The young man has been staged to look like a bird. Legs bound up and feet broken into a perch pose. Elbows wide. Hands affixed to the torso so the arms form wings. It all looks postmortem. That hardly matters. It’s still grotesque. Rows of feathers protrude from the young man’s shoulders. They’ve been poked through the shirt and inserted into his shoulders. Then there is the beak. It looks like a mask from an old play. By old, I mean old-fashioned, in the sense that it’s carved from wood rather than plastic formed in a 3D printer. There’s a string for fastening it, but when I nudge the beak
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