Philadelphia
That Cloud Didn’t Look Peaceful To Me
by | Oct 1, 2024 3:30 pm
Posted to: Visual Art
Nora Grace-Flood Photo
Seated Little Cloud
Crescent Park
4503 S. Broad St.
Philadelphia
Sept. 30, 2024
Ray from Miami rolled up a joint and got ready to cloud gaze until his Philly friend was off the clock. He had a clear up-close view of one particular formation: A 35-foot-tall, inflatable sculpture of a kawaii cloud in blue suspenders seated cross-legged on the grass.
The piece, which Ray referred to as “Mr. Puff,” is formally titled “Seated Little Cloud.” The blown up cloud spent September tethered to the grass in Philly’s Navy Yard as a month-long art pop-up.
Is it just a big cloud? Or a symbol for peace? A fitting emblem of ephemerality amid one of Philly’s largest redevelopment projects? Could it be a public piece of faux-art playing on the corporate hot air that fuels the wellness world?
Ray had some time to kill. He was ready to join me in reviewing any and all perspectives on the matter.
Seated Little Cloud is a character thought up by Los Angeles arts collaborative FriendsWithYou, which formed back in 2002 “to create modern modes of spirituality with the mission of having a positive impact on our world.” Over the last two decades, Lil’ Cloud — as I came to call him — has traveled to exhibits from London to Japan to Las Vegas with the goal of fostering “joy and connection,” according to his creators. He’s like the foil to hitchBOT; instead of a robot hitchhiking the globe to test human trustworthiness, Lil’ Cloud is a brainless airhead secured in place by a bunch of epic-length ropes.
Like any elusive global phenomenon, Lil’ Cloud has a following. People like to take selfies with him.
“I’ve been here since 11 this morning, and cloud boy has been giving 4:20 vibes the whole time,” Ray told me around 5:30 p.m. Monday.
Ray was sitting on a park bench looking straight at Lil’ Cloud’s humongous backside. His friend, Queenie Vee, had just come out for a shift break from Gatehouse, the restaurant right next door where she works as a hostess.
“It makes the kids happy,” Vee weighed in. “They come around and jump all over it.”
I told her that my research had led me to believe that the cloud was a month-long exhibit on meditation that was scheduled for dismantling the next day. (The organizers have since declared that Lil’ Cloud will remain on display through the first week of October).
“Oh, he’s meditating?” Vee asked. “I didn’t know. It’s not giving peace and tranquility.”
Over the last month, Lil’ Cloud has served as a chaotic bouncy house, selfie station, and business-boosting tourist attraction (“It’s definitely helped us get more customers into the restaurant,” Vee said) — but never as a role model in the art of meditation. At least, not according to Vee.
So, could we call the cloud out as nothing more than an anthropomorphized wad of cuteness funneling tourists into a former-industrial-zone-turned-thriving-riverfront-community?
I didn’t see anyone closing their eyes and chanting “om.” But contorting all that cuteness into a meditative stance did seem like a solid strategy for inducing shame among people working the 15,000 jobs reportedly generated by that redevelopment into blaming themselves instead of the 9‑to‑5 industrial complex for their poor work-life balance.
I asked Vee if she ever felt put off by an all-knowing cloud smiling down at her through its deep-breathing routine when she was just trying to make it through another day in the rat race.
“No, it hadn’t given me ‘fuck you’ energy yet,” she said. If anything, Lil’ Cloud has been a victim of turbulence more than a source of steady serenity. Earlier in the month, a rainstorm slashed the cloud’s chin and deflated his whole head, Vee recalled.
“It kept just trying to blow itself up again,” she said of the pumped-up statue. But its face kept whipping around like a giant slab of bleached skin in the wind.
After further reflection, we — Ray and Vee and I — could look at this cloud from both sides now. His creators may have been seeking to spur spiritual elevation, but Lil’ Cloud has taken on a life of his own. On one hand, he’s a cute but multifaceted piece of plastic. On the other, he’s an ambassador for economic development in South Philly.
“I guess I don’t know what it’s giving, but it do give something,” Vee concluded.
Lil’ Cloud brings attention and interest to an otherwise “empty spot” — a small park that Vee said rarely accommodates any activity besides Wednesday evening yoga sessions.
“Don’t just take it down — keep it going, bring something different,” she suggested.
“Damn,” Ray said. “I mean, I’m just glad I got to see it at all,” before going back to Miami. “Mr. Puff looks like he’s on cloud nine.”
Maybe Lil’ Cloud will wind up in Miami next, I suggested.
I wondered what would happen if we slashed the ropes tying Lil’ Cloud to earth and freed him into the ether.
Then I thought, again, of hitchBOT, who, after traveling safely through several other countries and U.S. cities. was notoriously stripped and decapitated in Philadelphia.
