Lightning Field

The American West has attracted “all manner of dreamers,” as Tom Vanderbilt, the acclaimed of author of Survival City and Traffic, so fittingly expresses: “from millenarian cultists to visionary artists to the advanced weapons scientists of the United States Air Force. They have all made their mark, tested something or another on America’s proving ground.” (Vanderbilt)

The desert is at once a ‘no man’s land’ and a ‘safe haven’ for the artist. It is a landscape of radical potential, existing just beyond the reaches of the institutional framework—an unadulterated space that shuns the sterile museum, the parasitic gallery and corporate venues—a region where impending destiny is revealed, where dreams can be “played out with a minimum of interference.” (Ibid)

Rauschenberg’s aphorism states that neither life nor art can be made; therefore one must always work in the space between them. In the theatre of the western landscape, art must be truly lived: experienced not just visually but physically, temporally, somatically and kinesthetically.

Working within the vast expanse of the desert elicits the creation of monumental environmental works, also known as Land Art, which by nature, would not be possible to fully realize within a traditional exhibition venue (as in a museum or gallery).

Walter De Maria’s “Lightning Field” (1977), which took nearly ten years to complete, is a work that dramatically exceeds conventional limitations. The project, sponsored by the Dia Foundation, is located in a remote area of the high desert of western New Mexico. It consists of a series of 400 stainless steel poles (2” in diameter, 20’x7” in height) installed in a grid pattern, covering the exactly 1 mile and 1 kilometer. Each pole is spaced exactly 220’ apart.

The Dia foundation describes the work as, “A sculpture to be walked in as well as viewed, The Lightning Field is intended to be experienced over an extended period of time. A full experience of The Lightning Field does not depend upon the occurrence of lightning, and visitors are encouraged to spend as much time as possible in the field, especially during sunset and sunrise.” (lightningfield.org)

Accessibility is one of the most significant criticisms of “Lightning Field.” It supports a very selective audience, and is maintained (or should I say guarded) by Dia as a highly restricted work. To visit the Field one must make considerable advance arrangements with Dia and be approved to visit the work, plus make the lengthy journey to its isolated location, which is nearly impossible to find without a Dia guide. Dia makes clear that Lightning Field is not a work to be experienced by curiosity seekers or passersby, it takes time and requires contemplation on the part of the viewer. This point is seen as both a strength of the work and a downfall. Lightning Field cost nearly half a million dollars to construct, and since its completion in 1977 fewer than a thousand visitors have experienced it.

Another less acknowledged criticism of the piece is that the steel rods do not successfully attract lightning. Supposedly, the site is the “best lightning observatory in the world,” as it is a plateau. However, the surrounding mountains are of a higher elevation, and as we all know, electricity follows the path of least resistance, i.e. lightning generally strikes the highest point. Therefore, actually lightning strikes the rods very infrequently. Was this a major oversight of De Maria and his sponsors, or was the piece more about the visual and physical experience of the field than the potential meteorological result?

Some accuse the work as being a pointless creation, serving no practical purpose. It has also been described as being cold, cerebral, a highbrow conceptual work only available to an exceedingly exclusive audience. Others describe the experience as mystifying, with or without lightning. Regardless, Lightning Field is one of the most significant pieces of art created in the 20th century.

Reference:

Tom Vanderbilt, “Desert of Dreams.” (ArtByte: The Magazine of Digital Culture, Jan/Feb. 2001)