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What We Need Is A Place To Put All This Weird Stuff.
By Jeff Smith
TUCSON IS A community that, deep in its collective soul,
has anesthetic that manifests itself, naturally and somewhat chaotically--but
ultimately beautifully--all over the urban landscape. The preceding
sentence is an unintended example of the danger of art criticism:
an exercise in the turgid and obscure.
I didn't mean to meander off into this sort of thing; I only
wanted to say that left to our own devices, we natives of the
Old Pueblo have a way of making our homes, our neighborhoods,
barrios and slums, our shops and malls and junkyards...our lives
and our corporeal persons...a sort of atmospheric and performance
art. Jesus. I'm beginning to sound like Pamela Portwood.
But as the town has grown to become a quasi-city and take on
airs of self-importance, the suits in City Hall have aped their
brethren in bigger burgs along both coasts, and gone to paying
hired guns to lend the place a bit of the polish we associate
with the fine arts. Public art, which used to be best exemplified
by the bull in front of Casa Molina, with its neon balls, or the
old lumberjack (now gone) next to Leo's Auto Supply (also gone,
which is an even more grievous loss) went pro, with dubious investments
like those clothes-pins on the UA mall, and the truly hideous
rip-off, "Sonora" outside the new main library.
That orange bastard was welded-up by some auslander artist who
named it after some Japanese city so he could sell it to the Nipponese
(because at the time they were making money like Sears Roebuck
and buying everything with an American label), but even the boys
who offered cash money to every hustler who offered them the Brooklyn
Bridge wouldn't touch this butt-ugly piece of sculpture, so the
artiste retitled it "Sonora" and sold it to Tucson.
For $6.3 shitload.
Since that nadir in metropolitan management of cultural investment,
it has been a matter of public policy to spend one percent of
the cost of public works projects on art; and a few nice pieces
of ceramics and local folk art have been installed around downtown
public buildings and commons, along with what the artistic community
likes to call "interesting" treatments to bridges and
overpasses on new highway projects. But on the whole I'd have
to say that the one percent would have been more wisely invested
if we'd just given every tagger in town fifty bucks for Krylon,
with the proviso that half his pallet be in something other than
black, and that he doesn't put the propellant up his nose.
The most recent flap in the municipal art world has to do with
war and peace and impenetrability, themes common to the art world,
which too often prides itself on its elitism and inaccessibility
to mere mortals. The City Department of Transportation, which
is for some reason exempt from the one-percent art investment
policy, but which, to its credit, it voluntarily abides by, had
intended to install an artwork called "From Swords to Plowshares"
along a reworked stretch of Silverlake Road, between I-10 and
Mission Road.
This sculpture, consisting of a dozen fins--diving planes off
old submarines, weighing eight tons apiece--cost $60 grand and
was bought off another out-of-town slick, Seattle artist John
T. Young. I have not met Mr. Young, but I congratulate him on
his stones. I admire a lad with the brass to shovel shit against
the tide on a truly epic scale. I just think that as long as we're
encouraging this sort of behavior, we should be sinking the money
into our own indigenous art/gene pool.
And the social satirist in me appreciates the amusing notion,
as voiced by a spokeswoman for the Tucson-Pima Arts Council, that
the half-buried fins will communicate a message of nonviolence--swords
into plowshares...get it? Diving planes off submarines, only now
they're stuck in the dirt. No, y'see your submarine is a weapon
of war and these diving planes--they're those things that you
tilt to make it go underwater--they're not even in the water anymore,
they're in the dirt. That's where the plowshares thing comes in.
Is any of this getting through to you? Oh never mind--I don't
believe this putative symbolic message is sufficiently self-evident
to be safe to install along a major surface arterial. A large
and wordy bronze plaque explaining the thing would be necessary,
and death and destruction would result, as motorists slowed to
either read the plaque or regard the work and mutter, "What
the fuck...?"
Is this the message of peace we wish to put our 60 large into?
I think not.
And the sensible folks of the westside agree, seemingly. They
told the city they could take their fins and stick them somewhere
else, thank you.
Which would be fine by me. I am not against art, nor am I against
submarines (ex-submariners are among the most vocal lobbyists
in behalf of Mr. Young's artwork), nor am I against using ex-military
hardware as cost-effective public art. I have long admired equestrian
statuary, and I really like it when they stick one of those cool
fighter planes on a pedestal in public parks. Now there is artistic
symbolism every stratum of society can understand. I'm especially
partial to the F-4 Phantom.
My suggestion to our civic conundrum is this: Build an art park
where obscure and confusing installations of not-immediately-recognizable
ironmongery with not-readily apparent symbolic meaning can be
viewed and studied by pedestrian traffic with minimal risk, and
then explained to those who finally give up. We could even move
that ugly sonofabitch from the library, sandblast the orange off
it and let it rust, and park it so folks could point and laugh.
Then the venues for legitimate public art could be occupied by
imaginative works from local taggers and muralists, along with
truly accessible artworks such as your Pancho Villa statue, your
Padre Kino, perhaps some lowriders based on mid-'50s Chevrolet
products or late-'40s Mercuries.
What I'm getting at, essentially, is that if los vecinos
were given a little encouragement, a few bucks and a loose rein,
the whole damn town would begin to glow with the outward expression
of the inner vision that is our birthright. Cruise the streets
of the westside and enjoy those pink and purple paintjobs on old
adobe houses and you'll see what I mean.
AND NOW a word from our sponsors:
My plea of three weeks past, for assistance in the matter of
the Laguna/Mingura class, elicited a truly heart-warming response
from the community. I wandered off to Montana immediately after
writing the column, and my answering machine was filled with offers
of support. As was my e-mailbox and even a few notes in actual
ink, pencil and crayon.
Thank you for your support. As it works out, I am able to sponsor
the Laguna family by putting my house up as collateral. If I haven't
called or written personally to thank you, forgive me. My thanks,
and the gratitude of Erasmo, Nena and the rest are yours. Some
of you, whose voices sounded particularly alluring on my machine,
may yet receive a personal response. Don't call the police.
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