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Some art you visit. Some you venture to.
In this itinerary, I am highlighting three American art sites that ask something more of you—time, distance, even a little surrender to the elements. These artworks invite you to experience. To witness. To feel the land itself become part of the work.
This sculpture is located in a remote New Mexico plain surrounded by 400 stainless steel poles, each perfectly placed, shimmering under the sun—or crackling in a thunderstorm. Walter De Maria’s The Lightning Field is not a sculpture you “see”—it’s one you live. Sunrise and sunset feel like slow-motion performances. If you’re lucky enough to witness a storm, the work lives up to its name. Visitors are limited and must stay overnight in a small, rustic cabin that overlooks the artwork. There are no phones, no distractions—so you can fully experience the Lightning Field’s charged atmosphere. Bring your own food. There is something waiting for you in the fridge though if you forget! The Lightning Field (1977), a land art installation by Walter De Maria, is permanently installed in western New Mexico and maintained by the Dia Art Foundation.
There’s no sign. No guardrails. No gift shop. Just a black basalt spiral reaching out into the Great Salt Lake. Spiral Jetty was created in 1970 by Robert Smithson and has become the defining monument of American land art. At times, and for years, submerged beneath pink waters, at others bone-dry and crystalline, the piece shifts with the seasons—and your effort to find it is part of the experience. Getting there means navigating gravel roads and a sense of being in the middle of nowhere. Until suddenly, you’re in the middle of something—vast, cosmic, quiet, and alive. An artist friend of mine suggested playing Led Zeppelin as you drive there. And they were exactly right!
Spiral Jetty (1970), Robert Smithson’s iconic earthwork on the northeastern shore of Utah’s Great Salt Lake, is part of the collection of the Dia Art Foundation.
Perhaps the most mythical of all is the only of these three that I have yet to experience: James Turrell’s Roden Crater, an extinct volcano turned celestial observatory in the Arizona desert. Decades in the making and still closed to the public, the site promises an experience that merges art, architecture, and astronomy. Inside, Turrell has carved chambers and tunnels that frame the sky with mathematical precision. At dawn or dusk, the light seems not just to shift—but to speak. Though it remains elusive (only a lucky few have been inside), just knowing it’s out there—patient, unfinished, cosmic—feels like an invitation to keep dreaming.
These works were made to be felt, in your bones and your soul. To go to them is to step into something bigger than art. Anyone who knows me knows that I love nature almost as much as I love art so getting to experience works that are both is my ultimate dream!
Roden Crater (begun 1977) is supported by the Skystone Foundation.
