Telephone pole art, next to gas guzzler. For a while now, I’ve been thinking about those young Just Stop Oil activists who, in late 2022, threw food on the protective glazing over famous pieces of art. Their actions, they stated, were meant to force us to confront out absurdly lackluster response to the climate crisis. This upsets you, they proclaimed, our pretending to destroy van Gogh’s Sunflowers with tomato soup? This makes you outraged, but the wholesale, systemic destruction of the biosphere is nothing to get too worked up about?
Can’t you see that our future is melting?
Can’t you see that our future is melting?
In the year 1500, Durer was the first major artist to paint himself straight on, with no apology. From the start, I’ve thought: hooray for these smart, brave kids, willing to endure ridicule for a righteous cause. Now that I’ve come back to this blog, abandoned for more than a year, I find that a tsunami of words about their civil disobedience has crested and crashed already. These kids are monsters! No, they’re visionaries! Well, maybe their intentions are good, but assaulting art turns people off. There are better ways to protest. Blah, blah, blah, here, here, here, and here. It’s all been said – almost. But first, a splash of words on my blog sabbatical.
While away I wrote a science fiction novel called Shipworld. The just-finished novel chronicles the 360-year journey of a generation spaceship containing 600 humans in flight from an Earth in deep ecological crisis. Also onboard are two non-fictional artworks. One is a rare Olmec Head, now squatting in a museum in Jalapa, Mexico, and the other is Albrecht Durer’s 522-year-old self-portrait, hanging without fanfare in the Alte Pinakothek in Munich.
About these two treasures, which play key roles in the story, I’ve done a great deal of thinking. I’ve stood before them, gazed and wondered. I suppose I’ve fallen in love with them. Nonetheless, they’re just things. I'd gladly accept their desecration – as well as the destruction of entire museums full of Monets and Rothkos and Rembrandts and O’Keeffes – if it would help jolt us from our climate-action slumber. New art can always be made, but the damage caused by climate change on our living planet is effectively irreversible over the next several hundred years. By the way, a spokesperson for Just Stop Oil recently stated that they may soon start slashing paintings for real, “in order to get their messages across.”
When that happens, I'll still say good for them.
While away I wrote a science fiction novel called Shipworld. The just-finished novel chronicles the 360-year journey of a generation spaceship containing 600 humans in flight from an Earth in deep ecological crisis. Also onboard are two non-fictional artworks. One is a rare Olmec Head, now squatting in a museum in Jalapa, Mexico, and the other is Albrecht Durer’s 522-year-old self-portrait, hanging without fanfare in the Alte Pinakothek in Munich.
About these two treasures, which play key roles in the story, I’ve done a great deal of thinking. I’ve stood before them, gazed and wondered. I suppose I’ve fallen in love with them. Nonetheless, they’re just things. I'd gladly accept their desecration – as well as the destruction of entire museums full of Monets and Rothkos and Rembrandts and O’Keeffes – if it would help jolt us from our climate-action slumber. New art can always be made, but the damage caused by climate change on our living planet is effectively irreversible over the next several hundred years. By the way, a spokesperson for Just Stop Oil recently stated that they may soon start slashing paintings for real, “in order to get their messages across.”
When that happens, I'll still say good for them.
Hey, Michael Mann, ease up already. One argument against the “art terrorist” kids holds that their actions are counterproductive. Articles in The New York Times and elsewhere have sited a survey conducted by the University of Pennsylvania’s Center for Science, Sustainability and the Media. It finds that the American public is wary of these non-violent climate protests, with 46 percent agreeing that such tactics "decrease their support for efforts to address climate change." Forty percent record no effect on their support, while 13 percent reported increased support. Hence, tossing fried eggs on the Mona Lisa is a very unsavvy idea. Until, that is, you actually look at the data and realize, once more, that even prestige media outlets can be lousy at interpreting survey results.
First problem: the posed question wasn't just about food on art. It referred to "disruptive non-violent actions including shutting down morning commuter traffic and damaging pieces of art." Anyone with a car knows that getting stuck in traffic on the way to work is a very different kettle of soup than learning about a fake attack on some stuffy artwork you've probably never seen in person. Hold on, there's a second problem here. The question implies that the artworks were actually damaged, when they were not.
Third problem: who exactly are these 46 percent of Americans whose deep and abiding desire to take action against climate change is suddenly squashed because they don't want to be on the same team with a bunch of snot-nosed kids causing a fuss at the Met? Such an association, presumably, makes them feel squishy, and so they jettison their beliefs that were built on solid research and facts. Oh, c'mon! These 46 percent, as the survey data indicates, are primarily white, older Republicans and Independents whose supposed support for climate change action was either a lie or thin as tissue paper. Permit me to suggest this headline: Fancy Ivy League Survey Shows that Americans Who Barely if at All Support Climate Change Action Profess Even Less Support After Hearing About Non-violent, Disruptive Climate Change Protests.
