Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Site Report No. 9: Double Negative, NV








Driving these lands with sky can be hypnotic.  We drove through the magnificence of Lake Mead and the Valley of Fire at sunset to sleep in Overton, Nevada.  The next morning we make our way to the tiny Overton airport and past its main gate to yes, another dirt road, that climbs up Mormon Mesa.  We drive over one too many cattle guards and descend down what can only be described as a death-defying road.  Oops.  Crashed cars are embedded into the side of the cliffs.  Done by design or by accident?  I’m not sure.  We turn around to get back to the top of the desert mesa.  When we reach the top, the road along the rim is equally as perilous.  One might easily lose sight of the edge of the different paths during this time of day.  Forget about dusk or at night.  Then we see an open gash below the mesa top.  It is Michael Heizer’s Double Negative (1969-1970).  Blasted directly out of the mesa, there are two rectangular trenches separated by a canyon but lined up with one another.  They overlook an expansive river valley.  It is considered an icon of American Earth Art: using the earth’s surface as sculptural material. At the time of its creation, Heizer wanted no conservation measures.  He meant to make the erosion visible as a trip through time.  (Although I read recently that he might want the work recovered).
Looking down into the abyss is dizzying.  I see what were once clean cuts and straight edged walls crumbled.  Heaps of soft sandstone rocks collect on the floor.  The entire ground I stand on consists of the same substance.  It is simply a terrifying sensation.  But I have to experience the sculpture inside the trench. It is with a mix of adventure, fear, and awe that I pick a path and descend into the narrow lane.  Across the ravine, I see the trench on the other side.  Chasing away lizards, I climb over architectural ruins of stone.  I stand in the shape.  The walls, though eroded and no longer crisp planes, feel enormous and subtly enclosing.  I experience the scale of my own smallness in the midst of this massive sculpture.  It is vast and silent.

(Additional photos: Kindred spirits (1849), Asher Durand/en.wikipedia.org; Riverbank, attributed to Dong Yuan (Chinese, active 930s-60s)/www.metmuseum.org)

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