Decay of the American Dream

Even though the access road is a two-way street, I always end up taking a circuitous loop on Arnot Road. A quick Google Maps search confirms that I could easily take the exit for Hope Road, and therefore save myself the extra trouble, but that seems like cheating somehow. The journey to the spot where these former vehicles are partially interred is as important to the experience as the actual site. The view from the road offers little in the way of spectacle; approaching the cars from either end just makes them look like any of the other nondescript landmarks lining the interstate. At 75 miles per hour, the view of them in their full profile is only achievable if you do not happen to be driving at the time of passing. My first impression of the sight while driving was framed by two billboards: one advertising beer and steaks, the other a coquettishly nicknamed adult novelty store. Earthly treasures and pleasures await your departure from the journey into the past that is Cadillac Ranch. The flat expanse of earth in which the site is located allows the Texas wind to blow from any and all directions. I tried out one of the vehicles on my recent visit to see if it could provide me temporary shelter from the wind; as soon as I ducked behind one car the wind changed directions and the Cadillacs offered me no protection from the chill air. Over the past 15 years, I have visited this site a number of times, and in a number of different conditions. It was summertime and aggressively hot the first two times I went; it was faintly raining and the ground was interminably muddy the next. The effects of time and weather are evident on the installation. Many of the vehicles are damaged, and one wonders if the spray paint is all that is holding them together. Rubber wheels have been eaten away, roofs and trunks are dented or altogether missing, though it is the myriad of colors that decorate them that really shows the viewer how much time has passed. Layers of paint have formed palpable texture on the cars, leaving something resembling scales or soap bubbles along every available surface. Not even the ground surrounding the installation is safe from the abuse of the canned paint. About 20 feet from the entrance “ZA + COLLEEN 2016” was scrawled into the dirt in black spray paint. Other similar phrases were stenciled onto various patches of dirt rampant in the area, evidence of one or more visitors coming to leave their mark. On my previous visits, cans of spray paint littered the area around the cars (usually empty), but on this occasion it seems someone is trying to look out for the area. A metal crate serves as a receptacle for the cans, many of which were utilized by various visitors during my stay. The crate may seem like a small gesture, but given the long trek back to the nearest paint-covered, overflowing dumpster it makes sense: many of the people who visit the site are just passing through, visitors making their grand tour across the country. This site is an oddity, a curious attraction that makes for a good conversation piece. The people come and go, leaving their mark or marks and taking their selfies back to wherever it is they came from. For approximately 25 minutes, I observed the site. As I arrived, there was a recreational vehicle and three other random cars lining the access road. By the time I left, all of these were gone replaced by multiple others. The number of daily visitors must be staggering given the short time it takes to fitfully explore the installation. Signs of human interaction with the sight include a fair number of plastic bags caught on the barb-wire fence, and the noticeably worn path down to the submerged automobiles. There exists only one entrance, and by extension one exit, from this site. Upon entering the site, you have to make a sort of “Z” pattern to get through the gate. It is reminiscent of being herded down a long-trodden cattle path; the only way to go is laid out for you to follow. The long path down to the installation makes a similar, though much more slight, “S” curve. At the end of the path a natural oval clearing urged me to explore the area around the cars in a counter-clockwise formation. It was like turning back time. Physically and figuratively, your body makes a representation of turning back the clock. You always find yourself back at the same gate that you first had to step through. As you head east back towards Amarillo there is a quaint shop that proudly displays restored Cadillacs on angled platforms playfully mimicking the vehicles used in the art installation. Further on you see the signs of the encroaching urban environment. Flat expanses make way for highway construction and a shiny new Sam’s Club. Restaurants and shopping centers start cropping up, and it becomes evident why the installation was moved in 1997 (Smith, 2014). Amarillo has long been a stop on historic Route 66, and recent development has expanded the city limits considerably. In 1994, the installation was eight miles outside the city limits, whereas ten years later it was only approximately six (Dingus, 1994, July; Lewallen & Seid, 2004, p. 157). Were the site still in the middle of nowhere, the cars would loom much more impressively over the flat horizon. As it is, the cars still make a statement but it is a statement that has changed with time. Initially the installation represented the American Dream: an art installation built as a monument to post-war idealism. Ant Farm, the artists behind the project, embraced the purely aesthetic aspect of the tail fin in late 1940s-1960s vehicle design. This was a time in America when factories were able to dedicate time and resources back into entertainment and excess. The war was over and Americans could live their lives again. Ant Farm wanted to create a roadside attraction, a tongue-in-cheek view of America’s obsession with vehicles. Today the ruin and wreckage of the installation show how that dream has decayed over time. There is a looming sense of vagrancy about the site, a sense of unease and abandonment. As a woman visiting the site alone, I felt myself keeping close tabs on the other visitors. I didn’t honestly expect anything bad to happen, but the air had this permeating feeling of unsafeness. In 1987, the installation was teeming with “jagged hunks of glass” that made a visiting journalist remark that “there was an air of ruination about, a post-apocalyptic suggestion of a once-great civilization that had enjoyed a brief rococo phase before going over the edge” (Rose, para. 9). In its current state, the installation stands as a monument to the heyday of the American Dream through a vision of its dystopian future. This dereliction lends itself to the piece, creating an additional dimension to the initial installation. The tail fins of the Cadillacs continue to point heavenward in memoriam of their former glory, all the while decaying just as their popularity has waned over the past few decades. Cadillac Ranch is one of few “permanent” installations designed and implemented by Ant Farm, and continues to speak to the contemporary world. Though the Ant Farm collective is primarily known for its counterculture influences, often drawing attention to the impermanence of American societal practices, it is interesting how culturally influential Cadillac Ranch continues to be. As noted in the retrospective Junky and Important, “the Cadillac Ranch postcard is the world’s best-selling art postcard” (2005, pg. 229). This wacky, contentious piece is not only locally influential, but impacts the entire human population who comes into contact with it. “It suggests a possible irruption of the impossible, or the inexplicable into the placid texture of the everyday,” and brings whimsy to the world (Larsen, 2005, 229). Most importantly, the installation creates a dialogue. As mentioned above, my most recent visit was conducted alone; I went as a researcher and took precaution not to disturb the site. But the site has been left to the general public, it asks for interaction. Yes, when you don’t communicate with the piece, it ceases to have any meaning beyond the rhetorical. Art is interactive, and this installation especially invites interruption.

References Dingus, A. (1994, July). Meanwhile, back at the Cadillac Ranch. Texas Monthly. Retrieved from: http://www.texasmonthly.com/articles/meanwhile-back-at-the-cadillac-ranch/ Larsen, E. (2005). Junky and important: The collective model in the rearview mirror. American Quarterly, 57(1), 223-236. Retrieved from: JSTOR database. Lewallen, C.M., & Seid, S. (2004). Ant Farm 1968-1978. Berkeley, CA:University of California Press. Rose, F. (1987, January 11). Amarillo’s answer to Stonehenge. The New York Times. Retrieved from: http://www.nytimes.com/1987/01/11/travel/amarillo-s-answer-to-stonehenge.html?pagewanted=all Smith, S. (2014, June 12). Forty years of the Cadillac Ranch. Texas Monthly. Retrieved from: http://www.texasmonthly.com/travel/forty-years-of-the-cadillac-ranch/