Adam K. K. Figueira
The happy day at last has come for the art lovers amongst us, as yesterday marked the much anticipated unveiling of twelve new permanent art installations at Millennium Park in the heart of New Jerusalem. Situated on the large extended lot between the Central Communion Temple and the Administrative Temple, the park has long been among the city’s most popular spots for gathering and recreation, including for festivals, music, theatre, and outdoor worship services. Well, now saints and sojourners alike can add interactive visual arts to the many reasons for visiting this iconic landmark of Zion.
As announced, the installations were created by individual artists or teams chosen from each of the tribes of Israel (except Levi, of course), and like the tribes they represent, each installation has something unique and special to contribute. Here is a brief summary and review of the first five pieces on display. My reviews of the others will be released soon. See the included map for location information.
PHONY
Pillar (Dan)
Medium: Sacred Architecture
Artists: Zelph Bigelow (and crew)
Arguably the most visible of the installations, this large installation stands near the northern lawn (where last year’s Ultimate Frisbee Festival was held). It consists of concentric spiral staircases stretching over 90 standard cubits into the air, ending in a large viewing platform. Visitors can switch between staircases freely via a series of ramps that connect the frequently occurring landings in an intricate web of random-seeming lines and shapes. With the elevated perspective available atop the transparent viewing platform, however, an intricate pattern of interconnected circles, triangles, and rectangles is revealed, surrounding an open central core. There are also four cleverly concealed glass elevators for accessibility, though park officials anticipate that after the final resurrection, these will become unnecessary. The staircases, ramps, and platform are all constructed of Bigelow’s signature treated construction grade glass, here used to its most impressive effect yet. From the outside of the structure, the glass panels appear in a mosaic of cloudy shades ranging from dark gray to nearly pure white. But from inside, each panel is completely clear, offering not the slightest hint of its outward color. By night, the piece is even more impressive as each panel independently illuminates in a range of fiery hues that give the whole thing the appearance of a sacred pillar of flame.
According to Bigelow, while the inspiration for the piece came from scriptural descriptions of the pillar of smoke and fire that went before the camp of Israel in the wilderness, that inspiration didn’t flow in the most obvious direction. “We all know what the pillar looked like to the ancient Israelites,” Bigelow’s artist statement says, “but I wanted to explore the Lord’s perspective on this scene. What did it look like from inside the pillar? If you could have looked at that scene through God’s eyes, what would you have seen?”
What indeed? I started and ended my tour of the installations with this piece, as I wanted the experience in both day and nighttime conditions. Honestly, I’m not sure which I prefer. I’ve been in structures that use Bigelow’s glass before, so I wasn’t worried about slippery surfaces or sharp edges. Pillar is as conscientiously built as usual, with the safety and comfort of visitors to the exhibit obviously being given a high priority. But I wasn’t prepared to stand inside, essentially, a building made entirely of glass. Somehow, there aren’t any visible support beams, fasteners, or anything. There does not appear to be any other material used, and Bigelow has been uncharacteristically silent on his method of achieving this. He only assured me that it was as sound as anything he’s ever built.
The effect of his engineering is stunning. No matter where you stand, where you look, or how many layers of glass you’re looking through, the view is never totally obscured, but there is such a refraction and reflection of light, that you get the feeling you are somehow standing not inside a cloud, but a rainbow. There are also slight distortions based on the angle and thickness of the glass, and it is this that threatens Bigelow’s intentions the most. God, of course, sees everything clearly, and if Bigelow’s goal was to duplicate that perspective, then from the inside of Pillar, he fails to do so. But what a failure it is! I could see myself, my fellow visitors, and the surrounding scenery reflected from many angles, so that I did feel I had an expanded perspective on them, but the details were always somewhat fuzzy. Any disappointment I felt at that melted away when I emerged onto the top of the platform, however, and for the first time was able to see the grand design of the structure’s inner workings, as well as the rest of the city, almost to the walls in every direction. Looking out on the sea of temple spires and treetops I thought that perhaps the pillar itself was only there as a visual aid for Israel. For a clear view, you still need to see things from above.
