The Economy of Scale

I often imagine a gift to the masses: Space. Pure, usable, unregulated space, a munificent socialist gesture, free of charge. I see airplane hangar sized buildings full of the bustle and hum of hundreds of people using their space. The millions of shrines to utility (in the common sense of usefulness, but more so in the economic sense: a measure of that which is sought to be maximized in any situation involving a choice). How would people use their spaces? Would they become little empires of specialization? Would people live in them? Build on them? Store things? Accumulate more and more space until it became unmanageable? Would they spread and sprawl, grow and wilt? Of course, all of these, because they already do. But now they pay for the privilege.

What if we didn't have to pay? I wonder how many artists would have produced work on a larger scale. I wonder how many would've realized visions that ambled onward and outward, encompassing acres. I wonder how many would do something BIG if they could. Scale is awe-inspiring, and frequently, a shortcut to the sublime. But there are other ways to go big. Big chronologically, e.g. Cindy Sherman's lifelong project of self-portraits. Big in number, small in size, e.g. Raymond Queneau's 100,000,000,000,000 sonnets. Big in concept, e.g. Duchamp says anything is art.

Sketches for etched glass cube and glass panel visual poems on anatomy photocopy, c. 1998

But when it comes to sheer size, scale is a privilege enjoyed by a few, appropriated by some, and suffered for by many. I admit I'm suffering for it right now by putting my studio together. I've had ideas kicking around for over ten years that I haven't been able to manifest because I simply didn't have room (see photos). I'll also admit that I have neither the clout nor the savvy to pull off something like Matthew Barney's Grandstand in the Cremaster 2 (go to sculpture, then grandstand). I can't say, I want to build a rodeo out of salt in the flats. I can't say, like Robert Smithson, I want to build a spiral jetty. Not yet anyways.

For now, I'm increasing incrementally. Why do I want to increase the size/scale of my work anyway? I've already called it a shortcut to sublimity. I don't know if that's pejorative, but I know it's true. Because big things move me. And that's important to me - moving people. Maybe once I become familiar with the easier mechanisms for moving people, I'll be able to focus on the harder ones.