There is a famous essay in the history of modern art called “The Monuments of Passaic.” Written in 1967, its author, Robert Smithson, takes us on a journey back to his home state of New Jersey, documenting various “monuments” as he goes.
Smithson’s monuments are not of the conventional sort. They consist of old pumping derricks, abandoned sandpits, and random industrial offcuts. Indeed, his point is not so much to provide a survey of the state’s statuary, but rather to define what a new monument for a post-industrial America might be.
New Jersey might not seem the most obvious state to begin this inquiry today. The monument-dense mall of Washington or the statue-laden cities of the South appear readier candidates given the selective histories their monuments represent. Yet, just down the road from Passaic, in the city of Newark, four local artists have, like Smithson, returned to address this very theme.
At the edge of the city’s Military Park, one of the country’s oldest greens, there is a very large collection of rubber tires. They are squashed down and bolted together but still rise well above head height. It is not immediately apparent but, if you follow the shape, you’ll find they form a giant question mark. The punctuation is fitting: public art is often met with questions — most often, what is it?
The sculpture is called Serendipity, by artist Chakaia Booker. At first glance, it might pass for one of Smithson’s monuments. The title similarly conveys delight in finding value in the unexpected or unintentional. Booker often uses discarded tires as her material, building them up to large, impressive scales. Her sculptures welcome and reward curiosity, but are far from isolated objects. They engage with the place in which they’re put and the people present there or passing through. In Newark’s Military Park, this quality is particularly clear. Here, Booker’s question mark is more directed than self-reflective. It is placed parallel to the park’s central monument, Wars of America.