Now, as the shutters are being pulled down on the Copperas Hill building, the Cunard and the Munro, and artworks across the city are being bubble wrapped, disassembled, packed away and posted back to the studios and galleries of the world, it’s comforting to know that one of our favourite pieces will remain. Destined never to be re-united with its maker. Lost in transit, like so many QVC parcels before it in this silent shell – once Europe’s largest sorting office.

Tonight, as the big black pillow deflates, the air will be sucked out of its carcass again. But there will be one corner of Copperas Hill where art clings tenaciously on.

In past years, the long tail of the Biennial has left us with spinning facades, twirling trees, and drowning iron men. This year’s event will disappear and leave only this ephemeral, iconographic pean to postage. Stamped indelibly on our hearts, its torn and frayed edges so astutely mirror a monarchy in disarray, a nation ill at ease with its identity. Its ghostly postmarks hoping for deliverance.

A snail mail cry for help in a cruel digital world. The ennui of communication at a crossroads.

So, we salute you, mystery Royal Mail worker. Please, don’t go postal, go save your mosaic masterpiece before LJMU takes a wrecking ball to it, and its cast of beheaded monarchs is stamped ‘returned to sender’ and sent in a column of steam (no, not that one) to the big sorting office in the sky.

Thanks Biennial, it was fun.

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