David Černy’s K. “stands ten meters high, and renders the author’s arresting chiseled face … in a constantly-morphing assemblage of metal. His face is both perennially staring over the plaza … and yet never static or fully graspable. This is only exactly like the omnipresent but inscrutable Court that presides over Josef K. in The Trial, knowing exactly where he is and what he’s doing; present in everyone around him from clueless petty officials to teenage prostitutes, and yet unable or unwilling to present him with a formal charge.”