ABSTRACT
Dumped in the brambles beneath Portland’s freeway, some kid’s art project. In this state, he’s lucky to even have an art class. They’re cutting it all—art, music, gym, and 10 days off the calendar. Now that’s an investment strategy. So some kid, just holding it together every morning, hears Collages due Friday. Whatever. Glue a bunch of crap to a board. But those circling frames are pretty cool, and the crying photos, the lists, and the grim news layered under the pink-slipped teacher’s heady varnish. Maybe this kid knows something we don’t, setting it out here in the sun and rain. Signaling the sky that we’re in trouble.
