3,000 Umbrellas: Gimmicks And Politics of Public Art

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, it was sort of dark and not yet stormy when I exited the Bowling Green station in Battery Park. In the park I saw what looked like thousands of round orange shapes, almost pod-like figures. It resembled a scene from "The Invasion of the Body Snatchers." Hmm, were these pods awaiting an opportunity to take over our human bodies? As I moved closer I discovered that these orange blobs were umbrellas - 3,000 in all - with renderings of the monarch butterfly hand-painted on cotton canvas in orange, black, and yellow. A sign on the fence said it was a site-specific art installation called "Beyond Metamorphosis" by artist Victor Matthews. That's right, ladies and gentlemen; you can view this fine expression of artistic talent in Battery Park until June 20. The project is one of the largest public art installations ever exhibited in the park. One wonders why it took so long for someone to figure out how to keep the tourists off the grass. The Lower Manhattan Cultural Council sponsored this work, and while it certainly looks like Mr. Matthews worked hard earning his grant, one has to wonder how on earth he managed to pitch this project to the panel awarding the grant. "The piece explores themes of transformation, migration, and regeneration," Mr. Matthews says. "Butterflies make an obvious spiritual gesture that's often overlooked: of a life that never ends and a spirit that never dies." From what I could see, spikes hold down the 3,000 butterfly umbrellas so they're not likely to migrate anytime soon. I'll give Mr. Matthews the benefit of the doubt that they will stay put. I can't help but muse about that controversial global warming cinematic oeuvre now in the theatres. Fortunately, the film "The Day After Tomorrow" is total fiction, otherwise we'd have to worry about sudden tornadoes touching down in Battery Park, sending all those pretty umbrellas flying into the air and impaling the poor tourists waiting for their double-decker tour bus. Why do I find that image so humorous? Perhaps it's because I have a jaundiced view of any governmental sponsorship of the arts. For three years, 1992-95, I was the president of the Artists Federation. This is a nonprofit organization of local artists based in Snug Harbor. At the time, our membership consisted of around 40 very fine and talented artists. It was my responsibility to locate exhibition space and secure grants for our shows whenever possible. The grant process, I soon discovered, had more to do with politics than talent. An artist submitting a proposal for a project had a better chance of securing a grant if the subject matter coincided with the standards held by the liberal judges. Thus feminists themes or anti-gun subjects had a better chance of obtaining a grant than a beautifully rendered landscape or any of the other works our talented membership produced. Finally, I hit on the idea of tying in our exhibit with a fund-raiser for a homeless shelter, and voila, we received a small grant that paid our exhibit costs. On a personal level, I could never come up with a gimmick that would appeal to the distinguished artists who sat on the award panel. It seems that the art world, particularly in New York City, has become less about artistic aesthetics than about the marketing value of the work. The key question seems to be: Will New York magazine write about it? It's all about the size rather than content. That's why there has to be 3,000 rather than 100 umbrellas. The artist Christo has to cover acres and acres of Central Park with yellow gauze to make any kind of impact. That's also why fine artists in the Van Gogh class never get a public grant. Artists who are mothers have a particularly difficult choice to make: neglect their children or their craft. A woman sculptor whom I'd chosen to judge one of our exhibits voiced her opinion that a true artist must always place her talent before all else. Of course, she had no children, but I have six, and while I may not have been able to spend long hours squirreled away in a loft creating huge canvas art, I managed to draw cartoon murals on my children's bedrooms and held arts and crafts classes with their friends. I taught them the value of art, and each is artistically talented. They are my works of art. Perhaps the problem may lie in the panelists themselves, who come from an increasingly esoteric environment detached from public sentiment. Perhaps we need people like Morley Safer, whose critique of the pseudo art world on "60 Minutes" called "Yes...But Is It Art?" sparked a heated response from the contemporary art establishment. Mr. Safer would be more in touch with what kind of art the public wants its tax dollars to support. At the end of Battery Park, a van was handing out sandwiches to some homeless men near the Staten Island Ferry. One of them was staring wistfully at the umbrellas nearby as the first drops of rain began to fall.