At one end lies the state museum, and continues three city blocks, with a center median as wide as the streets on either side. Crossing the street from one oversized sculpture to another, I notice that for a Sunday morning the crowds seem mild mannered and not as sizeable.

This summer the square has a funky new addition, Dada-ish collections of metals and porcelain, making statements on society at large and how we view our life of convenience.

Are we so decadent as to invoke the use of shit receptacles to attest to the lewdness of this area as one of the largest centers of unchecked capitalism and a playground of prostitution.

Taking my snaps, I’m not the only one interested in the sidewalk critics interest and opinions, I find myself face to face with the cameraman capturing my photographic intent.

Hordes of tourists cluster around fecal monuments and sidewalk critics have their two-cent predictions of, well, not much at all.

The hordes of tourists cluster around fecal monuments while the carnie-like greeters park themselves in front of the twenty four hour “dance clubs” and try to urge male passers-by into the subterranean ex-prom star port o lets. Many a young boy darts a curious eye but continues on. It’s almost noon.

The canoe theme is ironic juxtaposition. Europeans love a good Native American Indian story but hate their own cultrul heritage of survivors of the brutal tyrrany of the soul.

Moving on to the fin de spectacle, I try to capture the luster and gleam of each porcelain flower jutting from the steel vines and stems holding these bathroom fixtures suspended 30 plus meters in the air.

Two gentlemen in front of me (check out the guy in the orange shirt) explain the intent of the sculpture and disparage its integrity in French. I catch enough of it to get the gist. They don’t like it because it speaks too boldly of, well, not much at all.

They prattle on about ordinary details of the shapes and final touches of the medium and move on to the next piece. The sidewalk critics offer their weighty decision on value and meaning and have made two-cent predictions of the intention of the artist.