Maybe it's kinda cool that 13 percent of respondents reported increased support for addressing climate change. Maybe a bunch of these folks weren't hippies already. But it's definitely not cool that Michael Mann, a luminary in the climate change movement and director of the aforementioned center at Penn, goes to great lengths to defend the study and its popular interpretation. After all, his kind of activism is writing books and giving congressional testimony. That's all good, if largely ineffectual. Mann might consider that unorthodox, even destructive climate action could play an effective role in the great climate fight that's building -- even if it makes him uncomfortable. He may want to cut the kid activists some slack.
First problem: the posed question wasn't just about food on art. It referred to "disruptive non-violent actions including shutting down morning commuter traffic and damaging pieces of art." Anyone with a car knows that getting stuck in traffic on the way to work is a very different kettle of soup than learning about a fake attack on some stuffy artwork you've probably never seen in person. Hold on, there's a second problem here. The question implies that the artworks were actually damaged, when they were not.
Third problem: who exactly are these 46 percent of Americans whose deep and abiding desire to take action against climate change is suddenly squashed because they don't want to be on the same team with a bunch of snot-nosed kids causing a fuss at the Met? Such an association, presumably, makes them feel squishy, and so they jettison their beliefs that were built on solid research and facts. Oh, c'mon! These 46 percent, as the survey data indicates, are primarily white, older Republicans and Independents whose supposed support for climate change action was either a lie or thin as tissue paper. Permit me to suggest this headline: Fancy Ivy League Survey Shows that Americans Who Barely if at All Support Climate Change Action Profess Even Less Support After Hearing About Non-violent, Disruptive Climate Change Protests.
Maybe it's kinda cool that 13 percent of respondents reported increased support for addressing climate change. Maybe a bunch of these folks weren't hippies already. But it's definitely not cool that Michael Mann, a luminary in the climate change movement and director of the aforementioned center at Penn, goes to great lengths to defend the study and its popular interpretation. After all, his kind of activism is writing books and giving congressional testimony. That's all good, if largely ineffectual. Mann might consider that unorthodox, even destructive climate action could play an effective role in the great climate fight that's building -- even if it makes him uncomfortable. He may want to cut the kid activists some slack.
Everyone loves Chihuly! Let's return to the art museum that I frequent, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. A few weeks ago, my wife Elahna and I were there for a Hanukkah celebration in the enclosed Ruth and Carl J. Shapiro Family Courtyard, designed by the renowned architect Norman Foster (also known as Baron Foster of Thames Bank). A klezmer band played the same three songs over and over, and the latkes tasted neither of potato or oil. How is that possible? But still, it was fun. We sat at the bar and I alternately beheld my beautiful wife and Dale Chihuly’s 42-foot tall glass sculpture, Lime Green Icicle Tower. It’s, what, one of seven million Chihuly pieces gracing the globe, churned out of his mega-studio by the master and his 3,000 assistants.
Lime Green Icicle Tower first came to the MFA in 2011 as part of a Chihuly exhibition; folks liked it so much that the MFA took up a collection. Schoolchildren, so goes the legend, dropped their pennies in a box next to the sculpture. Add in a major gift from Donald Saunders (fashion tycoon and husband of Liv Ullmann) and soon the Chihuly was purchased for an undisclosed price somewhere beyond million dollars. Hmmm, I wondered at the MFA bar, how could those climate protestors effectively employ Lime Green?
Fling chocolate syrup at it, using squirt guns or turkey basters. Hurl anti-latkes at its pointy branches. No, too easy to clean up. Lime Green isn’t protected by glass; it’s made out of glass. How about a drone strike? Bam, right through the Baron's elegant roof into the Ruth and Carl J. Shapiro Family Courtyard. No, too messy. Collateral damage and all that. They could smuggle in a chainsaw. Gas or electric powered? Either way, thrum, thrum, just saw the artsy, pseudo-tree down. What, you got a problem? This bothers you, while Greenland melts and the Amazon burns? This gets your dander flying while the parts per million measurement of atmospheric carbon dioxide hits 418 at the Mauna Loa Observatory in Hawaii? Maybe attach a Mission Impossible device which creates a vibrating wave that resonates up and down the sculpture and shatters it apart! Even better, if only Yoshitomo Nara’s giant and very expensive fiberglass puppy – 20 yards away in the courtyard, the gift of local billionaire and Dexter Shoe heir Theodore Alfond – would amble over, lift its back leg and pee on Lime Green, issuing forth a stream of corrosive Pop-Art puppy juice that causes the tower’s icicles to go limp and fall away. Happy Hanukkah!
I haven't shared these musings with Elahna. She generally frowns on my flights of anarchic fancy.
