Does a shark belong in a glass and steel fortified box? Better yet, dead, suspended in formaldehyde, in an art gallery , in a glass and steel fortified box? I ask myself this question while I read Terry Tempest Williams “A Shark in the mind of one contemplating wilderness” I try to comprehend what Damien Hirst is trying to evoke from the eyes and minds viewing his “sculpture” titled “the physical impossibility of death in the mind of someone living” (williams 570). Hirst states “I like ideas of trying to understand the world by taking things out of the world.”(williams 570). Terry Tempest Williams dissects whether a shark can be considered art if it's in gallery or would it be considered an exhibit. ” She states “Damien Hirst calls the shark
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The man is tall and husky, his glasses reflect a shine made from the light of the fire. He peacocks being dressed head to toe in new Columbia hiking gear, the REI sticker still on his pants. His wife along side him dressed almost the same, except for the more feminine colors. They are polite and add firewood as a kind gesture to partake in the fire. They seat themselves on chopped tree blocks left by previous adventurers, She pulls out a bag of hotdog buns and sausages and proceeds to roast them over the open fire-the smell of food is intoxicating after three days of nuts,berries and protein bars-, while she's doing this; she tells us a little about herself and her husband. He is a financial analyst for Merrill Lynch and she is an anesthesiologist in a E.R. at a highly regarded hospital on the East coast, she also informs us what alma mater they belong to(Georgetown University and Duke). The smoking firewood crackles (steam escaping from pockets within the wood) in symphony with the light rain, dried black oak and ponderosa pine oils boiling, barnyard and vanilla scents filling the air from the combustion of two trees mingling in the still night. She proceeds to inquire about the rest of us, asking what we do for work and what did we major in at college. These two questions makes its way around the group and finally to me. I pause. The thought of having to talk about the very things I sought to leave
The man is tall and husky, his glasses reflect a shine made from the light of the fire. He peacocks being dressed head to toe in new Columbia hiking gear, the REI sticker still on his pants. His wife along side him dressed almost the same, except for the more feminine colors. They are polite and add firewood as a kind gesture to partake in the fire. They seat themselves on chopped tree blocks left by previous adventurers, She pulls out a bag of hotdog buns and sausages and proceeds to roast them over the open fire-the smell of food is intoxicating after three days of nuts,berries and protein bars-, while she's doing this; she tells us a little about herself and her husband. He is a financial analyst for Merrill Lynch and she is an anesthesiologist in a E.R. at a highly regarded hospital on the East coast, she also informs us what alma mater they belong to(Georgetown University and Duke). The smoking firewood crackles (steam escaping from pockets within the wood) in symphony with the light rain, dried black oak and ponderosa pine oils boiling, barnyard and vanilla scents filling the air from the combustion of two trees mingling in the still night. She proceeds to inquire about the rest of us, asking what we do for work and what did we major in at college. These two questions makes its way around the group and finally to me. I pause. The thought of having to talk about the very things I sought to leave