We four, Rachel Lillaney, William J. Macauley, Jr., Lisa Roenspie and Randolph Wright, shared a recent workshop series, “The Art of Mindful Writing,” via the E.L. Cord Museum School at the Nevada Museum of Art. Together, we focused our work on public art, on what it means that something is considered public art, what it means to be mindful and write about writing and public art, and what we thought might go unnoticed regarding art in public. What you will find below is a collage of text and images that we built together, to represent our individual and shared perspectives on being mindful, writing, and public art. Enjoy.
What becomes public art? This question is important for the quality of life in any community. The ideal is to raise the standard and enjoyment of life for all who live or pass through the community. The problem is that art is an individual experience and truly is in the eye of the beholder. But how do individual pieces rate as art? Does the utility of a piece affect its status as public art? A bicycle rack that is in the shape of a row of butterflies certainly must rate as art, if not at least artistic. A rack that has twists, curves and bends where one would not expect them may be called “artsy,” but is that the same as art? Similarly, stone letters sized to be a bench must be considered public art as it departs from the strict utilitarian requirements of a public bench. Oversized and overstated twin street lamps on Liberty Street by the museum have also gone far enough in the creative direction to qualify as art. And being in a public place it certainly qualifies as “public”.
Can other utilities be “public art”? How about the automobile? Do all automobiles have artistic qualities or styling that qualifies them as art? Does intent play a role in defining art?
What these questions all add up to is the pathos of public art or its relationship with its audience, the general public. This relationship is a two way street- the artist’s creation and intentions along with viewer or audience’s expectations. If there is a connection made between the artist through his art or what was created and the viewer, there is a positive outcome. On the viewer’s end the question is, “What are the expectations of the audience?”
Let’s look at the bicycle rack at the museum of art. It consists of two tubular curved pieces that extend approximately twenty feet. It really doesn’t look like a bicycle rack. There is no reference point in the viewer’s mind that this structure is a bicycle rack. In fact, there are no bikes parked in it! So the viewer must take a leap and assume that it is, indeed, a bicycle rack while trying to figure out just how a bicycle is parked and secured there. From the utilitarian perspective, the rack just doesn’t register what it is or its purpose very well. In fact, it is something of a puzzle, especially in how to use it. From an artistic standpoint, it is a winner. It is aesthetically pleasing to look at. Its symmetrical curves are balanced and thus have a soothing and pleasing effect on the viewer, if the viewer is not unduly disturbed by the puzzle of its use.
Walking a few steps to Liberty Street, one finds what is best described as a parody of a street lamp. It is, after all, situated in a place where one would expect to find a street lamp. This structure consists of two large tubular arches with a very large green pyramid shaped lantern on one arch and a matching lantern with a white shade on the other. This structure comes to the pedestrian, and certainly to the motorist, as a surprise if not a shock. Its oversized elements are of a scale so wildly disproportionate to the street it sits on that it suggests an otherworldly origin. Unfortunately, it is now of this world. The two lanterns themselves are an aesthetic failure. They speak to me like the plain wall of a warehouse with a couple of small, square windows. They are not inviting or welcoming nor connect with me emotionally. If this is where modernism has taken us, send me back to the 18th century or the art nouveau of the Paris Metro. At best, this work is able to provoke thoughts of annoyance and indifference while providing some illumination for pedestrians.
We next come to a more prosaic piece. In fact it is art that you can sit on. On the patio in front of the art museum are large letters cut in stone. They are not of a religious nature but only exhort us to inhale and exhale, and thus live or meditate. They stand high enough to serve as a bench. Facing up to the heavens, they provide us with a place of contemplation and rest. Because of their size, the letters require the viewer to scrutinize them to satisfy the curiosity, thus drawing one into the work. As a public bench the piece comes as a surprise but pleasantly so as an imaginative creation of a public bench. Unlike the bicycle rack, it gives satisfaction doubly when the puzzle of the message is easily unraveled and its inspiration received. This public art works in a number of ways. The artist intended to provoke aspirational thought and an inner dialogue of a high order. The large stone letters give an impact to the art and the message that takes one out of the day-to-day activities of life. The stonework is itself aesthetically pleasing to look at. And if you’re tired, it’s there waiting for you to take a seat. This piece of public art should be on everyone’s list of places to pause and contemplate in downtown Reno.
