Gustave Caillebotte painted Paris Street, Rainy Day in 1877, two years after the massive reconstruction of Paris under Baron Haussmann had reshaped the city into the grid of wide boulevards and uniform building facades that still defines it. The painting shows the Carrefour de Moscou, a major intersection in the 8th arrondissement. It's raining. People are moving through the intersection with umbrellas. The space between them is significant.
The composition is deliberately modern for its time. The viewpoint is from the street level, not elevated. The figures in the foreground are cropped by the frame as if you've caught them in motion. The city is the setting rather than the subject. What Caillebotte was painting was how people move through shared space without acknowledging each other, which in 1877 was a specifically urban condition that most painters hadn't tried to depict.
The painting is at the Art Institute of Chicago, where it's usually surrounded by people stopping to look at it, which would probably strike Caillebotte as somewhat ironic.
Rock Paper Scissors enters this scene at the moment where the social physics of urban space briefly breaks down: when two people arrive at the same corner from different directions, both with the right of way, neither quite able to proceed without someone yielding first. Haussmann's boulevards were designed to move people efficiently. They didn't solve the coordination problem at intersections. The umbrella collision, the sidewalk standoff, the moment where two strangers have to acknowledge each other's existence — these gaps in the design are where Rock Paper Scissors has always lived.
Caillebotte's figures are proper. They would have found a three-gesture simultaneous reveal undignified by the standards of 1877. This is part of what makes the WRPSA art series imagining it appealing. The game doesn't care about dignity. It cares about a fair result in under ten seconds, which is exactly what the intersection needs.