Markus Pierson Great Nuvolari Sculpture



Here we are, the living, our numbered days ticking away like the sweep second hands of finely built watches.  Some of us walk as if we will walk forever, a slow, sleepy, loping gate that seems to presume an endless stream of tomorrows . . . and that is fine, it is good . . . and it is quite unlike me.  I am the Nuvolari, and I was born with the tireless, insistent, chrome-plated heart of the racer.  I don’t walk, I don’t even run; I race.  I race my days, chasing every minute of them, every second, pushing them to their limit.  I may never quite catch them, never make each one known, but they know I am there.  They can feel my breath on their neck.  My days, I push them, I race them, and I will do this till the stopwatch of my life finally clicks and I claim the sky as my final trophy.

Markus Pierson