Ephemerality and the art of earthworks

A few months ago, when the bluebells bordering the Schuylkill River path in Valley Forge Park were in full exuberant bloom, my eye wandered off path and fixed on something thoroughly unexpected. A little tree in the midst of the forest, not yet in full leaf, was decorated in red and green shiny Christmas ornaments. Not only was this festive tree totally out of sync with the seasons, but also it was clear that whoever had provided this tree with all of its flourishes had braved poison ivy, deer ticks and brush to leave the random discoverer a gift.

How long had the tree been decorated? Wouldn't the winter winds since the holiday season have stripped the tree of its ornaments? What was the meaning of this act of leaving a fully decorated tree in the forest? Would anyone try to retrieve the ornaments?

It really seemed as though I had come upon an artistic statement of sorts. But here in the woods there is no gallery, or wine and cheese, or fans and collectors and critics to celebrate the work. Who was the "artist" and why did he/she do this? We'll never know.

Playfulness in the face of fear

I've long been a fan of the exquisite earthy "manipulations" of Andy Goldsworthy, and I can recall my amazement at the sublimity of R. Smithson's Spiral Jetty when I first read about that. Earthworks catch us by surprise; but rather than shock us into states of fear and loathing, as much of the postmodern oeuvre does, they often make us smile and sometimes inspire playfulness.

Earthworks are generally not so "egotistical" as to claim immortality for themselves; instead they're rather ephemeral and somewhat mystical in nature. Earthworks are usually left to reform and then decay and disintegrate with time. The only record of their existence might be a photograph, which is far from the experience of interacting with the work in situ.

Destruction after 24 hours

Ephemeral earthworks have been alighting upon our local landscape with increasing frequency of late. Aside from my random tree in the woods, the Schuylkill Center for Environmental Education invited local artists to create ephemeral artworks for an exhibition last January through April. Six artists and one team were invited to present works that would demonstrate the impact that 24 hours on the Center's land had on their creative processes and their materials— and that would last only 24 hours in duration. Installations, sculptures, interventions and events were created and then documented by the artists, using photography, video, sound and text.

Far more amazing and certainly worth a visit is Morris Arboretum's "Summer Palace," a twiggy, spiral formed structure that resembles a two-storied onion dome. The palace, which one can wander in and out of, was fashioned by sculptor Patrick Dougherty over a three-week period from hundreds of willow, dogwood, maple and oak saplings— refuse from the Arboretum. Significant rainfall upon the structure since its completion in May has coaxed leafing of some of the willow twigs, adding a touch of verdant color here and there.

There is wit in Dougherty's "Summer Palace," to be sure. Yet this sort of wit, unlike the nihilist sort in some postmodern art, succeeds in making our souls smile. We smile even though the work reminds us that nothing, not even art, can possibly last forever.

So let's enjoy it all while we can. "Summer Palace" is on display until it crumbles, which is expected to occur about three years from now.