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Prada Marfa / A Half-Decade Later
In a sideways nod to consumerism’s sprawl, globalisation, and the epic power of branding, Scandinavian artists Michael Elmgreen and Ingar Dragset (Galleri Nicolai Wallner) conceived and erected Prada Marfa in the middle of nowhere a bit more than a half-decade ago. Its almost surreal location on a desolate farm road some 40 miles (60km) outside the tiny art mecca of Marfa (more on that tomorrow) is key to its symbolic power: it seems to say that consumerism, like cockroaches, could survive absolutely anything.
Today, a bit more than a half-decade after its inception, the sculpture has become positively iconic. It’s travelled through every realm of the blogosphere, been vandalized several times, and has become instantly recognizable in the vain of Watts Tower and Oldenburg & Van Bruggen‘s Spoonbridge and Cherry. And while the artists had originally intended to let the work weather, decompose and eventually go back to nature, its iconic place in culture seems to have guaranteed it a place in the physical world. As its myth has grown, it has become a veritable landmark unto itself, to which hipsters with artsy pretensions make sacred pilgrimages – five years later, it’s maintained, free of graffiti, well-lit and glimmering not unlike any real Prada boutique. All this while every building in the adjacent town of Valentine, Texas is sagging, smashed or deserted.
The sculpture’s appropriateness seems to be growing with time, its meaning towed forward not only by Prada’s vigorous attention to its own sterling brand, but also by a cultural context in which our relationship to ostentation and conspicuous consumption is becoming more complex. The Blogazine visited the sculpture last week in the American summer sun, and we’re very happy to have found it alive and well.
