Bernal Altars Everywhere

I love the somewhat humorous stump altar on Bernal Hill. Note the carefully arranged collection of lost scarves, sunglasses and baby binkys (as well as the close proximity of those ubiquitous yellow flowers, my nemesis-teacher plant: Oxalis. Aka “sour grass.”) Nobody disturbs these ordinary objects lost, now revered. What makes the ordinary sacred? When does humor and helpfulness become art?

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