Elephant Man
“ I would be measured by the soul” - That’s what John Merrick wrote in one of his adaptations of a poem called "False Greatness" by the 18th-century hymn-writer Isaac Watts. John’s head was so massive, that people would only measure and judge him by this unfortunate atrocity. His dream was to be able to sleep like a normal man, flat, but when he tried he broke his neck and died.
With this in mind, it’s interesting to see how today people are still being measured on a daily basis by using metrics that are devoid of meaning and natural human empathy. When we look at personal brands, small businesses, and artists, we measure their impact and influence on the world by the soulless numbers cast upon them by social media companies. How well did they run on the hamster wheel? How much content and work did they do for free? How much does the algorithm favor and love them?
And when the technocrats change the algorithm, all that work you did for free is flushed down the toilet. That’s what happens today, and it’s also what happened to small businesses in the 2000’s when they were all running on google’s hamster wheel to rank first in google search and attract more visitors to their online shops. Their efforts were pointless. And we see this pattern over and over again.
But back to the point, if you keep operating in a system whose ultimate goal is to enslave you, then what are you even doing? Surely there are better strategies to find people who care about the meaningful work you do. People who will see your true worth because you can truly help them elevate their culture in their particular system.
In the popular mind, the "Elephant Man" isn't a man who is an elephant; he’s a man whose head became a spectacle. Naming the piece as such acknowledges that while the world may only see the “spectacle” of the brand or the “atrocity” of the metric, the artist's true work remains an internal, sacred act. It is a refusal to be defined by the odd form of our online presence. Using discarded packaging as parts of the foundation for this piece also mirrors how the modern creator is treated: as a vessel to be filled, shipped, and eventually thrown away by the technocracy once the utility is gone.
The technocrats will always try to measure us by the "head"—by the massive, distorted metrics of their own making. But in a world of soulless numbers, the only way to survive the freak show is to reclaim the yardstick. We must choose to be measured by the soul, for even in the middle of the machinery, the mind remains the only true standard of man.
