Marcus Stone

Marcus Stone

Damned lies

Three cartoonish statues depicting the tale of “The Emperor’s New Clothes”: a king in white undergarments and crown stands between two courtiers who admire him, one holding a mirror, set outdoors among grass and trees.

We laugh at Andersen’s emperor, yet the same farce plays out on a planetary scale. Systems set impossible goals, individuals pretend to meet them, and everyone nods along to preserve the illusion. China’s numbers, Western markets, Soviet tragedies—it’s always the same play. Nobody moves first. And history never punishes the liars—only the believers.

Lies

A person standing with one hand behind their back, fingers crossed — symbolizing a hidden lie or broken promise.

Every empire is built on a beautiful lie. Ponzi had his postage stamps; Aramco has its oil fields. The con changes shape, not substance. We call it business, progress, valuation — anything but belief. But the moment the music stops, all that’s left is silence and the faint smell of burned confidence.

Sleeping in the pendulum clock

A person in a long dark coat sleeping slumped on a park bench in daylight, alone, with their face hidden, in an otherwise peaceful urban setting.

Europe claims to want clean transport, but what it really wants is moral theatre. Battery and hydrogen trucks pose as salvation while remaining unusable, unaffordable props. Meanwhile, methane fuels—available, scalable, and nearly emission-free—are ignored because they solve the problem too well, too soon, and without the drama policymakers crave.