Weird Thing Zone
Dribblings of doubt sputter across the gorge between all specialists. Every public intersection is splintered and awhirl as the servo-mechanisms, each and every one of us, unfurl our strange routines. That which seems solid to one is liquid to another. A centrifuge is a scientific tool, or a niche for microbes, or a sales item, or maybe a feast of recyclables.
So let us not be so bold and give the spirits names. Let us let the weird world breath. Let us create a zone where the objects of our fascination can balloon into their fullest confusion. Let us go into the street and mark off a zone with traffic cones and strips of tape, where one and all may display the oddities of their choice. The artists can call it sculpture; the city planners can dub it educational; and the neighbors, in their infinite wisdom, can say it's just a lot of weird things.
Secure a site within an existing public event such as a street festival.
Mark off modules with traffic cones and tape.
Invite people to place objects of fascination into the modules.
Proclaim the creations to be none other than "weird things". Avoid referring to them as art, science, junk, or objects of any other specialty. Just call them weird. Play with them.
Weird Thing Zone, Grand Street, Williamsburg, Brooklyn, 1990