I went to the Cyclorama today. A 9,000
pound oil painting that's draped in a cylinder. It depicts the
horrific events of the Battle of Atlanta. I saw what looked like a
man who was attempting to make his experience alright. But it wasn't,
because he was alone. He failed, but he'd convinced himself he hadn't.
A black man orated the spectacle. His voice was copied. He escaped
something, but he was still running.
I asked the orator, “Why are there no
black people in the painting?”
“It's propaganda,” he says. “The
painting was commissioned as a confederate war flyer.”
