The Worst. Shutters. Ever.
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And there they are, my friends, there they are.
I first saw them about six months ago as I drove southbound on Interstate 35 making the transition from Farm to Market 2222 to I-35's endless gridlock. I retched a wee bit at first glance, but not enough to interfere with my texting. Several times since then, I've seen 'em and made a mental note to get over there and take a photo. And this past Sunday was that day. I had my camera (and my long-term memory) as I wandered over to see and listen to Honk! in east Austin. The sun was perfectly placed; the sky was blue...
My oh my, what a sight! I've written about shutters before, but these are the Mona Lisas of misplaced window protectors (They also allow me to avoid the awkwardness of posting a neighbor's shutters and running into them at a garage sale: "Martha says you told the world you don't like our shutters.").
How awesome are these shutters?
First, they are inoperable (of course). And even if they were operable, they wouldn't even come close to protecting the vast expanse of glass between them. This is how Garcia Lopez de Cardenas felt when he first saw the gaping maw of the Grand Canyon. How could this be possible?
And then, in a harrowing yet strangely beautiful coup de grace, we notice the length of these babies. It brings tears of joy and sorrow--tears of bitter and sweet--tears of sweet and sour chicken--to my eyes as I peck this post out like a one-legged chicken on blue meth. The lengths carry these beauties from mere architectural incompetence into the vast wasteland of unintentional neoDadaism. I pray that there's video somewhere of the installation. Even better, a recording of the design discussion that led to this landmark.
Sadly, this hotel complex appears ripe for a sale and scrape. Go see it before it's too late.
Art is never forever.