If they put the screws to you, Members, what ilk of statuary wouldst thou be? No…we all can’t be Galatea, so think hard. Would it be the ever-pondering Thinker (with or without his feet blown off, your choice)? Or perhaps David, kind of sexy, but definitely the Justin Bieber of the Renaissance? Or maybe you’d go the humble garden gnome route, that trite and creepy cone-hatd imp that says: “My garden is magic! Yes, Magic!” Other options: the overly-linened Jesus that lords (yes literally) over Brazil, waiting for a hug; the Giant Buddha of Kamakura, Japan, meditating madly no matter what angle your approach; that saucy, armless, tart – Venus de Milo – no doubt flipping someone off, hence the amputation, or maybe her robust earlier sister, the Venus of Willendorf, willing to eat anything for fertility; the Statue of L,iberty, because that’s the only one you can think of; the Sphinx, just because you’re a dick like that; the delightful baby eating statue of Bern, Switzerland – Kindlifresserbrunnen to its friends – that serves as a reminder: four is your limit; the tawdry and towering 34 thousand pound version of Marilyn Monroe that Jersey is about to get, and will have nightmares about; a Richard Serra, just because metal is as metal does; the egotistical Nike without a head and no worse for it, because victory is quite often brainless; the hula-hooping fat lady of Keukenhof, Holland, because, fuck it, we all deserve to get our ya-yas; Belgium’s pissing boy, since we all gotta go; anything by Louise Bourgeois, daunting, fed by Oedipal recklessness, and always laughing at your sentimentality; the Chilean Atacama Desert hand abstraction that says “if you want narrative, drink the Kool-aid, jerks.” Regardless, members, you are stone-cold solid this week so enjoy the monumentality.