Art Project Won’t Die on the Grapevine

In two years, almost exactly, an odd repetition of history will take place here. Up on the Grapevine, the artist Christo is going to transform the sunburnt hills of the Tehachapis into a habitat for 1,700 gigantic umbrellas. Yellow streams of umbrellas will flow down the ridgelines; clusters of umbrellas will fill whole valleys. They will remain for three weeks and then disappear as quickly as they came. The Grapevine will never seem the same.

Christo, you most likely know, is the artist whose work almost always impinges on some landscape, whether natural or man-made. He has surrounded islands in Biscayne Bay with pink polypropylene and wrapped a Parisian bridge with fabric and rope. In 1976 he constructed 24 miles of nylon curtain across Marin and Sonoma counties, an undulating screen that served as a spooky reminder of the Great Wall of China. It was known as Running Fence.

I mention Running Fence because of the memorable reaction it got from the good citizens of the wine country. They treated the idea like it was a disease from the low countries. Committees were organized to stop it, and the Sonoma County supervisors demanded an environmental impact report before the artist could proceed. When Christo applied to the Coastal Commission for permission to extend the curtain into the ocean, there was such a furor that the request was denied. In a newspaper clipping from the time, Running Fence was described as a “hoax” by one citizen. Another referred to Christo as the Evel Knievel of the art world.

It all turned out OK, of course. Christo stuck the fence into the ocean anyway and was hauled into court, but by then the shimmering curtain ran across the soft hills. Unlike the local folks, the presiding judge apparently saw little danger to the republic from Running Fence and let it stand for its intended life of two weeks.

So here’s the question. Thirteen years later Christo has returned to California with a project that is larger and more complex than Running Fence. This time he’s not dealing with the Chardonnay crowd but the Rotarians and the oil patch boys from Bakersfield, men who made their fortunes pulling No. 3 heavy crude from the southern San Joaquin. And how do these people react when a Bulgarian artist comes to town and says he wants to string 1,700 huge umbrellas along either side of I-5, umbrellas that just might blow over in a big wind, that surely will foul traffic on one of the busiest Interstates coming out of L.A.?

Well, they love it. I’m not sure what this says about the differences between Marin and Bakersfield, but Christo already has every government permit he needs, and it’s two years before the project is scheduled to go up. There are 26 property owners who own the land where the umbrellas will be sunk into the earth, and all have agreed to cooperate. Bakersfield is wild about the umbrellas.

On one recent evening there was a barbecue at the Tejon Ranch and about 150 of the city’s finest showed up to throw back a few bourbons and dine on choice sirloin. The honoree was Christo. Most of the Kern County supervisors were there and one of them, Mary Shell, stood up to say the umbrella project would change the way people felt about Kern County, and she meant for the better.

Most likely she is right. The word “umbrellas” does not properly convey the scale of this plan. Each of these things will be 20 feet high and 28 feet across, bright yellow and loosely fitted so the fabric flutters in the wind. They will be everywhere in the hills around Tejon: on the summits, surrounding a lone oak, marching up the slopes in columns, in cow pastures.

If all goes well, a twin cluster of umbrellas will go up in Japan at the same time, just north of Tokyo. The Japanese umbrellas will be blue. Hundreds of paid workers on both sides of the Pacific will be required, and Christo estimates the whole thing will cost about $14 million.

The artist will pay this cost--all of it--from his own pocket. He has always done this. His drawings of the projects are enormously popular, and the prices go into the hundreds of thousands. So Christo sells his drawings and spends the money to finance his dreams. That means he comes to Bakersfield asking nothing from anyone, except permission to go ahead.

Maybe that helps explain Bakersfield’s affection for Christo. They recognize this kind of man. Here is a fella who makes a fortune from his own sweat and then blows the whole thing on some elegant craziness, just because he wants to. And hang the cost. Sounds like something an oil man would do.