A two-hour ritual of leverage performed over veal. It made careers, ended others, and could not be replicated by a video call. We will not see its like again, and we will not be paying for lunch either.
A spinning wheel of access. To know a name was to be a name. Replaced by a search bar that anyone, even the artist, can use. Devastating.
A physical object that told a person whether they were a person. It is now ornamental. People simply walk past it. We are not sure when this started.
Three weeks to schedule. Forty-five minutes long. Forty of those minutes spent waiting. The remaining five used to say no. A tradition.
An evening at which executives stood at the back, arms folded, deciding which of the artists onstage would be permitted to continue existing professionally. Now the artists simply go online and continue existing without us.
Loyal. Loud. A symbol. We did not need it for anything by the end, but its presence on the desk meant something, and now nothing on the desk means anything.