Now that it’s September and summer is slipping away, it is perhaps natural to think about the outdoors – hanging on to it while we’ve still got it, so to speak. Besides, in recent months we have received emails from all over the world from artists who were working en plein air, had been inspired whilst travelling, were enjoying the weather or the scenery wherever they were or were dreaming about how it had been in the place from which they had just returned. A normal summer, in fact!
All this got me thinking about experiments in art which centered around the idea of taking the outside world itself and either making it the piece in itself, or using what was there to get people to see it in a different way. Probably the best known modern movement associated with these kinds of ideas was the Land Art movement of the 1960s and 70s. It was partly in celebration of the bounty and beauty of nature, partly in protest against the perceived commercialism and artificiality of art at the time. It included pieces like Smithson’s famous ‘Spiral Jetty’, for which the artist arranged earth, rock and algae to form a 1500 ft long spiral jetty which stretched out into Utah’s Great Salt Lake. The naturally changing water levels mean that the work is always in various stages of concealment and revealment, as it is covered and uncovered by the water.
Land Art at that time was a movement – after all, it was ‘launched’ in a group exhibition called Earthworks in New York in 1968. However, although the movement itself was relatively short-lived, the inspiration and some of the ideas embodied in it live on.
A love of the outside world and its possibilities is shown in carefully maintained, lovingly designed green paradises like the artists’ gardens on Long Island. Dianne Blell’s medieval, fairy-tale like creation transports visitors into a different sort of world from the one envisioned by the Land Art movement, but one that is no less appealling and remarkable. Combining both the classical traditions and techniques and her own flights of fancy or whimsical notions, the result is a charming one that encourages us to think about the potential that can be found in greenery.
One of the recurring problems faced by land artists of any kind, however, is the need for constant maintanence which comes as part and parcel of the style. In a garden, this may be tiresome but is manageable. Where works of art which were built in the desert in order to take advantage of the space are concerned, it’s not so simple. They are part of the landscape and take part in all the developments that affect the land itself. Spiral Jetty, for example, was recently threatened by a proposition to drill down into the lake bed, in search of oil, whilst Nancy Holt’s ‘Sun Tunnels’ are now bordered by land which has been offered for sale by the state. There’s also the simple fact that work exposed to the elements tends to show signs of wear and tear.
In many cases, though, that doesn’t bother the artists concerned. Decay is part of the natural order, and participating in it is something they see as a part of the evolution of their work. Michael Hezier’s ‘Double Negative’, from 1969, for instance, was donated to Los Angeles’ Museum of Contemporary Art. Acting in accordance with the artist’s wishes, the museum does not carry out any conservation work on the piece, leaving its tunnels to crumble slowly and the wall to fall in.
The new generation seem to take this approach even further – artists who presented their work at this year’s LAND/ART event in New Mexico admire the giant, awe-inspiring pieces of the past, but tend themselves towards a more ‘empathetic relationship’ with the land. Their work is designed, right from the start, to be temporary, transient, to leave its mark in the minds of those who have seen it – and in videos, drawings and so on – but to fade quietly away, leaving no physical trace on the land that harbored it.
It’s a new, interesting approach to the timeless quality of art, relying on human memory and the passing down of ideas, as well as placing the emphasis squarely on the canvas, the land, rather than on the painter or even the painting.
What do you think of this new development? Is there anything an artist who works in a different medium can learn from this? What is there that is so special in the relationship between land and art? Let us know your thoughts in the comments!
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Interesting work, to be sure, but we all must remember that an installation or work that, to us, seems to have little or no lasting effect on the land may in fact have some profound consequences on the space it occupies. In any desert area, particularly, the great majority of the biomass that is to be found there lives in the soil…even in what appear to be empty, hostile environments. Any disruption, even when treading lightly, causes damage to microbial life that may be centuries old. I have worked in the field for many years, and as hard as I try it is likely that I cause damage that I regret. We must not think only of ourselves, no matter how honorable our intentions might be.