Murals are a time-tested method of urban beautification that
generally eschew political controversy, thanks to a number of factors: the low
cost when compared to other capital improvement projects; the minimal
disruption of other routine urban patterns (traffic, utility operation)
involved in the “installation” of the mural; their persistent success at
attracting private or non-profit sponsorship to fund part or all of the artwork
(few murals depend exclusively on city taxes for funding); their apparent
ability to deter graffiti artists or other vandals; and, quite simply, the
unambiguous ability to replace a formerly boring or downright unsightly blank
wall with artistic content. While
of course the actual content of a mural could occasionally arouse objections as
easily as any other piece of civic art, I cannot recall any murals attracting
public outcry in recent years. Most
of them go up quietly. Conversely,
the disapproval of Fred Wilson’s “E Pluribus Unum” sculpture in Indianapolis
was enough to convince its original sponsors to discontinue it altogether. One can only speculate if Wilson’s installation, in
which a prominently featured emancipated slave elicited a variety of
remonstrations, suffered precisely because
it was a sculpture, whereas the Arts Council of Indianapolis oversaw 46 murals
across the city in conjunction with Super Bowl XLVI earlier this year—hardly an
outcry. Do people worry less about
murals because of the expectation that they won’t last forever? Any mural could meet a very sudden end
if a developer constructs a building in the adjacent lot, thereby concealing
the wall and the artwork.
Meanwhile, a particularly unpopular mural will not likely face much
opposition if another muralist receives a commission to paint over it.
The relationship between a mural and the space over which it
presides is critical in understanding how this genre of civic art has been able
to endure and proliferate over the years.
I have touched upon this topic in two previous blog articles: one
about a mural in Indianapolis that predates the big Super Bowl Initiative;
another surveying some murals in Philadelphia
(the nation’s leading mural city, with over 3,000) in particularly distressed
neighborhoods. In both cases, the
murals overwhelmingly rest on blank walls that front vacant lots. More likely than not, those vacant lots
formerly hosted a building that concealed the currently “muraled” wall, and
thus, a sizable painting helps divert attention away from the structure that is
now gone from demolition; it almost functions as a proxy. (Particularly in Philadelphia, murals
often suffer an association with the low-income neighborhoods in which they are
the most prevalent.) But is it a
suitable alternative? A
particularly beloved mural will mobilize a community to preserve it, both when
the paint begins to peel and when a developer purchases the abutting vacant
lot. But since the mural owes its
existence to a demolished building—otherwise there would be no “canvas”—is it
wise to hinder development solely for the sake of a mural? In previous blogs I have argued an
emphatic no; let the mural survive through photographs, but don’t sacrifice a
chance to restore housing in a neighborhood long neglected by investors. I have yet to witness a situation where
development faces hurdles due to the potential loss of an adjacent mural, but I
am confident that it will happen someday, if it hasn’t yet already. This tacit dilemma in mural site
selection makes this latest artistic incarnation in Philadelphia that much more
impressive. The photo below comes
from a rental car parking lot at the city’s international airport:
“How Philly Moves”, a celebration of dance, apparently is quite new, with a dedication of October 12, 2011. The site selection here is particularly
savvy: even if Hertz itself owns rental lot, everything in the photo ultimately
falls under a single supervisory force: the City of Philadelphia, and the city
would control any major developmental or infrastructural changes. If the parking garage and the adjacent
car rental lot don’t remain under these land uses in perpetuity, I have no
doubt they will at least survive for decades to come. Thus, chances of a new edifice concealing the mural are
unlikely. Quite frankly, “How
Philly Moves” does not owe its existence to a demolished structure nearby,
unlike so many others. A closer
view emphasizes the prudence behind both the site selection and the
beautification initiative:
Without the mural, it was a very run-of-the-mill parking
garage—the design of the garage had about as much architectural interest and
originality as an unintentionally exposed brick side wall. I have no doubt that the artist had to
take extra care to position the dancing figures across the gaps in the wall so
that it still visually communicated a desirable message. This mural looks tough, and it seems particularly accomplished as a result. While it would have been interesting if
the figures and the mural extended downward to the lower two ribbons of
concrete, the absence of paint there also helps emphasize the contrast.
I hope, in the future, cities like Philadelphia abide by
this model, seeking unorthodox painting surfaces if necessary, but recognizing
that strategic sites boost a mural’s staying power, perhaps to the level of a
stone sculpture. Elaborate
commitments such as this airport mural are unlikely to convey the sort of
bottom-up community collaboration that the aforementioned murals all
demonstrate—something like this parking garage is simply too elaborate, too
difficult to implement, and (I have no doubt) too expensive to reorganize en
masse. But its durability and
technical accomplishment may compensate for the slightly impersonal
approach. Then again, the content
may fall under much greater public scrutiny if the content seems dubious. After all, a mural like this is
permanent, right?
0 comments:
Post a Comment