Save the Arts Quad

The stately columns of Goldwin Smith, the ancient façade of Morrill, and the looming presence of McGraw Tower. Now, look slightly to your right. Dismembered whale fascia, a giant toothpick, and a stack of wood that resembles a gallows. What am I describing here? Certainly not the main quad of an elite university. But yes, to the horror of the Cornell Arts & Sciences student population, the Arts Quad has been occupied by installations erroneously described by many as “art.”

When a psychedelic metal-and-glass exhibit—what I imagine an LSD trip would look like—was installed outside of Martha Van Rensselaer Hall last year, we should have known that the Arts Quad would be next. Yet somehow, this series of catastrophes is even worse. Instead of just being offensive to the eyes, these abominations claim to serve a purpose. The whale fascia, for example, was constructed in opposition to the “whiteness” and “maleness” of Goldwin Smith. Those who can’t stop telling us how gender and race are social constructs have now assigned gender and race… to an inanimate building.

Yet, the creator of the debauchery in front of Lincoln Hall is correct: her “art” is the diametric opposite of Goldwin Smith. The latter is beautiful, the former ugly. Goldwin Smith serves a purpose; Jimenez’s work has no function. Goldwin Smith is creation, the pink tapestries are destruction. But most importantly, Goldwin Smith will last. When the trend fades and “At what point does the world unfold?”—the fittingly ridiculous name for the whale fascia—unfolds, it will be forgotten. The only lasting memory of this mess will be the memory of the damage it has done to the beauty it obscures.

The whale fascia, gallows, and toothpick are not beautiful. We no longer create beautiful things. The statue of Hercules in between Statler and Uris requires no plaque to explain itself. It is beautiful, and its beauty is self-apparent. There’s no ‘deeper meaning’ to the Hercules statue because the beauty is the point. I’ve spoken enough about the whale fascia—certainly more words than it deserves. Let’s discuss the gallows next.

The gallows are not a medieval execution device (or, at least these gallows are not). Rather, the stack of wooden planks—somehow titled “Circulating Matters”—wishes to make a statement about “circular construction.” The gallows are not merely a normal stack of wooden planks that are likely to attract black widow spiders—no; rather, it is a stack of wooden planks from the former 206 College Avenue that is likely to attract black widow spiders. The piece aims to demonstrate the “reuse of building elements” from old buildings for new buildings—recycling, in a way. Instead of simply recycling the materials and proving their point, the designers chose to make a statement about proving their point. The wood from 206 College Ave. could have been used in any of the numerous projects around Ithaca, instead they sit on the Arts Quad, attracting spiders.

The point really lay here: these installations don’t serve the purpose of beauty: they are political props. All three have some “statement” to make instead of simply being beautiful. The rejoinder is obvious: great art in the past has also been functional. While this is true, here beauty is but a fleeting concern, second to deconstructing colonialism or whiteness or whatever other imagined ‘structure of oppression’ is creeping in the Arts Quad. This “art” is merely a liberal arts paper made physical.

This is to say nothing of the toilets.