This Piece Is "Awesome"— Because It Refuses to Be QuietPosted on January 23, 2026 23:44
by Professor Seagull's Team

Some artworks whisper their politics.
 This one roars—and somehow still manages to be precise.

At first glance, the piece overwhelms you. There’s a lot happening: circuitry framing the work like a technological altar, a globe under siege, weapons and debris fused into something almost mythic, almost devotional. It’s dense, unapologetic, and deeply intentional. You don’t casually pass by this piece. It arrests you.

What makes it awesome is how successfully it turns chaos into structure. Every element feels chosen, not random. The materials—electronics, war toys, maps, scraps, symbols—aren’t just aesthetic; they’re ideological. They mirror the systems the work is critiquing. Technology isn’t neutral here. Power isn’t abstract. Violence isn’t distant. It’s all physically present, bolted together into one massive, unavoidable image.

The composition pulls you inward. Your eye keeps returning to the center, where domination, spectacle, and destruction collide. It feels ritualistic, like a modern relic or warning icon—something that belongs in a future archaeology exhibit labeled “This is what we worshipped.” And that’s where the piece really shines: it doesn’t just criticize mobocracy, militarism, or oil-driven power structures—it materializes them.

There’s also something incredibly satisfying about how long this work has lived. This isn’t a fast, trendy reaction piece. It’s been built, exhibited, updated, and carried through decades of political reality. That longevity gives it weight. The piece doesn’t feel nostalgic or dated—it feels stubborn. Still relevant. Still angry. Still necessary.

And despite its heaviness, there’s a strange vitality to it. It’s disturbing, yes—but also alive. It invites you into dialogue rather than delivering a neat conclusion. You’re not told what to think; you’re challenged to sit with discomfort, to recognize patterns, to ask yourself where you stand in relation to the systems on display.

That’s why this piece is awesome.

Not because it’s easy.
 Not because it’s polite.
 But because it’s brave enough to be loud, layered, and uncompromising—and skilled enough to pull it off.

It doesn’t decorate the wall.
 It confronts it.

The Mobocracy Assemblage is exhibited at Liveworms.... 
By Richard Linder & Dr. Howard Whitehouse