Take a back-road south of Palmyra, Tennessee, and you'll stumble across the remains of E. T. Wickham's concrete statues, worn by time and broken by vandals. Since being documented online by chroniclers of outsider art, they've found a new set of admirers. A 2001 photography exhibit showed off their former glory; family members now hope to preserve what's left. To learn something of their creator, read the personal tribute by Wickham's grandson.
Also Sprach Zarathustra, anyone? Does the arrival of a monolith in Seattle implicitly suggest that Microserfs are in need of an extra-terrestrial intelligence boost?