A Very Poor Hot Take -- From Some Silly Urban American... Who's Never Even SEEN The Deserts Of Utah...

Being a fair proponent of truly egalitarian (and here, perhaps even "outsider") arts viewership. . . I will let you decide, dear readers -- but the idea that this all is just to sell us some brand. . . is laughable on its face. [Strangely enough, I was there (as a very young boy) when Christo curtained a Colorado canyon outside Rifle, and the reaction from the assembled Philistines. . . was much the same, as Ms. Jones'.]

Here below, our media betters would tell us that she decides whether this is art (she declares it is not) -- and she declares Christo was. [I find myself wondering if her opinion would be changed, if/when the monoliths turn out to be posthumous gifts. . . from John McCracken -- another quite well-known New York/New Mexico artist -- most active in the second half of the 20^th Century.]

At the time, outside Rifle, I could have introduced her to about 500 local ranchers who swore Christo was everything she now decries about this (officially anonymous) artist. But whatever. I like them -- I think they are art, and they do no permanent damage. She doesn't like them, and cloaks her criticism in an environmentalist's cape, while she has never even been there. Silly, but. . . well, welcome to free America. And, well. . . get used to it.

Here it is -- in all its sad, and lost, cynicism -- and a bit:

. . . .When Christo wrapped a building, or a public space like Central Park, it was tangible magic. When you got up that morning you had no idea that something beautiful would happen, and there it was, waiting for you and everyone else. It was a gift. The monoliths are an elbow in the ribs. Look, monkey, here’s your dopamine hit! Now tweet! (Or, in my case, blog.) There’s no public benefit to an obelisk on public land; in fact the very opposite can be true. It’s a reverse Christo, a hollow mockery. . . .

I have never seen the desert. I hope someday I do. I like knowing that it will still be there when our present horrors are over. The world has narrowed to the size of a screen, which provokes a kind of claustrophobia in me. Someone is always selling me a brand, either a corporation’s or their own. The sales pitch is omnipresent, and there is no countervailing force. . . .

My wish for you Ms. Jones. . . is that you. . . grow to see the richness in all the life around you (on screens and off of them) -- for all of life lies within the artists' scope. That is my wish for you, at nearly Winter Solstice. And I wish you more. . . joy.

नमस्ते