauromachy with light-bearer (left)

The first of these symbols is the woman with her arm outstretched, bearing a torch of light in the dark space. This depiction of the young light-bearer can be linked to Picasso’s earlier work, particularly Minotauromachy, one of Guernica’s precursors. In it, a young girl holds out a lantern to give pause to a minotaur who has just killed a female matador. This theme is reflected in Guernica’s light-bearing young woman, holding out a lamp to reveal the horror of the bombing of Guernica to the world. Picasso may have brought back this imagery to illustrate how the honesty of youth can illuminate the darkest times of war.

Also illuminating the dark in Guernica is an image of a lightbulb hanging from the center of the painting, outlined in a spiky oval. This sun-like eye, with a lightbulb as a pupil, represents the Eye Of God, a symbol commonly seen in many Spanish churches. Overlooking the horrors beneath it, Picasso uses the light bulb to represent the presence of the people’s belief in god. More than that, it simultaneously represents the sun, an ever-present illuminator that will not stop, no matter what humanity does.

Picasso also weaves symbolism into the representational materials he utilizes in Guernica. His use of dashed black lines on white (representing newspaper) in the painting under the image of a horse (a symbol of the Spanish people), implies that the event of the bombing has drained the color out of the small town, leaving it as lifeless as black and white print. Although the painting depicts a morbid and despair-ridden scene, Picasso did not leave the canvas without a representation of hope. He painted a broken sword at the bottom of the painting, and growing from it a small flower, barely detectable unless you look for it. This tiny tulip represents the possibility of recovery from war and tragedy, and the idea that beauty and light are still exist somewhere in the midst of immense horror.

Picasso puts the viewer on the same level as the figures in Guernica, he depicts suffering in a close setting, paints the pain of war in faces and limbs, not in burning buildings seen from overhead. Guernica allows us experience the horrors of war firsthand, through only paint and canvas. Picasso’s only weapon was his painting. Even years after he created it, Guernica remains a weapon against violence. A visual reminder of what happens when people are destroyed carelessly. There is a resonance in Picasso’s greatest masterpiece, the light-bearer and symbolic sun illuminate his painting, while the painting illuminates the massacre that he refuses to forget. Guernica reminds us that the only things we have with which to confront terror are light and the naked truth. It comes as no surprise that unsuspecting visitors stand in front of it, understand, and burst into tears.

Hopeful Future: the Environment and Bruce Conkle

Earth Day has come and gone, but the message of environmental awareness still vibrates in the air.

If you are like me, you may have just experienced a small pang of discontent after reading the phrase "environmental awareness". I understand. The information that follows those words is typically unpleasant, unsettling, and frankly, about things that we would rather not be aware of. Who wants to see a picture of a dying polar bear captioned with the fact that they are inadvertently killing the innocent animal whenever they buy gas? Who wants to be reminded of the horrors of deforestation, only to be crushed by guilt when they buy paper towels at the store the next day? Often when we become armed with knowledge about our world, it quickly transforms into a burden that we would rather push to the back of our mind.

Making broad generalizations like this is certainly dangerous; of course, the things I'm writing may not be true about you. You may be incredibly passionate and involved in this increasingly pressing subject, and are perhaps more than willing to frequently face our species' slow destruction of our habitat. In that case, I applaud you.

It's not that I don't want to be aware of and help counteract climate change and deforestation, in fact, the opposite is true. The problem is that problems I become aware of seem too big - too unmanageable. When confronted with disturbing statistics, empty forests, and dying polar bear cubs, I become easily depressed. "Do something!", I tell myself, but what solution can one person implement that will really make a difference? For every small environmentally conscious act I complete, there is someone on the other side of the world doing the opposite, my environmental counterpart "undoing" my efforts. This kind of truth is frustrating to me and certainly produces no more optimism regarding the future of the world I live in.

Fortunately, an artist named Bruce Conkle addresses the contemporary attitudes towards the environment (and our place in it) with humor and authenticity, and in such a way that makes our environmental future seem not quite as bleak. By raising the large environmental issues with whimsy and wit, his work compels us to acknowledge and embrace the phrase "environmental awareness", instead of running from it.

Orange Manalishi
pencil on paper, 12 x 6"

I recently had the privilege of hearing Bruce Conkle thoughtfully explain his work in person. Listening to an artist speak about their work (especially work dealing with pressing issues) is always interesting, and Conkle did not break this trend when he made a guest appearance in my art history class.

"I discovered that the more you make fire move, the more it looks like trees", Conkle iterated when introducing his interest in the more magical aspects of nature. This kind of whimsical manipulation and transformation occurs commonly in his work, both in his sculptures and drawings. Although he is often recognized for his small, garishly saturated drawings, Conkle thinks of these pieces as primarily preparatory sketches for his sculptures. They appear in many of his exhibitions, but often to accompany his 3-dimensional work, not to stand alone.

His 2008 exhibition titled Friendlier Fire seems to introduce his style perfectly: fascination with the magic of nature combined with an interest in contemporary politics and technology, sprinkled with a touch of whimsical intelligence. Spinning the phrase "friendly fire" (weapon fire coming from one's own side, especially fire that causes accidental injury or death to one's own forces), Bruce Conkle played with irony when he found a way to make fire "friendlier" (see above).

