Rachel Whiteread’s House was always intended to be a temporary installation. In the East End of London on 193 Grove Street, Whiteread cast the interior of an unexceptional Victorian terraced house in concrete. She had leased the space from the local council of Bow for a mere three months, after which the house would be torn down to create more space in the surrounding public park. On the day of House’s unveiling in October 1993, the public installation induced passionate supporters who campaigned for its permanence and vehement adversaries who crusaded for its expedited demolition. House became a locus for the debate over public art; supporters compared the work to iconic public works from Paris’s famed Eiffel Tower to the more recent debate over Richard Serra’s Tilted Arc (1981-89). Critics questioned, was the installation a waste of public funds? Was it even art? Did the local population want the piece? And, who would decide its fate? As a catalyst in the debate over public art, Rachel Whiteread’s iconic House takes the stage in this week’s public art spotlight.
Often grouped with the Young British Artists, Rachel Whiteread’s career was still nascent at the time of House’sunveiling. She had gained critical acclaim for her installation Ghost (1990) at the Chisenhale Gallery in London. A crucial antecedent to House, Ghost turned a void into a solid by casting the negative space of a Victorian parlor in concrete. The reversed imprints of a fireplace, windows, and moldings implied a familiar and yet inaccessible space. Alluding to the stripped-down ethos of minimalism, Whiteread imbued the space with psychological and political concerns, alluding to the memories and experiences associated with the symbol of the home as well as the often problematic transforming built environment of London.
Soon after this project, Whiteread mused about casting an entire house. With the help of Artangel and after two years of attempting to secure a short-term lease, Whiteread finally got the green light from the local council to produce her installation at 193 Grove Street. An old and humble Victorian structure, the house on Grove Street had witnessed history; it survived the Blitz in WWII, observed successive waves of modernization, and was a home to several generations of Londoners. In this sense, Whiteread’s House had a strong socio-political dimension in that it drew attention to the history of redevelopment within the East End. Despite this rich history, Grove Street had entered its final chapter. The street of houses would be demolished, their vacant lots transformed into a public park – 193 Grove Street was the last house on the block.
A featureless grey mausoleum of concrete, House stood as a memorial to the memories of past histories as well as a site of renewal. Unlike traditional heroic models and triumphant arches which promote specific ideals and uphold cultural values, it was not entirely clear what values House promoted, the sculpture was mutable and encouraged interpretation. This mutability confused the public, leaving the population ultimately undecided. Unlike Richard Serra’s Tilted Arc, the debate did not exist between the art world and the rest of the population, in terms of House no one could come to a consensus. Everyone was divided; the residents in the community, the local council, art world critics, and even the previous owners of 193 Grove Street did not agree with each other. As James Lingwood explained, “House did not seek to manufacture some confectionary consensus, as many public works of art are compelled to do…It laid bare the limits of language and expectation which afflict the contentious arena of public art.”
On the same day that Whiteread received the Turner Prize from the Tate Gallery on November 23, 1993, the Bow neighborhood council decided that House would be destroyed and grassed over on January 11, 1994. With no consensus in the council, the vote had come down to the head chancellor himself. Though physically nonexistent, House remains in our memories as a critical catalyst in the legacy of public art, underscoring that who or what should decide on the destruction of a work of public art, and on what grounds, remains a complex and unresolved question.
Many of us know the artist Keith Haring (1958-1990) through his fabulously contagious imagery of barking dogs, dancing figures, and radiant crawling newborns that populate everything from the walls of college dorm rooms to t-shirts. Don’t get me wrong, I happen to love Haring-inspired paraphernalia, but with this over-saturation of commercialized Haring memorabilia, the rebellious graffiti artist of the eighties becomes difficult to conjure. Fortunately, Haring left his mark on the New York cityscape and a few of his groundbreaking projects can still be seen by contemporary viewers, providing a window into history. For our third public art spotlight, we are exploring the rich history of Haring’s Crack is Wack mural from 1986.
For our second iteration of ‘Public Art Spotlight,’ our weekly feature focusing on public art from around the world, we’re thinking outside the box (actually WAY outside the box, travelling all the way to Utah) highlighting land-art pioneer Robert Smithson’s iconic Spiral Jetty (1970). Rather than arousing a legal controversy like our last spotlight - Richard Serra’s divisive Tilted Arc (1981-1989) - the debate over Spiral Jetty concerns issues of impermanence, artistic intention, and documentation.