Lime Green Icicle Tower first came to the MFA in 2011 as part of a Chihuly exhibition; folks liked it so much that the MFA took up a collection. Schoolchildren, so goes the legend, dropped their pennies in a box next to the sculpture. Add in a major gift from Donald Saunders (fashion tycoon and husband of Liv Ullmann) and soon the Chihuly was purchased for an undisclosed price somewhere beyond million dollars. Hmmm, I wondered at the MFA bar, how could those climate protestors effectively employ Lime Green?
Fling chocolate syrup at it, using squirt guns or turkey basters. Hurl anti-latkes at its pointy branches. No, too easy to clean up. Lime Green isn’t protected by glass; it’s made out of glass. How about a drone strike? Bam, right through the Baron's elegant roof into the Ruth and Carl J. Shapiro Family Courtyard. No, too messy. Collateral damage and all that. They could smuggle in a chainsaw. Gas or electric powered? Either way, thrum, thrum, just saw the artsy, pseudo-tree down. What, you got a problem? This bothers you, while Greenland melts and the Amazon burns? This gets your dander flying while the parts per million measurement of atmospheric carbon dioxide hits 418 at the Mauna Loa Observatory in Hawaii? Maybe attach a Mission Impossible device which creates a vibrating wave that resonates up and down the sculpture and shatters it apart! Even better, if only Yoshitomo Nara’s giant and very expensive fiberglass puppy – 20 yards away in the courtyard, the gift of local billionaire and Dexter Shoe heir Theodore Alfond – would amble over, lift its back leg and pee on Lime Green, issuing forth a stream of corrosive Pop-Art puppy juice that causes the tower’s icicles to go limp and fall away. Happy Hanukkah!
I haven't shared these musings with Elahna. She generally frowns on my flights of anarchic fancy.
See Nara's book "The Lonesome Puppy" for this adorable fellow's backstory.
A word about George Saunders, the big funder behind Lime Green. He’s a high-end real estate tycoon and the former owner of the Boston Park Plaza hotel. In 2013 he and partners sold that faded gem for $250 million to Sunstone Hotel Investors. Nice cash out! Take a look at his benefactors, the executive team at Sunstone. About what you'd expect, but the issue isn't that they're all middle-aged and older white men, or that there's something a bit icky about them. The thing is, they're rich dudes who generate some of the ridiculous streams of money that find profitable harbors in artwork investments – Nara sold his painting Knife Behind Back (see below) for $25 million – and they're also the kind of people most of us will never, ever meet. Or even pass by. The upper echelons of the one percent live in a parallel, luxury world. They reside in different neighborhoods, shop in different stores, and eat in different restaurants. They go to different schools. Yes, they have to ride on the same roads, but in limos and Lamborghinis; they fly the same airways, but in first class and private planes.
The $25 million face of the future. Which all takes us back to the art museum, and perhaps a deeper understanding of why the Just Stop Oil activists target famous artworks. An art museum is one of the few places where a regular person intersects with members of the wealthy power elite. No, we won’t actually see the super-rich there (they only attend VIP events), just as we won’t notice them at a Boston Celtics game (they’re ensconced in a luxury box, equipped with its own toilet and catered food), but we will be able to look at the bizarrely expensive stuff they’ve donated or loaned or sold to the local art barn.
Both prole and plutocrat stare at the same paintings, sculptures, and engraved Paul Revere punch bowls, and it may be the only thing they have in common. It may be their sole point of intersection. Ultimately, the art museum is where, outside of banks and gated compounds, the money is. And so it becomes the most available place to strike back at the ultra-rich, to threaten what they care (or pretend to care) about. In these climate-controlled, exquisitely lit rooms, patrolled by lowly paid security personnel, eco-activists are signaling disdain for the elite's ridiculously high carbon lifestyles (the average carbon footprint in the top one-percent is 75 times higher than in the bottom 50 percent) as well as their nihilistic embrace of a devasted future from which they expect to be wealth-insulated. Here, at the MFA and Tate and Guggenheim, the Masters of the Universe can be vicariously humiliated, a little bit, for their callous disregard.
Nara’s little girl with the knife behind her back? Soon she'll be slashing paintings, and good for her.
Both prole and plutocrat stare at the same paintings, sculptures, and engraved Paul Revere punch bowls, and it may be the only thing they have in common. It may be their sole point of intersection. Ultimately, the art museum is where, outside of banks and gated compounds, the money is. And so it becomes the most available place to strike back at the ultra-rich, to threaten what they care (or pretend to care) about. In these climate-controlled, exquisitely lit rooms, patrolled by lowly paid security personnel, eco-activists are signaling disdain for the elite's ridiculously high carbon lifestyles (the average carbon footprint in the top one-percent is 75 times higher than in the bottom 50 percent) as well as their nihilistic embrace of a devasted future from which they expect to be wealth-insulated. Here, at the MFA and Tate and Guggenheim, the Masters of the Universe can be vicariously humiliated, a little bit, for their callous disregard.
Nara’s little girl with the knife behind her back? Soon she'll be slashing paintings, and good for her.
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