AMERICAN GOTHBOTIC

The substitution is surgical. Everything about American Gothic remains intact — the white clapboard house, the Gothic arch window, the woman's dark dress and white collar, her expression of magnificent indifference to whatever is happening beside her — except the farmer is a robot. Rust-orange face plate, green glowing eyes, a wrench held at his side with the same proprietary grip Wood's farmer reserved for his pitchfork. He fits. That's the joke and also the insight: the posture of stoic American landowner translates completely to a robot. The wrench is doing the same ideological work the pitchfork always did. The woman is not surprised. She has been standing next to something slightly off for a very long time.