What he thinks? In Nuremberg, he’s not a tribal leader who tends to spread his legs. He, that is Albrecht Dürer, whose monument rises above a square on the castle hill. So there he is, the master. And looks at flower pots.
Dürer, it was agreed in Nuremberg, is said to have had a sense for form and color. One cannot agree whether he would have had access to planters packed in truck tarpaulins in the colors of any season: blue, yellow, orange.
Guests should be warned here not to take a stand on the matter – one would get caught between fronts. In the city of old masters, a walk-in museum of the Middle Ages and early modern times, in this good German parlor such (as the officially certified name) “hotspots” with bushes, trees, small trees?
The friends of the bucket counter this: Anyone in a big city whose oxygen supply is limited by a city wall, whose builders – a donkey – didn’t have the climate crisis on the cardboard, who has nothing better to do than fight plants, you can just rub with Bavaria’s deputy boss: ass open?
Things have been in place for months, but they’re the talk of the town; the residents’ parking lot lobby has just organized new troops. The Monument Dürer? If you look at it more closely, look beyond the vats. He won’t settle the matter.