By night, Pillar is just as impressive. Standing in the “fire” one feels a strange kind of privacy, for though it is bright, you feel wrapped in light, almost like a covering. Though others were climbing the stairs as I approached, I could only see them as the vaguest shadows moving within a concealing flame. Looking out from the inside, you can still see the surrounding park, but I felt more drawn to introspection than during my daytime visit. I was worried that Pillar would cast an angry light on its surroundings, or that it would encourage negative or aggressive emotions, but by a careful use of tempering hues of light, Bigelow somehow maintains the impression of fire without ever invoking anger or aggression. It’s the warmth of God that I felt in PIllar, not the wrath. Hopefully you feel the same.
PHONY
Exodiiii (Zebulun)
Medium: Sculpture (Bronze)
Artist: Binta Mulunga
The park’s second large-scale installation, Exodiiii, features a series of four sculptures by Binta Mulunga, the celebrated artist whose work graces many of the monuments of Babylon, but whose masterful hands and mind have not until now been publicly turned to such sacred purposes. Each of the four pieces sits at one of the four cardinal directions in a ring surrounding the temple spire at the exact center of the park. Each depicts a different instance of leaving one land for another. On the western point, facing east, is a scene of ancient Israel passing through the Red Sea on their way out of Egypt. No Charlton Heston look-alike, the Moses in this scene is dark of face, thin of limb, and seems stretched almost to the breaking point by the effort of holding his rod over the waters. He stands on a rock, straining against the wind coming off the sea so strongly I could almost feel it. The visitor has the privilege here of walking along a path between walls of brazen water among life-sized sculptures of Israelites whose expressions of wonder, determination, and even fear invite contemplation of what it means to leave the world behind for the sake of following the Lord. The armies of Egypt are not depicted, leaving you to imagine for yourself what you might be leaving behind on the other side of the flood.
At the eastern point, facing west, is the obvious mirror to Moses: Brigham Young leading the 19th-century saints to the Salt Lake Valley. What this scene lacks in originality it makes up for in emotion, as Mulunga takes us through the extremes of the forces driving this scene. While Moses stands tall at the head of his people, Brigham stands in their midst, depicted with two faces, one looking forward, and the other looking back. Mubunga says that the forward face represents faith, hope, and “a vision of promised peace, no matter how far off,” while the backward face represents fear, loss, and unfulfilled promises. Following Brigham’s eyeline backwards, we see struggling saints, bodies buried by the trail, and desperate men with violent eyes pointing rifles backward in frustrated defiance of their foes. Brigham’s hand is outstretched to them, whether in warning or in command is hard to say, but his face is full of sorrow. Following his other eyes forward, we see faithful followers heading into the unknown. Some of them look back for guidance (one, poignantly, a small child with his hand on the bar of a handcart as his parents kneel beside it, leaning on each other with heads bowed in exhausted prayer). Like the invisible armies of Egypt, most of what this face of Brigham sees is invisible, left to the viewer’s imagination, but from his expression, Brigham’s vision is both glorious and hard to understand.
The southern point features the most personal of the sculptures: a statue of a young African girl walking alone along a forested path. She carries a backpack, and looks upward through the treetops towards a lone star. Hiding among the trees are other children, some watching her, some calling out to her, and others running off as if to tell others about her. Mubunga, who was at the installation when I visited, told me this statue represents her own exodus from the things of the world towards the things of Christ, as well as that of her mother and her daughter, who she sees as her inspiration on that journey (for details of her experiences, see the General Conference talk she gave last year on the occasion of her calling as a Seventy). Despite this personal inspiration, Mubunga said she aimed (I think mostly successfully) to create a scene that anyone could relate to. “We all have our lonely paths and dark forests, and we all follow the same guiding star,” she said.
At the north point, facing south, lies the most recent exodus: the arrival of the ten tribes from the “land of the north.” The concept of “the North” is depicted by two tall shelves of ice through which the caravan of Israelites pass. The recently split ice seems to melt away from the group, who are as diverse as you would expect, and who come riding strange animals and bearing trumpets, swords, and implements of labor such as shovels and picks. This is perhaps the most intriguing of the four sculptures, as little is yet known of the history and journey of the Ten Tribes. Their leader, known to us only as “Zalonzion,” clutches a scroll of animal hide tightly to her chest with one arm, while in the other she holds aloft a small, sharp stone. This scene is obviously based on several of the widely circulated photographs of the tribes’ arrival last year, but also includes some strange additional details, such as unknown writing on the harness of one of the bear-like animals, and a pair of twins near the back of the company holding a strange wooden framework up toward whatever lies behind them. One can only hope that when the promised translation of that scroll is released, it will shed some light on the mystery. For now, Mubunga coyly remarked to me that all details of this sculpture have been “approved by the appropriate authorities.”