T.G.I. Doomsday
installation view

T.G.I. Doomsday (right) is one of his more politically charged works in Friendlier Fire. The installation piece involves a complex rigging in which a real fire is maintained and suspended on a small rock in front of a projector, casting it's shadow onto Conkle's drawing of the fireplace in the Oval Office. It comes as no surprise that the piece's conception took place during the 2008 presidential election, a time when many felt politically unsure. Perhaps Bruce Conkle wanted to communicate the fear of empty campaign promises, or perhaps he wanted to make a statement about the events that took place in front of that fireplace prior to the election, the shadows that formed there. Intention and meaning aside, the piece is still technically beautiful and rather ingenious in its own right. 

Conkle's interest in fire is only one facet of his far-reaching interest in natural elements. Growing up in the pacific northwest, he developed a deep understanding and appreciation for trees, later incorporating them into his art in various ways. 

• Trees help to illustrate the relationship between nature and technology, and the dreamy possibility of growing things from unexpected places:

Truck Bonsai
Pencil on paper, 9 ½ x 8"

• Gilded tree burls rendered in the relatively new "Eco Baroque" style are "simultaneously grotesque and sexy, pantomiming the societal fetishism of art made by cutting growths off of trees." (Jeff Jahn, 2010)

Gilded Burls from Magic Chunks, 2010

• Conkle even imagines trees as haughty, snowman-like figures with his project Burls Will Be Burls, commissioned by Trimet, the environmentally-friendly public transportation system in Portland, Oregon.

One of three sculptures in Conkle's Burls Will Be Burls

A figure from Burls Will Be Burls appears to look into the distance as a light rail train approaches
 (photo by Anita Malhotra)

Finally, the most uplifting example of Bruce Conkle's work comes in the form of a sketch. This particular sketch represents an idea, a hope, and perhaps an artist's premonition about a future intersection of man-made technology and environmental needs. Floating Forest asks us to imagine a time when we can peacefully interact with nature, combining our modern world with the natural traditions of the elements that preceded us.

"Imagine you are in an old growth forest, the trees gently creaking in the breeze. As you walk through the tall trees you catch a view of the ocean, and you notice the horizon gently swaying up and down. The basic premise of the Floating Forest project is to take the world's largest ocean going vessels, oil supertankers, cover them with a few feet of top soil, and plant them with trees. For propulsion, several massive sails would be mounted on deck to create giant wind powered ships. Drinking water would be made by desalinizing sea water which is then stored in large quantities in the re-purposed tanks. This conversion into sustainable "eco-tankers" would enable these retrofitted ships to be used for carbon sequestration, food production, and water filtration and storage. Crops, orchards and forests could be grown on these hulking ships by resident arborists, horticulturists, beekeepers and others, then sailed near cities for harvesting and delivering produce and/or lumber.  I envision a future with armadas of these sailing agricultural behemoths. Highly adaptable to temperature fluctuations, rising sea levels and changing precipitation patterns, such a fleet would be versatile and have a wide variety applications. For example, some could be moored off the coast of Florida which could be used to grow citrus orchards. In this case, rising sea levels or salinity in the soil may soon render the low lying land unsuitable for fruit trees. With the eco-tankers, such adverse conditions would not necessitate all the knowledgeable farmers in the region to pack their bags and leave, or to not be able to use their vast stores of information, but they would be able to commute from home on land to the offshore groves to tend to the trees. Other tankers could be designed to offer relief to areas stricken by natural disasters around the globe. Medical crews could be stationed on board the tankers which would be delivering huge amounts of fresh water as well as fresh food, and the large size of the vessel could facilitate or aid with rebuilding materials and crews or evacuations if needed."  -Bruce Conkle

Conkle has given us a eccentric blueprint for a futuristic solution, yet it remains within the realm of possibility; and, more importantly, within the realm of our willing imagination. "Environmental awareness" does not always have to lead us to deforestation, sometimes it can lead us to floating forests. 

The Temporary Impact of Reverse Graffiti

A highway tunnel, years of soot buildup, and a damp cloth. For visual artist Alexandre Orion, those three things were enough to produce powerful artwork, and make a powerful statement. 

For over two weeks back in 2006, the reverse graffiti artist scrubbed selectively away at a São Paulo tunnel's walls to reveal his imagery of hundreds of skulls, diligently working despite the Brazilian police force's effort to stop him. Then again, the artist did have an advantage over other graffiti makers: he wasn't painting city property, he was cleaning it. 

Orion's encounters with local law enforcement were frequent and frightening, but never damning. Even after training guns on his face and shouting, the police could do nothing to stop the art from forming. After all, Orion's methods and media were both environmentally and legally sound. 

He continued the project, called Ossario (ossuary), every night, resisting the harsh interference of the police. But why spend hours and hours creating something that could (and later, would) be so easily washed away? What statement did the artist feel so strongly needed to be made? The artist's explanation is heavier than the soot he cleaned away:

"The skulls belong all to us. I wanted to bring a catacomb from the near future to the present, to show people that the tragedy of pollution is happening right now. I try to remind people of things they are trying to forget."

Unfortunately, Orion's haunting artwork didn't last long. On July 26, 2006, workers came early in the morning to clean the tunnel completely, leaving no trace of the skulls. However, the project gained the attention of the government and the people, even if for a short time, and brought light to an issue that was relevant eight years ago and is still relevant today.