Kiki Smith, Come Away From Her (after Lewis Carroll), 2003. Editions & Works on Paper New York.
In a little clearing near her little tent in the enchanted Hudson Valley, Celia the acrobat happened upon a startle of catbirds. Curious, she listened intently to their rancor.
A giant! they squawked. A giant coming! Take to the skies, for all things aground will be found, all things found will be bound, and all things bound will be swallowed, never again to make a sound!
In a flash, the odd mob rose into the afternoon. "But wait!" Celia cried, "what of us who cannot fly?"
The aquatint blur joined in voice: Grow strong, aim true, and in the hour of need, bravery will pull through. Heads over hands! Friends over fears!
Trapped between urgency and a clear blue sky, Celia pondered their words as she rushed back to the circus to warn them.
Marc Chagall, Le Cirque ambulant (The Traveling Circus), 1969. Editions & Works on Paper New York.
"A giant?" laughed Jacques the clown. "Hold on, Pimm will want to hear this — Pimmy, swing this way!"
But it was true, Celia said, it was real, and it was coming this way.
Jacques’ smile doubled with his face paint. "Isn’t that just typical of birds? An anxious avoidant lot, them. Dole out advice and then float above the consequences, tsk tsk. Don’t worry, my friend Bjorn can help. They're a bit gruff, you know, the starving artist type. Best to bring them some food. Let’s go to Miffy’s shop on the way."
Left: Tom Sachs, Miffy, 2002. Editions & Works on Paper New York. Right: KAWS, FINAL DAYS, 2017. Editions & Works on Paper New York.
At the shop, Celia and Jacques found Miffy and Kaz in a heated discussion.
"Look, it’s easy enough," Kaz said. "It’s a ledger, like the one you use for inventory. Every transaction is digitally recorded there and it’s fully traceable for accountability."
"But what’s the point then? Do you want oversight or not? And then if you sell it for real money isn’t that just another speculative bubb— hold on, we have customers. How may I help you?"
Celia asked Jacques if there was anything Bjorn might like. She looked around at the sparse shelves. Pea soup or apples?
Left: Andy Warhol, Green Pea, from Campbell’s Soup I, 1968. Editions & Works on Paper New York. Right: Roy Lichtenstein, Vertical Apple, from Seven Apple Woodcuts, 1983. Editions & Works on Paper New York.
"They’re a big eater," Jacques said. "Let’s get everything and take it from there."
Celia’s eyes widened. She hadn’t brought any money. She nudged Jacques shyly, her pockets turned out and empty. Was there anything Miffy would take in exchange?
"Well, well, well," Kaz butted in, "if only there were some sort of alternative here; perhaps something that supplanted the need for fiat currency!"
"That’s enough," Miffy countered. "Actually, I have to plant my saplings by the side of the road, and Mr. Desk Job over here doesn’t have the hands for it. I can’t lift them myself; help me out and these are yours."
Cy Twombly, Natural History Part II: Some Trees of Italy, 1975-76. Editions & Works on Paper New York.
And so the little girl, the clown, and the bunny got to work. One by one, they dug evenly spaced holes, unraveled the wraps, fetched water, and patted fresh soil over the trees’ new homes. Kaz watched motivational videos on his phone. When they were done, Celia stood back and admired the plots, watering can in hand. "It’s a beautiful thing to give a tree its first drink,” she said. “For one day it will return the favor in the form of shade."
"We are all giants for a moment," Jacques said.
"The giant! Oh no, I forgot!" Celia cried. "He’s probably getting very close now! We must hurry!"
Celia and Jacques bid farewell to Miffy and Kaz, and made their way to Bjorn’s place.
"Like I said," Jacques reminded Celia, "Bjorn seems ornery, but they’re just from the city."
Marcel Dzama, Untitled, circa 2000. Editions & Works on Paper New York.
In the doorway’s maw, Celia called out meekly. B… Bjorn?
Slowly out from an unlit den emerged a great mass of chattering heads.
"What the matter kid? You’ve never had roommates? Five in a one bedroom is nothing!" said one.
"Has anyone seen my straightener?" asked another.
"Check the outlet since you always leave it plugged in; or better yet, smell for fire since that’s bound to happen any day now," quipped the third.
Celia hid behind Jacques. She dropped her apples.
"Lunch!" Bjorn called in unison. "Let us talk and dine."
Between Bjorn’s gulps and gnashes, Celia explained the birds’ warning. Mhmm, mhmm, oooh, this is some delightful soup, mhmm, mhmm, pass the … yes, oh, we’ve never had a blue apple before, mhmm, yes, so, a giant … mhmm.
"This is serious!" Celia warned. Jacques peered down at the soup as it began to ripple in its bowl. Unbothered, Bjorn gorged. The ripples grew larger as time between each wave shortened. The sunshine behind them dimmed. The air was still.
AH!
Celia, Jacques, and Bjorn all cowered in fear.
Nicasio Fernandez, D.I.Y., 2022. Editions & Works on Paper New York.
It was the giant, all pink and pirooted and Blundstone booted.
AH!
They huddled together. "Please," Celia muttered through her hands, "please don’t eat us!"
"What?" the giant boomed. "Why would I do that?"
"But the birds … they said you would eat us!" said Celia.
"No way, man, I'm vegetarian," said the giant, pointing to his carrot tattoo. "Also, my name’s Isaac, and those birds stole my hammer. I started a carpentry business upstate and they keep getting further away from me. Every town I go to, the people run away in fear, set traps for me, throw things. I just want my hammer back and they keep tricking people into attacking me."
"Sick, this guy’s actually totally chill," Jacques said. Bjorn’s heads all fixated on the giant.
"Oh, wait, Isaac? This is weird but did you live in Park Slope?" Bjorn asked.
"Yeah I did, six years."
"No way, I’m pretty sure you were roommates with my old coworker."
"Whoa, who was it?"
“Santi.”
"No way what’s he up to now?"
"Last I heard he went to LA, think he wanted to open a print studio but he was always saying stuff like th—"
Jacques cleared his throat with intent. "See?" he said to Celia. "Sometimes we’re told to be afraid. And instead of learning or asking why, we accept it and get into our own heads, when really, there was nothing to be scared of to begin with."
"I’m sorry Mr. Isaac," Celia said. "I hope we didn’t upset you. Do you want to see us perform at the circus? You can help me get up to the trapeze!"
Isaac the giant smiled and nodded. And they all went back to the circus tent with a new friend.
David Shrigley, Kindness, 2018. Editions & Works on Paper New York.