PHONY
Jello Salad (Ephraim)
Medium: Interactive Sculpture
Artist: Hàoyǔ (Richard) Chén
Despite its lighthearted (and possibly confusing) name, this interactive sculpture is one of the most functional of the new installations. To find it, walk into the bowl-like depression in the pavement of the park’s western courtyard. There you will see a mass of green glass cubes elevated to chest height interspersed with round white stones suspended among them on wires. The cubes are dense, but not too dense to wander among them and look at each one individually, and the unique texturing on each one makes this well worth your time. Some even have depictions of things I won’t spoil for you, but that you might recognize.
In case you need the explanation, this sculpture has reference to historical food traditions of both the ancient Israelites and the Latter-day Saints. According to legend, as explained on a plaque near the installation, it was common for the saints of the Utah era to eat a slimy green substance called “jello” at their public gatherings. Whether this traditional food had reference to the draining of the Missouri swamp from which Nauvoo was raised or to the slimy bottom of the exposed Great Salt Lake before the coming of the “Little Flood” to restore it, few remember, but the former seems likely as it was sometimes mixed with round white confections known as marsh-mallows. Other foods, such as carrots, were also used, but Chén has opted for the marshmallow here as his secondary ingredient for a specific reason. “What else is round, white, and edible?” he asks in his artist statement. “Mana!” is the answer. “The children of Israel ate mana in the ancient wilderness, and the Saints ate marshmallows in the Salt Lake Valley, both of which were periods of wandering and trial, though in different ways,” Chén opines.
This alone would make the installation both meaningful and delightful, but Chén doesn’t stop at drawing abstract connections between the distant and more recent past. In a move I can only describe as breathtaking and deeply moving, he’s also managed to turn his installation into an active tool for doing the work of salvation. That’s because the white stones aren’t just fake manamallows. They’re real Urim and Thummims.
That’s right. Formerly available only at the workstations in the ordinance houses scattered throughout the city or from your ward’s library for home use, for the first time, we have an authorized use of these valuable tools that is both public and artistic. In a stunning display of sensitivity and inclusion, Chén has created art for all of New Jerusalem’s residents, both living and dead.
If you’ve never used a Urim and Thummim before, the method is simple. You approach, and place your hand on the stone, then close your eyes and offer a prayer. In response, one of your deceased ancestors (if available) who has not yet received the ordinances of salvation, or another soul in waiting, as the case may be, touches the corresponding stone on the other side of the veil. Their name is then transferred to your stone, and simultaneously submitted to the temple register for verification and reserved for ordinances under your name. When next you go to perform ordinances, you can retrieve the name from the register. You can also choose to release it to the general lists for those in need of a name.
Of course, you can also use the Urim and Thummim to request prayers for loved ones. Just write the name on the stone with your finger and a designated spirit will record it and remember that person in their prayers. The name will also be added to the prayer rolls of the nearest ordinance house. Jello Salad is conveniently located near the entrance to the park’s baptismal font, for those who feel the urge to act immediately.
I thoroughly enjoyed my time with this exhibit, but as I left I found myself wondering if some would find it too casual a blending of the sacred with the merely mortal. Personally, I remember the words of Alma, that “All things denote there is a God.” Either way, such a use of Urim and Thummims would need to be approved by the current Prophet, and President Amir L. Robinson knows what he’s doing. Needless to say, whatever you think of the “Jello Salad” concept, the undeniable benefit to the work of the Lord is bound to make this one of the park’s most popular installations.
PHONY
Worlds Without End (Gad)
Medium: Interactive Multimedia
Artist: Mildred Espinoza
From the beloved artisan, programmer, and prophetess of the tribe of Gad we have Worlds Without End, one of the more forward-looking installations of the bunch. It consists of seven carefully sculpted planets, each representing various aspects of the human condition, each surrounded by infinity mirrors that make the worlds seem to stretch on endlessly, as the name of the exhibit implies. What makes this a new take on the concept is the incorporation of holographic mapping and projection technology that can be used to a variety of effects. While each world is beautifully crafted in its own right, Espinoza knows that your ideal world—or the condition you want to express—may not be the same as hers. To this end (ha) she’s created a kind of holographic sandbox, allowing you to use your hands to sculpt and shape the worlds to your liking. Using standard gestures you can zoom in and out on parts of your world, carve out valleys and bodies of water, shape mountains and continents, place islands, forests, volcanos, and creatures to inhabit your world. These are all rendered in stunning detail. Then you can set the clock ticking on them and watch how things naturally evolve, or intervene to shape events to your liking.