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.
When I see public art now, there are really two things I look for. One is craft. Because I could do art but was never really patient enough to do it well, I have so much respect for well-done artwork. I definitely take a lot of time looking at art, at how it is done, and experience deeply how it makes me feel. The other thing is that it does something I haven’t experienced before. Sometimes it’s nothing more than admiring the courage to put oneself out there like that, through art. To my mind, this is an essential public part of art. I may not have the courage to put my own artwork out there, but I sure as hell appreciate it when others do. Craft and courage.
So, when it comes to public art, I want to be captured by the craft because I have never been patient enough to develop my own. I also look for something unique—this takes time and patience, too, because an artist can’t know that they are doing something unique unless they know what others have done. An artist can’t draw on the work of others if they haven’t taken the time to see it, to learn it. And putting their work out there, in public, is just a courage I want to bathe in. It’s a courage I don’t have.
Really, from the creative side of the equation, I think it comes down to patience. I have been playing around with watercolor. When I take my time and really think through what I can do and how to do it, things can work out pretty well. I like what I make, even if it’s not earthshaking or even original (except to me). Painting well, like other artforms I would imagine, seems in no small part about patience and learning tools and materials. Patience and courage, craft, and materials.
In the meantime, I celebrate public art, even when I don’t care for it, because it represents someone pushing back on our accelerating lives. It says that craft and care can still matter, and public art can conspire to remind us of beauty and thoughtfulness, what can be in our public eyes with a little bit of craft, courage, and patience.
We don’t always have to go to public art. We need not always find it or recall it from the past. Some public art is right there, where we live . . .
For most of my adult life I have started my day with an early morning walk. With a strong cup of coffee in hand, I’ve walked the neighborhoods where I’ve lived, taking different paths to make it feel a little less routine. In all the years that I’ve practiced this ritual, I’ve noticed the beauty of local art that surrounds me. Whether it’s something as simple as pinecones laid in the formation of a heart on the beach or something more permanent, such as a signed mural on the side of a building.
Recently my morning walks have been around Reno’s Old Southwest neighborhoods. Maybe it’s the newness of the day and the fact that my mind is not yet clouded with the demands of daily life, but mornings seem to make it easy to notice and enjoy the art that surrounds me.
There is a corner garden there, which began as a strip of rocky landscaping and seems to have now taken on a life of its own. Without prompting or invitation, the public has begun rearranging these rocks to form “cairns”. The literal definition of a cairn is a stack of stones raised as a marker. More recently these stone pinnacles have begun popping up as free form art along riverbanks, hiking trails, and the shores of our local lakes. The beauty of this art is further enhanced by the ever-changing shadows cast by the angle of the sun and the weather when it covers them in ice and snow.
In a streetside flowerbed, this garden art has been on display since the Russian invasion of Ukraine began in February 2022. The background of blue and yellow echo the Ukrainian flag and the white dove with an olive branch seems to represent a hope for peace. The juxtaposition of a symbol of an ongoing war with the backdrop of a peaceful garden setting is thought provoking and will hopefully remind us of all those affected by war and its senseless destruction, even when this particular war is oceans away. This is one example of how art is so often used to represent a cause, communicate political views and even possibly a call to action.
This beautiful art deco building stone is from the Mapes Hotel, which stood in downtown Reno for more than 50 years. It is lovingly displayed in this homeowner’s front yard.
Although the citizens of Reno were not able to save this grand hotel, despite it being listed on the National Register of Historic Places, this piece has been preserved and represents the beauty and elegance of a structure that was once graced with the presence of celebrities and important political figures. Despite the hotel being imploded, this tile suffered only minor damage and the scars that are left on the piece only add to its beauty, as they remind us of this iconic Reno landmark and its fate. This piece of art is a wonderful representation of Reno’s rich historical architecture despite its young age and the need for preservation of such places.
This dramatic, life-sized sculpture is made of intertwined iron straps and rope that, over the years, have taken on a rusty patina. The artist seems to have captured the essence of Nevada’s wild horse population with this piece, and its dramatic depiction is eye-catching as you round the corner of this intersection. During the winter holiday season, this piece is intertwined with lights, which further enhances its stunning beauty.
