All around us is the ubiquitous automobile. They come in all shapes, sizes and colors. But are they “public art”? As an example, here is an XKE Jaguar two door sports car. It is different, but does that difference make such cars “public art”? Or are all cars ``automotive art”? No less an automotive aficionado than Enzo Ferrari said that it was “the most beautiful car ever built.” That’s a strong endorsement. Sir William Lyons, the founder of Jaguar, said that it “cost no more to design a beautiful automobile”. Do either of these perspectives make a car “public art”? Ferrari and Lyons were certainly qualified to pass judgment on that car, perhaps on any car. If any car says, “get in and drive me,” that one does. Aesthetically, the proportions are all just right and all the trim pieces are the right size and in the right place-the bumpers, turn signals, the windshield, is the right size and height. Everything fits together like the eye expects, and it looks right. The car evokes strong emotions. And with a top speed of 150 mph it will get you to Ely on time. Or to the county jail first. The XKE will certainly interrupt the day to day activities of life. The Jag has earth shattering visual impact. So what gives? How do people react to such automobiles? Maybe flat and square lines don’t play as well as curvy and sensuous. The Jaguar conveys performance in a big way. But what really arrests the attention of the viewer is the visual power of its styling. Is the Jaguar “public art”? Certain cars can be “public art” even though they are in private ownership. After all, automobiles are driven publicly in public view.
These are big questions. What qualifies as public art? How do we decide? Sometimes, the questions about public art are not so large. Some answers to these questions are very personal, very individual . . .
Whenever I think of public art, I jump almost automatically to fourth grade art class. We were to make pictures from pieces of colored tissue paper glued to construction paper. I knew I wanted to make something New York. My mind then was never far from there (even though it was 800 miles away) nor the sorrow I felt at that distance. We had moved from New York about a year prior. I missed my cousins and friends terribly, even our drafty old apartment building. I don’t think I really thought about much else then. So, I summoned a New York for my tissue-paper composition. I’d been to the city once with my dad, for my 4th or 5th birthday. I don’t remember much of that day except the hands replacing what my dad pulled from the windowed wall at the Automat.
I chose vermillion construction paper, red, yellow, green, gray tracing paper that I had cut into a variety of long rectangles. I glued pieces into place, watching as the Elmer’s soaked through Manhattan’s skyscrapers. I added a triangular top of the Empire State Building or Chrysler Building—I didn’t know the difference then. I didn’t really feel anything about the image of glue and tissue paper in front of me, except the longing for family and friends and a deep sadness because I was convinced I would never see them again.
I would like to say that I really took my time with it. I don’t know if I did. I don’t know what other kids made, and I doubt they or Mrs. Van would understand what I had made. We finished, cleaned up, and left our work to dry on the cafeteria tables. I didn’t think about the piece after that, I don’t think; I am sure the hollow sorrow continued.
A few weeks later, there was a display of kid art in the Herrick Public Library. I had recently been allowed to go to the library on my own, even though I had to cross River Avenue. I suspect Mom felt okay with it, other than the one busy street, because Mr. VanderSlice was the library custodian. We had become friends when we were neighbors on West 18th Street the year before. He greeted me with a wink, as usual, and I made my way to the kids’ section, but close by to the adult areas and far from the kiddie area. I don’t think I even looked very much at the display there, butI eventually noticed something. There it was: my tissue paper and glue piece, with my name and “4th grade, Longfellow School” on it. I was stunned. I think I spent almost all of my time either going back to look again or looking over my shoulder at it. I eventually dragged my parents to the library, that next weekend, to see my public art.
From there, I got a ‘big head,’ as my dad used to say. I thought all my work from there on could be posted, maybe even at my school (My friends did not go to the library, but they had to go to school . . . ). My eagerness and ego rushed me through most art projects from there. As you might anticipate, my public art happened just that once. Maybe every kid got a turn, I don’t know. I took art classes in junior high, high school, and college. I was even an art major for a minute, but I never really felt as though there was craft in my work, that there was talent in me.