Isaac Julian laughed in the bottom level of his studio warehouse, staring at the upper torso of a thirty-four-year-old Arnold Schwarzenneger, in the prime of his Mr. Olympia run. It was a cast that was taken over forty years ago for a film role about a group of cyborgs disguised in human tissue tasked with terrorizing women and children... or something.
Julian couldn't be too sure.
He knew it was a massive hit but the purpose of acquiring the prop was not to fantasize on the blockbusters of a bygone era, he was using the physique to enhance the head of state.
Julien had a tailored suit jacket draped over the massive shoulders and took five steps back to get a sense of proportion. It was not a match and would need to be refitted. This would cost the Arts department more and he would be sure to share any excess billing with his final figures to be supplied upon completion. These added items would increase the cost of the cranes that would be needed to remove the massive structures - once finished - from his urban-city-based warehouse and transported by ship around the seaboard of the continent.
The final resting place of these mammoth statues would be along the capitol buildings that made up the Congress and the Senate.
He was laughing at his successful application to produce the tungsten statues of the leader of his adopted homeland and the immediate cabinet members that made up the current administration of the Federal Government. No other artist would accept the commission, not least of all because the remuneration was terrible. Isaac saw a different approach and it had to do with an experiment he had produced several years earlier.
He was primarily a filmmaking artist who specialized in video. He had worked on a piece that spoke of the theft of African art and the bastardization of its meaning in a Western context. Torn down in condescension and a bias that labeled it primitive and savage. He compared these forgotten works of artists unknown to those of Western artists who continued to be held on a pedestal above all others, even at the expense of the emerging names that attempted their hand at the craft in a modern context.
He called the piece 'Statues never die'.
He held a desire to create an exaggerated bust of the current head of state that would allow him an unbreakable statement on the nature of glory and the ridiculousness of a bust of a man that would outlive all associated with this time. He wondered how this would look to those who inherit these lands in the centuries to come.
On this day a spokesperson from the Office of Arts and Humanities, a largely forgotten wing of the government that had been revitalized thanks in large part to this particular project, was to visit the studio for an update. Julian wasn't afraid to accentuate the physique of Mr. Olympia to be placed under a two-piece suit with a flag lapel. It broadened the shoulders in a manner the current commander-in-chief could not accomplish of his own accord. Julien suspected that this would not be a detriment to the project, despite its obvious fallacy.
It would be ridiculed in the present, that was for certain.
At noon, the gentleman was escorted in by Julien's personal assistant and began taking images on his smartphone.
"I love the use of the physique. It's almost ancient Greek," he praised.
Julien said nothing but gave an obnoxious bow.
When the snaps were completed to be transported back to the boss for the final approval, his P.A approached for comment.
"You're laughing, aren't you?" he accused.
"Aren't we all?" Julien replied.
"You're not worried about your legacy?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, your reputation... It could be tainted forever."
Julian sat at his workstation and removed his glasses. He rubbed his forehead and anticipated answering this question internally. This would allow him to express himself externally, a worthy tool for reflection.
"Derrik... What is forever?"
Derrik stood frozen, not sure if he was being rude to accost his boss in the manner in which he had.
"I'm sorry Mister Julian, it is not my place..."
He proceeded to leave the studio when Isaac stood up and shouted;
"No! Don't go..." He walked over with his arms outstretched and placed them on Derrik's shoulders.
"I mean it... Tell me, what is forever?"
"Forever is... Forever."
Isaac motioned to the bulging biceps.
"You heard this compared to the figures of ancient Greece. Would you admit to these lasting tests of… as you say it... forever?"
Derrik looked at Schwarzenegger's pectoral muscles and looked back to Isaac.
"Well, the Greek ones have stood the test of time."
"Ah... You see, is that not another measure altogether? The test of time versus forever... Surely the test of forever would mean that something that was built to last, would simply do just that... Whereas these Greek figurines that have been mentioned today... their job is to simply 'hold on' for lack of a better example. Correct?"
"I'm not sure I understand."
A metal shovel sat alone in the corner, a relic from a previous commission that incorporated garden tools into a ghetto streetscape. Isaac had kept it there for years, it sat unmoved. Its shiny chrome handle sat well against the stark white walls. He found it pleasing aesthetically. He strolled over, picked it up, and walked the large metal barred tool towards the formulated torso, he moved the handle over his shoulder and swung like he was hitting a baseball in a World Series match. The metal of the tungsten hummed with a loud thud that temporarily pierced a pitch in their eardrums. The sound reverberated off the windows and took some time to fade out.
The statue did not wobble, sway, or move an inch.
"This is tungsten metal. It will last a lot longer than the marble carvings of five thousand years ago. Even still, the test of forever may not be met by what I create for the president and his compadres. That is a measurement that I simply cannot and will not ever know."
He dropped the shovel at his feet and walked back over to Derrik.
"So, tell me again, what is forever?"
"I just meant in terms of your reputation, it could be damaged."
"Well... What is that? Am I not someone who makes statements for a living? By manipulating the physiques of our current administration, am I not making a statement on how I believe they perceive themselves?"
Derrik was at a loss.
"My boy, Derrik. There is no forever, there is only now and there is only what you say in the now. Not what you say in the tomorrow. You can say that tomorrow. In eighty thousand years, can you honestly tell me whether or not this piece of shit will still be standing?…"
Isaac motioned his fingers at the statue once more, this time not looking at its symmetry.
"Well, if it's made of tungsten... I guess, maybe?"
"Right... and will anyone who walks these lands, eighty-eight thousand years from now know or have any idea who the hell these people are and what the hell the purpose of celebrating themselves is attempting to achieve?"
"No."
"Exactly."
"So… why do it?" Derrik asked.
…
"Why do anything?"
…
Isaac Julian walked back over to the bust of the torso and placed the clay head of the commander on top whilst holding the back of its neck in place. He adjusted his view to get a better angle as he held it.
"Come over here and hold the head in place atop the neck for me, will you?"
Derrik jogged over and did as requested.
Isaac Julian took five steps back from the eight-foot structure and imagined a world where the knowledge and struggles of this one were alien and inconsequential.
A future world that would look upon this man… or perhaps they would not… He himself ignored the countless iron busts that lined the streets and town halls of the buildings he passed every single day.
Isaac wondered about the world of tomorrow - their perception of the statue of this man who demanded their praise yet faced disillusionment.
Isaac reflected on the only certainty of a time eighty-eight thousand years from now… Its arrival.