In the three completely empty mirror chambers you can even go back to the beginning and create your world from scratch using natural processes. It’s a ton of fun to create a spiraling nebula with a swirl of your fingers, or compress a cloud of matter into the core of a new planet just by squeezing it between your hands. You can also give voice commands and watch the elements until they obey you.
This sort of thing is always limited by the resources the artist chooses to put into it, but I found this didn’t matter too much to me. Yes, the creatures have a set of stock behaviors—fairly large, but not infinite. Yes, there is a limited (though still impressive) selection of trees, rock types, and other assets. No, you can’t create and use your own new assets (although you can temporarily upload some from a personal memory card, or you can save your creations to one to take them with you—standard formats only). But this project represents multiple years of work on the part of one of our most brilliant digital artists, and she has created an accordingly impressive collection of things to work with. To list them all would be to deny you some of the joy of discovery, but suffice to say it will take many sessions of creation before you exhaust the built-in options.
What I love most about this installation is the way it focuses your attention on your creation. As soon as you start up the holographic projectors, they immediately scan and remove you from the projection, so that when you look in the mirror you see not yourself standing by a model, but a world of your making floating endlessly in the vastness of space. You can choose an option to put yourself back in the picture, but it seems to me that one of the things every godlike creator must learn to do is to consider what their creations mean when their presence is not easily discernible. Is your creation a personal vanity project, or is it an act of service? What other options lie between?
PHONY
Curious Workmanship (Manasseh)
Medium: Interactive Multimedia / Neural Projection
Artists: ZCTI (Zion’s Cooperative Technological Institute)
I’m glad this set of works includes one from the budding young artists of ZCTI. Often seen only as a tech school, the neural projection program, headed by Jane Spencer, has a strong artistic bent, with a focus not only on creativity, but on meaning and impact. For this installation, Spencer has combined the insights of Bigelow and Espinoza, but with a Book of Mormon theme. Curious Workmanship is a giant reproduction of the Liahona that you can stand inside and manipulate via neural projection, and the results of your work can be seen both inside and outside of the sphere. Advanced filters are in place to prevent inappropriate displays, but this standard feature is probably unnecessary here in New Jerusalem, except in the case of the very young, the very old, or the newly arrived. To test this, I attempted to project a mild insult to my brother (“Jeff smells like a cumom”), and was met with an appropriately mild rebuke (“Man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart”) and a five-minute wait period before the Liahona would function again. I’m told the exhibit does not use a user-identification algorithm, but the responses scale up from there in proportion to the offense. As with all neural-projection tech, it only works within the designated projection zone, which in this case is inside the dome of the Liahona, so you don’t need to worry about it picking up stray thoughts as you walk by. Of course, one of the safeguards of neural-projection tech is that it can detect intent signals, so if your brain chemistry signifies malicious intent of any kind, it will simply become non-responsive or present a standard error indicating the receiver needs maintenance. I worry about this kind of tech in public, but without any form of identification, this doesn’t seem too invasive.
What it does seem like is a lot of fun. Curious Workmanship is capable of displaying text, images, and moving pictures, although there is no audio component. It can also translate your text into over one hundred languages. I enjoyed putting scriptural messages and other ones (“Brush your teeth tonight!”) on the display for passers-by, and there is a large library of imagery you can call up to work from as well. After a while, I felt kind of like a tiny angel operating the celestial machinery that allowed me to mysteriously communicate with outside observers in a way they could recognize, if not fully understand.
It’s the interpretive element that carries the installation over the line from study tool or brain toy into the realm of art. I had fun rendering my messages in the ZCTI kids’ version of Reformed Egyptian hieroglyphics, as well as bringing my personal vision of some memorable scripture stories to life. Curious Workmanship can help you visualize the details of your own understanding, and it can help you access ideas that you may lack the capacity to express in other ways. Neural projection technology is still new and somewhat controversial, but under Spencer’s direction and with the ZCTI kids’ inherent goodness and excitement, it’s implemented thoughtfully enough to make this exhibit well worth the visit.
Adam K. K. Figueira has taken it upon himself to find stray cats homes in New Jerusalem. If you are willing to adopt, please reach out to him via your local bishop.
PHONY