What do a ship in a bottle, a boy on a rocking horse, and a giant blue rooster have in common? They have all occupied the “Fourth Plinth” in Trafalgar Square! Though originally designed in 1841 to display a traditional equestrian statue akin to the three other plinths, the fourth plinth remained statue-less for one hundred and fifty years dueto insufficient funds. In 1998, the Royal Society for the Encouragement of the Arts commissioned a selection of contemporary artists to fill the void with a temporary public work – a tradition that continues today as the “Fourth Plinth Programme.” With the recent unveiling of Katharina Fritsch’s Hahn/Cock at the end of July, we thought it fitting to focus on Trafalgar Square’s “Fourth Plinth” for this week’s public art spotlight.
On a partly-sunny, chilly morning in February 2005, an army of paid helpers unfurled diaphanous saffron fabric from 7,503 rectangular post-and-beam gates in Central Park. Sixteen-feet tall, the gates framed twenty-three miles of walkways throughout the park, creating a vibrant path of golden fabric that illuminated the barren winter landscape. Erected for a mere sixteen days, the temporary installation by artists Christo and Jeanne-Claude invoked enthusiastic admirers and fiery critics alike. While some viewed the project as a telling intervention in contemporary life and a fitting response to the historic legacy of Central Park, others viewed the installation as an eyesore and less powerful than Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s other political “wrapped” works such as the Wrapped Reichstag (1995). The debate sparked by the gates instigated a crucial questioning of the role of public art in New York, which inspired us to revisit this installation for this week’s iteration of Public Art Spotlight.
Unsurprisingly, we here at High Line Art are pretty nuts for public art. In keeping with this passion we are starting a weekly feature focusing on public art, anywhere in the world and from anytime throughout history. Starting off with a bang, we’re revisiting Tilted Arc, by Richard Serra, one of the most divisive works of public art ever to grace the streets of New York City.
For this week’s installment of public art spotlight, we’re travelling to the city of light to investigate the history of French artist Daniel Buren’s contested installation of striped columns at the Palais Royal in Paris. Resembling an ancient monument to modernity, Les Deux Plateaux (The Two Levels), more commonly known as Buren’s columns, consists of a 3,000 square meter group of black-and-white striped cylinders of varying heights. Upon their installation in 1986, the public work drew fiery resentment from local residents. To many Parisians, the columns embodied a mandated modernity that opposed, rather than complemented, the rich history of traditionalist France. Supporters argued that the installation highlighted Paris as a dominant center for the arts through its juxtaposition of old and new and imbued the once “empty” square with a newfound spatial awareness. Whose opinion would prevail?
To celebrate the recent opening of Solar on High Line Channel 14, including a fascinating selection of videos by Rosa Barba, Neïl Beloufa, Camille Henrot, and Basim Magdy whose work investigates ecological transformation and climate change, we decided to dedicate this week’s Public Art Spotlight to another eco-minded project – iconic German artist Joseph Beuys’s 7000 Eichen (7000 Oaks) (1982—87).
In the summer of 2008, an unlikely sound was added to the cacophony of New York City – the roar of a waterfall…well, four waterfalls to be exact. In an incredible feat of artistic direction, engineering, and municipal coordination, Danish-Icelandic artist Olafur Eliasson had installed four gigantic manmade waterfalls in the East River. Between 90 and 120 feet high and up to 80 feet across, the mammoth waterfalls pumped thousands of gallons of water up ten stories of scaffolding every minute, which then cascaded into the river below like microcosmic Niagara Falls. One of the largest works of public art of our time, Olafur Eliasson’s New York City Waterfalls (2008), produced with the Public Art Fund, takes center stage in this week’s public art spotlight.
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Pauline Boudry / Renate Lorenz, with Ginger Brooks Takahashi: new performances in response to Boudry / Lorenz’s film “Silent” (2016)
Wednesday, May 16, 7-8pm
On the High Line at 14th St.
RSVP link in bio ➡️
📷 Courtesy of the artists and Marcelle Alix
We’re excited to announce our new mural by #DorothyIannone “I Lift My Lamp Beside the Golden Door,” which will be on view from early March 2018 through March 2019! More info at the link in bio 👆
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