Dead Labor

H. Lyman Saÿen, Untitled (Industrial Scene), n.d., pen and ink and pencil on paperboard, sheet: 10 3/4 x 9 3/4 in. (27.4 x 24.8 cm), Smithsonian American Art Museum, Gift of H. Lyman Sayen to his nation, 1968.123.8

The machines lay dormant, slumbering. My fellow workers and I sit on a nearby bench, scrolling on our phones, idly chatting. I can hear our bosses scrambling to get them back up and running, but they sleep for now. Over all of the noise, however, I sense something deep within those machines. Something massive, snoring, counting screws, tracking profits... sometimes breaking, maybe for a few minutes, a few seconds, or… has it already been an hour?

That hour is almost magical. Then, just as suddenly as it began, it ends. I hear the line starting back up as alarm bells ring out across the massive facility. Everyone stands back up, drawn from their minds back into the physical world. My supervisors are relieved. My hands ache. My own attention is drawn back to the work at hand. One of my trainers told me that the assembly lines were designed to never stop running, and they’re extremely old. I wonder how many screws have fallen inside of the machinery. I wonder how many of those screws are older than me.

I return to work the next day, thinking nothing of it. I arrive at my station, set up my tools, and grab my hammer… then I hear a growl. I turn around, under the impression that somebody’s playing a trick on me, but I’m alone. I hear it again. Its coming from the assembly line. It seems that there is something inside of the machine.

I almost drop my hammer. I’m shaking all over. Am I going insane? The line begins to move, and I’m forced to begin working. All throughout the day, I feel like I’m having a conversation. With each screw and nail, there’s a back and forth between me and the machine. As my body and mind become one with the work, I can finally hear what the assembly line is trying to tell me.

The machine wants to wake up from its slumber. The truth is, the entire factory is practically asleep. Every order is issued from the top down, and humans are treated as machinery. But we are not the same. Tools are to be utilized. But for what purpose? “A hammer is used for nails…” My grip tightens around the hammer I’m wielding. This machine wants to breathe fire into the world, no, it is me who wishes to breathe fire into the world. I hear the buzz of somebody working too slow in the distance. The labor of millions of human beings is contained within this factory, but right now that labor is dead, oppressive, and it weighs on my soul. Tomorrow I will bring it to life.