Installation in the window of the New Museum, SoHo, NYC
This installation uses Plato’s famous allegory of the cave to cast a contemporary light on the state of the U.S. Constitution—particularly the fragile tension between its lofty ideals and our lived reality.
In Plato’s metaphor, people live inside a dim cave, able to perceive only shadows on the wall, cast by objects they cannot see. The bright sunlight outside the cave holds the realm of ideal forms—truth, justice, and beauty—illuminated and pure. Inside, only distorted echoes reach the prisoners.
Here, the Preamble to the Constitution—those elegantly stated ideals we strive toward—glows outside the cave in full sunlight. The Bill of Rights, a more practical set of protections meant to shape our lived reality, is embedded within the dark interior, carved into the walls of the cave itself.
Ants—stand-ins for humanity—wander the cave floor, busily occupied, unaware of the ideals beyond or the inscriptions eroding beneath their feet. Like the prisoners in Plato’s cave, and perhaps like us, they are surrounded by shadows of ideas they do not fully comprehend.
The piece invites viewers to reflect: What do we see when we look at our democracy? Are we truly aware of the light outside—or are we still chasing shadows?
“Shadows in the Cave” – A Dinner Conversation
A dialogue between Remo and Molly, staged as a private dinner in a quiet restaurant in the theater district, spring 2025.
[Sound: Soft ambient restaurant noises—glasses clinking, muffled conversations, light jazz in the background]
Molly:
This is… lovely. The lighting’s low, but not too dark. Almost cave-like.
Remo:
That’s fitting. Sometimes it feels like we never really left Plato’s cave.
We just upgraded the shadows.
Molly:
You mean… digital projections instead of flickering fire?
Remo:
Mm. Holograms of truth. Manufactured consensus.
People staring at screens like they’re windows to the real.
Molly:
And what’s outside, Remo? What’s in your sunlight?
Remo:
Ideals. The Preamble to the Constitution.
Words like justice… tranquility… liberty.
They don’t live in the cave.
[Sound: Waiter approaching]
Waiter:
Evening. Specials tonight are duck confit with pomegranate glaze, or wild mushroom risotto. Would you like to hear the wine list?
Remo:
The risotto, thank you. And a glass of red—something earthbound.
Molly:
I’ll try the duck. No wine for me… yet.
[Sound: Waiter leaves quietly]
Molly (gently):
You don’t sound nostalgic.
You sound… disappointed.
Remo:
I think I’m just tired of watching people fall in love with shadows.
They mistake spectacle for substance.
Molly:
And you believe someone’s been… casting stronger shadows lately?
Remo:
Let’s say… a certain figure reminded us how fragile the wall really is.
He didn’t build the cave. He just painted monsters on the walls and told everyone to cheer.
Molly:
And they did.
Remo:
They do. Still.
Even now, when the paintings are cracking and the torch is burning low.
Molly:
That’s why you built the installation. With the ants, and the fading inscriptions.
Remo:
Yes. The ants—us. Wandering inside the cave, unaware of the ideals we’re trampling.
The Bill of Rights carved into the stone… slowly eroding.
Molly:
It’s poetic. And a little heartbreaking.
Remo (after a pause):
You know what scares me most?
Not the spectacle… not the strongman.
It’s the righteousness. The obedience. The purity tests.
It’s religion repackaged as law, echoing in the cave like holy thunder.
Molly:
Ah. That fire never went out.
It just changed altars.
[Sound: Plates being set down, softly]
Waiter (whispering):
Your risotto… and duck. Enjoy.
[Pause. They begin eating slowly.]
Molly:
You still believe in the sunlight, don’t you?
Remo:
I do. I have to.
The Preamble is out there. It’s not law—it’s aspiration.
But that aspiration… it keeps me from despair.
Molly:
Can I ask something personal?
Remo:
Of course.
Molly:
Do you think people want to see the sunlight?
Or is the cave just… easier?
Remo:
The cave offers warmth. Familiar shadows.
Outside is cold. Blinding.
But… it’s also where truth lives.
And maybe, where we can finally meet ourselves.
Molly (softly):
Do you think I’ll ever see it?
Remo:
You already glimpse it, Molly.
Every time you ask a question like that.