Amarillo Ramp, 1973
Robert Smithson
A list: Earth moved. Dump truck. Stakes in the ground. Mesquite with thorns. Frying Pan Cattle manure. Devil’s claw detritus from Proboscidea. Snake holes. Grass. Constant wind. Mesas in the distance. Rusted pipes. Ashen Clouds. Cracked earth. Red Clay. Fences, barbed and hinged. He (helium) underneath. Nuclear bombs in storage in the near distance. From dust to dust, we shall we return.
Parallel to my constant attempt to make art collections relevant to an information saturated society, I have tended to make my own art viewing experiences more extreme and far away from the white walls of art museums. I have had a focused effort view every piece in the American Land Art canon. The art movement is a fairly time-boxed time period of the late 60s and 70s of making claims to space in the American West. Think of it as a Manifest Destiny redux. It might all be the same mistakes again? Over the last four years, I have traveled well over 10,000 miles of the American west by my trusty Black Ford Escape Quint (named for Captain Quint inJaws), in the quest of viewing these large-scale and lasting pieces of art. I have tended to avoid writing about these experiences for Color Field because I would quickly have a list of mainly white straight males again dominating the narrative. Who am I kidding? My white midwestern queer narrative is not that far off. Yet, these pieces keep pulling me in. Is it my ego driving me to remote desert pieces? What pulls us to the vastness and who claims these lands ( a violent story of land grabs abounds). I think of these ideas often. And my privilege to access and be in the presence of these sculptures on the fringe of the art world. Because who else sees these pieces? Who else makes the trek or is able to or feels safe enough to venture outside of the bounds of our “protected” society? The artists have said the energy and planning it takes for one to see these pieces is as important as the art piece. These artists are creating their own barriers as a construct, almost as if re-creating the same barriers of the art museum.
This past weekend, I ventured to Robert Smithson’s final piece of art - Amarillo Ramp, one of the last on my list of pieces I had yet to see in this considered canon. It is located out in the vast high desert of the Texas panhandle on private land through a maze of muddy roads with very few landmarks to signal the right way. You are not allowed to go at it alone. Bradley knew his way as he has been taking visitors out to this distant site for over 25 years. It seemed as if he could sense the way in a giant Ford-150 tumbling through the desert. *(Art cowboys? I dream a dream). I learned that the Texas panhandle basically sits at about 3,000-foot elevation on a large mesa. Amarillo gets real winter. And it was still quite cold on this April weekend with the hint of snow still in the air. The mesa is in contrast to the deep glaciered carved plains of the Dakotas, Nebraska, Kansas, and Oklahoma.
As Bradley, the caretaker of the sculpture, was taking me out to the ranch about 40 minutes outside of Amarillo, Texas. I felt as if he was Mufasa in The Lion King referencing the amount of acreage that the private ranch entailed, over 70,000 acres. I heard the voice of James Earl Jones in my head say “Look, Simba. Everything the light touches is our kingdom.” The pure vast stretches of this ranch pierced the horizon line was overwhelming. These artists are purely attracted to these spaces that are remote, uninterrupted, and arid. The sculpture was completed by Nancy Holt (Smithson’s wife and artist in her own right) and artists Tony Shafrazi and Richard Serra after Smithson died in a plane crash along with the pilot and photographer, taking aerial images of the site in process. I think it was one of the motivators to see the site where he died. Bradley pointed out where the plane came down, so close to where the sculpture is making its way back into the field of mesquite trees. I did feel a sense of somberness on approaching the ramp. He died at 35. With already four major land art pieces made, he had made a name for himself. I often wonder if he would not have died so young, would he be so centered in the art canon? I am not so sure. His partner, Nancy Holt is often overlooked, but in many ways a much stronger artist. Though, Robert was a strong art writer. Bradley and I discussed what kind of art writing we missed out on. I would argue Smithson was a better art writer than he was sculptor. They had a symbiotic relationship with one another. The more he made, the more he wrote. I miss him.
As we approached the edge of a now distant lake (artificially created on the land for cattle), I knew there was something different about where we have stopped. As I approach any of these land art pieces, you know humans have been there. These are artists are sure to make their mark, as if the art world would not remember them, but these spaces are unashamed of their presence. Though remote, the cattle, the ranchers, and we the visitors, leave a mark. I often think back of my childhood memories of climbing Cahokia Mounds on the banks of the Mississippi River, wondering about the past civilizations. Why did they build these mounds high into the sky to reach the heavens? Humans are compelled to use the earth, for our enjoyment of pleasure, for our ritual, and for our survival. What does a climate change monument look like?
These artists make their mark on the land. Smithson wrote extensively about his “site/non-site” objects. A site was “the physical, raw reality.” A non-site were remnants of that reality re-imagined in a different space. I was offered what I consider a non-site from the area, a Devils’ claw seed. These seeds latch onto you and don’t let go, until they do. This non-site is aggressive in form and in function. I now travel with the seed on my dashboard of Quint reminding me of Smithson’s ideas he so passionately executed through the written word and sculpture. We are part of this land, we are connected to this land, and we will return to this land.
Learn More:
Smithson/Holt Foundation
Latinos Who Lunch - Landscape conversation
Currently on view: Lucy Raven at Chelsea Dia
Why was the ancient city of Cahokia abandoned? New clues rule out one theory. (National Geographic)
