Fine art.

Beachside steel.

It’s been welded and moulded into the shapes of a disfigured skeletal character, a comical representation of human form, a functionless structure of disjointed bones. Fine art.

Useless nuts and bolts are firmly fastened against the smooth curves of the dull grey surfaces, protruding and shimmering like salt-crusted blemished on tired skin, collecting dust and dirt and pollution; perhaps for their own namesake, perhaps for the purpose of something greater than themselves.

The sea breeze blows, forcing the thick branches of low-sitting trees and overgrown shrubbery against the metallic marrow. The skeletal frame screams, a hollow and lifeless noise, as the branches try to break the skin of its perfectly rendered surface.

The breeze blows on. It rings through those very same bones the branches assault, and to the wind these bones sing a chord of disharmonious notes, a gentle wind-chime whistle that was made its nature by those hands who built them. A flute of spirits that rejects the well-known songs of the lapping waves and branches for its own selfish intent.

Fine art.