Last Friday, I started my day early, uncharacteristically rising at 4 a.m. Seeing double due to the thin skin of crap on my eyes, I managed to amble my way across campus. Then I saw it, something that made the rest of my day.

Taped to the Pi Beta Tau sculpture near the intersection of Marston and Durham, I saw an ordinary piece of paper laced with ink. Was it a pizza coupon? No. Was it a lame, vacuous GSB poster (perhaps featuring D. Mangan, P.I.)? No. Was it a stupid “Happy birthday whoever, you da man!,” sidewalk-flyer? No.

After years at Iowa State, and having grown almost foreign to witnessing public creativity, what I read from that paper I found extraordinary. Almost sublime.

It was a continuous, one-sentence stream of words, a prosaic scream, a poem. “My God,” I thought in both surprised horror and delight, “Uncompelled art, here on campus!”

While I couldn’t decipher what the jumble of words represented, I didn’t care. The very fact that someone expressed themselves in a public forum, work left open to interpretation for the masses, lifted me from the dark confines of my still unbroken slumber.

You see, at Iowa State, I’ve come to recognize that art is dead. Much like I noted in a column about a year-and-a-half ago, creative expression (and here, I emphasize, but do not solely restrict this to visual contexts) on campus is on life-support, in a vegetative coma, if not already in the morgue.

It may be objected, however, that the campus community has a thriving Design College, as well as a large collection of state-ordained building art. These are things that I don’t deny. But, what I do note is that once the studio door closes, or once class is over, visual works and their creative spirits are severed from public appreciation. In much the same context, legislatively mandated (coerced) art isn’t sufficient for a campus of this size. Where are the fresh young voices that yell whatever they yell just for the hell of it?

In my entire college experience, I can’t think of many things I’ve seen on campus that have intrigued me for just the sake of being there. The point is that public theatrics, verses, sculptures, paintings, drawings and visual political statements never make their way to the forefront. To be honest, they never make it out of anyone’s head. Public expression on the Iowa State campus reminds me of a message trapped in a bottle — nobody ever sees it.

I can think of only one exception to the rule, an event that really stands out in my mind — Operation POLO. I bring this up because I occasionally hear rumors that there is a cult of admirers who are still in awe of those who presented this fantastic spectacle.

Approximately two years ago, a mastermind apparently constructed the ultimate plan. Combining both artistic and political message, it was constructive vandalism, so to speak.

For those of you who remember, one morning the dark of winter night gave way to the light of dawn, and a masterpiece was unveiled. Nearly 2000 of the same brown-filtered posters featuring some stud model now adorned central campus. These same “POLO! Ralph Lauren” advertisements, I recall, had appeared as an sporadic insert in the Daily several months earlier.

Some time after the incident, I recall hearing that it was an art statement in response to some of Martin Jischke’s politics. Although it certainly looked like an art piece by itself, it was claimed to have a certain two-pronged fundamental underpinning. First, it was a statement about the greek system. Second, it addressed the fact that coerced diversity is equivalent to no diversity at all; they cancel each other out. In other words, ubiquity sucks no matter what invokes it.

But who would go through all this trouble to stir things up, make a statement and have such fun doing it with unconventional, yet seemingly ordinary materials? I’m smiling — perhaps that’s a hint? Perhaps … I can’t imagine what it would be like to see something interesting everyday, something that I wouldn’t have to find to appreciate (don’t get me wrong, I can and do go to great lengths for entertainment around here). Nevertheless, I’d like to imagine such a scenario.

So the next time you feel creative, political or just plain bored, do something to express yourself. Even if it’s nothing more than sitting on the sidewalk in the middle of the night with a bucket of colored chalk, say something. Who knows, you too might make a stranger feel better than they normally would at 4 a.m. Don’t get destructively out of hand (in terms of permanence, know what you’re doing before you do it). Be an artist with a vision, not an asshole with a record. Just say something, please.

David Ptak is a senior in philosophy from Long Island, New York..