A quick post on a probably-real inadequate equilibrium mostly inspired by trying to think through what happened to Chance the Rapper.

Potentially ironic artifact if it accrues karma.

1. The sculptor's garden

A sculptor worked in solitude for years, carving strange figures in his remote garden. Most of his statues failed: some cracked in winter, others looked wrong against the landscape. But occasionally, very rarely, one seemed to work.

The first visitors stumbled upon the garden by accident. They found themselves stopped by his angels—figures that somehow held both sorrow and joy, wings that seemed about to flitter.

Word traveled slowly. More visitors came, drawn by something they couldn't quite name.

The sculptor felt recognized for the first time. Not famous—but understood. His private work had somehow become communicable. He carved more angels, trying to understand what made these particular statues resonate.