To whom it may concern

Billy Millions stared out of the clubhouse window at the tarmac'd parking lot below, and shook his head.

"What are they doing?" he asked, of no-one in particular.

Gnomey sighed and took a long pull of his beer.

"I think they're trying to intimidate us because you told the Eerie Enquirer that the only biker gangs in town were us and those elementary schoolers who ride tricycles and wear weird little felt caps."

"Well, we are," said Billy.

Gnomey looked at the riding mowers currently circling outside.

"I guess the men of our local Home-Owners Association disagree," he said, shrugging.

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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Niki de Saint Phalle, Golem, 1972

City authorities initially rejected Golem, a fantastical playground design by French Pop artist de Saint Phalle, deeming it too frightening for children. “Scary things are good because they help children conquer their fears,” countered the artist, citing the Freudian psychologist Bruno Bettelheim’s theory that fairy tales prepare children to overcome their earliest existential crises. Nicknamed “the monster” by local residents, the looming black-and-white structure features three red tongues sliding into a sand-box, as well as a cavern underneath for braver children to explore.

This is 100% where Harley Holmes hangs out, along with the various Damiens, BEKs, Midwych Cuckoos and Shining twins.

But I think Jean Dubuffet's Jardin d’émail and Pierre Székely's La Dame du Lacmore are more Sara Sue's speed:

Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo, Netherlands

Like most of his monumental public sculptures, Dubuffet created Jardin d’émail (the “garden of enamel”) without a specific location in mind. It ended up nestled within the Netherlands’s Kröller-Müller Sculpture Garden, its stark black and white design a playful contrast to the verdant surroundings. The whimsical landscape offers an escape from reality; in the words of the French artist, “an artificial garden in a garden of real trees and real lawns.” The work is at once a sculpture, a three-dimensional painting, and an opportunity to explore the iconic artist’s work from the inside out.

Évry, Courcouronnes, France

“The mountain will come to you,” said Székely in 1975, in anticipation of a project he had designed for the new urban development of Évry, outside of Paris. The mayor had commissioned the Hungarian sculptor to create a climbing wall, the first of its kind in France, inspired by the famous boulders of Fontainebleau. Easily accessible from the town’s shopping center, the resulting structure—a surrealist-inspired take on sailboats gliding across the neighboring pond—was intended to bring the thrill of mountain climbing to nature-seeking urbanites.