Day after day, for 20 arduous years Mark Ransom rose before the sun, sailed across the harbor and disappeared into the oblivion of steel and stone that is Manhattan. A short while later he would rise in wire elevators to dangle precariously from tops of skyscrapers.
There he would save aging facades from the ravages of existence. It was a job that only two could do: the destroyer, applying brut force of destruction to pummel away the past, and the creator: nurturer who would gently restore what should never be forgotten.
In between the strokes of his tools were strokes of insight – observations gleaned from a high perch where he was silent witness to the madness, shaman to the voices of a suffocating culture, purveyor of this living metal exoskeleton.
Finally, he chiseled his way out – out from the roots of his past, from this job and out of the very definition of himself. Pegasus unleashed and reborn with wings. He no longer needs the elevator…he is free and wild, lifted by wings of iron.