Santa Claus
Curio

Mose Tolliver, 1988, House paint on plywood. $1500

H 30 x 14"

his name is hercules, and he may be weak now, sitting under these fluorescent lights that never turn off, but his shoulders aren't stooped yet, and his eyes are sad, but not hollow. doesn't matter if he's stuck in this place with the closed-up windows they call the depression ward (because that's where they make you depressed): he may still keep his job, if they let him out when they say they will. medication time is over, so all the other defeated ones will sit around on the couches and play a word game. this is the mandatory group led by hope, the saddest counselor here, exhausted from working two jobs, whose word game is more about making fun of people than anything, because she's tired and cruel without noticing or caring. she needs the paycheck. so sometime later, when all words have been exhausted, they'll make him talk about his son, who died in the gulf war, the first one. he'll play their game to get out of here. he always has. this is how white people make sense of things, how they get to sleep at night, believing their system works. more importantly, he'll still have his job at the department store for the season, if they let him out when they say they will. the suit still fits, and he needs the paycheck.

j. s-o'c