Prestige Ice, Beyoncé, & Glacial Catastrophe
Or, living at the end of the world
Ice sculptures have always struck with me as the pinnacle of misguided glitz. Like mirror balls or blue eyeshadow or nipple tassels, there is simply no way to make them less gauche, yet they are meant to communicate fanciness. They are aesthetic excess writ large; an object that much labor and cost has been poured into, y…