All of these different media are examples of how the décor we choose for our homes can enhance its beauty, add enjoyment to our lives and make a statement. Decorating our homes with artwork extends to others and adds a certain quality of life to those around us.
And sometimes public art, designed and built intentionally, goes unnoticed as we make our ways through our busy lives . . .
This wildlife mural lines the fence along a public trail. This asphalt trail swirls through the wetland environment in South Meadows. Some of the animals depicted look similar to those that can be seen enjoying the surrounding wetland. This is in the public domain, and I would classify it as art because of the demonstrated creativity to customize this mural for the space and the clear intention to reflect the local wildlife into the piece.
Some of the most popular public art is created by our local government and designs locations along many on-ramps and off-ramps to freeways. In this composition, a wooden entrance tethered with a metal sign marks South Meadows. The design is further enhanced by a neatly kept faux trailhead to symbolize that entrance. I interpret this piece as more artistic than utilitarian.
An adult and baby cow can be seen depicted next to this underpass. Small grass details are also used to enhance the scene. This is accompanied by a row of diamond shapes that trace the bridge span. No further details on the significance or history accompanies the design. This art is viewed by thousands of people passing the area daily, and its ambiguous composition allows for unique appreciation.
Public art can be many things. What does it do?
Public art should do something. I know that’s broad and vague, deliberately so. I look for public art to first stop me. Stop me in my ordinary activities. Stop me from relying on assumptions. Stop me from being overwhelmed by the magnitude of the demands on my time, energy, attention, money . . . It is a very Buddhist idea to look for moments, for pauses, for breaks where we can be quiet, reflective, thoughtful. For me, public art does that, or at least I feel like it should.
Sometimes public art stops me just because of its beauty. We just happened to be there at Berlin’s Brandenburg Gate when a string duo were playing a song that we, my travel companions and I, so loved. And the beauty of this public art performance, in the shadow of such a magnificent and historical public art masterpiece, was so profound that we could not not stop and listen. We didn’t speak until well after we left. An incredible experience and example of what public art can be/do.
But there are other things that public art can and often should do. One thing it can/should do is call attention to issues and challenges that require more than what other kinds of media can afford. For instance, one of the serious issues facing our country and many others is housing. Public art can respond to challenges like these, and that response does not have to be complex or highbrow. It can be simple, direct, critical, questioning.
Sometimes, public art is just to be discovered. One of my favorite things to do is capture images of unsanctioned, often difficult to notice public art. This started back in the ‘70s when, in Manhattan, I started taking pictures of numerous silhouettes I noticed painted in doorways, alleys, and other out-of-the-way places. This practice continues, no matter where I go. This figure (right) was just something I noticed, painted on the street in a crosswalk in Manhattan’s Lower East Side. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know what it’s there for, but I noticed it. Noticing it, I stopped to look. Stopping to look, I took a photo. And in those very brief moments, I was stopped in my trek around the city that day, long enough to wonder. And maybe that is why this image has stuck with me for so long—because there is wonder in it. Awe of a kind.
So, public art. It should do something. I like that it stops me, maybe especially when it isn’t sanctioned or officially public art. I love being caught. I like wondering about what it is, what it’s for, what it’s intended to do. I love that it provokes wonder, awe. I will leave it to others to decide what is art and what is not. I don’t think I want to try to decide what counts as beautiful or dive here into the discussion of whether art needs to be beautiful. I like to be interrupted and awed. I like that art in the public arena can create a moment between, between train stops, at the end of an inhalation but before exhaling. That allows me to remember that it’s not just doing that matters. It’s being, too. And I want to be where art is public, disruptive, responsive, and curious. Then I can be, too. I think that public art is where humanity can be best experienced because we are invited, welcomed, and received. Just as we are. Just now.
So, we have asked questions, related to, noticed, called attention to public art. We have not, obviously, all had the same experiences with or ideas about public art. That said, we all celebrate public art, especially now that we are in Artown season.
Citizen’s Forum Essay by Rachel Lillaney, William J. Macauley, Jr., Lisa Roenspie and Randolph Wright shared with Our Town Reno