I spent a good deal of my afternoon and evening reading as much as I could about the oil spill. Well, it’s not actually an oil spill. It’s a river of oil, gushing with no end in sight. A few days ago, we were told this river wouldn’t touch Louisiana, it wouldn’t be a Louisiana event. Today, though, foils reported smelling oil. That’s what happens when they burn the ocean and the wind blows. The oil is already coming ashore in Plaquemines. Whole ways of living are at risk. Whole species are endangered. This is a disaster of monumental proportions, and there clearly isn’t a solution at the ready, no matter how much faith we have in things like “science” and “engineering.” I worked myself up into quite a state, especially when I started reading about the limited recovery from the Exxon Valdez spill. I finally just needed to get out on the bike, so I headed out on the Surly, ready to smell the air. It’s hard to tell if you are smelling oil, or if you are suggestible until, of course, the breeze blows just so. Unfortunately, I think I might end up finding it easy to tell the difference. I stopped to take picture of this installation art piece outside a house/artists’s space on Esplanade between Tonti and Rocheblave. I don’t want to use this word that I’m about to use to describe this installation, but it’s all I can come up with tonight: evocative. It’s evocative of the disorder and the death and the loss and the mess of New Orleans after the levees broke. I wonder what the artists will do now.