New Mexico is known as a magnet for artists. But if you think New Mexico just means Santa Fe, think again. About three hours southwest of Albuquerque is one of the strangest and most thought-provoking works of art you’re likely to encounter anywhere.
But you can’t just drop by on the way to someplace else. You need a reservation–and you must spend close to 24 hours at a single cabin in the absolute middle of nowhere as part of a group of up to six people, some of whom are likely to be complete strangers. And you must have faith that, when your time is up, the cabin’s caretakers will come back for you, because there’s no way you’re getting out on your own.
The artist is Walter De Maria and his creation, which took two years to construct, is The Lightning Field. It consists of 400 polished stainless steel poles, 2 inches in diameter and honed to points at their tops. The poles are arranged 220 feet apart in a rectangular grid composed of rows of 25 poles east to west and 16 poles north to south.
The poles range in height from 15 to almost 27 feet but have been designed so that their peaks form an even plane on the uneven terrain. If a pole is damaged–bent by the wind or struck by lightning–it is removed and a new one is carefully cut to the exact length.
This permanent “sculpture” is most impressive at sunset and sunrise, but you can’t come for one or the other–you have to spend the night.
My husband and I arrived at the departure point for The Lightning Field on a beautiful afternoon in May after a drive south from Interstate Highway 40 through the El Malpais National Conservation Area. We had to arrive at the Quemado office of the Dia Center for the Arts, which funded and supports the sculpture display, by 2:30 p.m., when we were to be driven to the site. There was no address for the meeting place and no name on the building, but–believe me–you’ll find it as we did; the town is only about two blocks long.
We were met by Karren Weathers, wife of Robert Weathers, who helped in the construction of The Lightning Field in 1977 and has been overseeing the cabin and the tourists who stay there ever since. The Weatherses’ 4-year-old daughter, Casey, came along for the ride.
“Can I tell them about the snakes?” Casey asked her mother as we hit the road for the hour-long drive to the cabin over 35 miles of mostly unpaved roads. There are rattlesnakes in the area, Casey informed us, though her mother quickly assured us we probably wouldn’t see any (we didn’t).
The cabin has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living-dining room and kitchen. Normally if you don’t want to share with strangers, you would have to form your own party of six. But, as it happened, we were the only two people with reservations for that night, so we had it to ourselves.
The plumbing is modern, the lighting adequate. There is no television, no telephone. And no alarm clock (Weathers just laughed when we asked about that; there also are no curtains, so it would be almost impossible to sleep through the sunrise).
Our only link to the outside world was a shortwave radio to call the Weatherses’ home, six miles away, in case of a medical emergency or “if you see a rattler within 50 feet of the cabin.”
Weathers showed us our dinner of green chili enchiladas and beans (to be warmed by us whenever we were ready). There was flan for dessert, trail mix for snacking, and eggs, bacon, bread, cereal, coffee and tea for breakfast.
There was no key for the cabin, and no need for one because animals can’t turn doorknobs. But, Weathers warned us before she departed, “be sure to slam the door when you leave the cabin. If you leave it open, you may find you have unwanted four-legged company.”
And then, promising to return at 11 a.m., she and her daughter were off. We watched their van turn into a dot, then disappear down the road.
There was nothing to do but explore–and try to come to terms with how alone we were.
The Lightning Field has been placed on a large, open plain, 7,200 feet above sea level, in the high desert of New Mexico. The poles and cabin are almost completely surrounded by a circle of mountains. Within that basin, the only other things to see are some grasses and shrubs, an assortment of insects, rabbits and other small animals, a windmill in the distance and an old lean-to. And–oh, yes–the sun and the sky.
To get the full impact of the sculpture, we followed the printed visitors advice and walked among the poles at different times; as the angle of the sun changed, the appearance of the poles changed too. At some times, many of the poles seemed to disappear when viewed from certain angles.
We also could have walked around the perimeter of the field (slightly more than 3 miles), which would have taken about two hours, according to the Dia Center for the Arts. But there is no path through the dense brush, and with Casey’s words of warning about rattlers still fresh in our minds, we stuck to the closer poles and within sight of the cabin.
But the real beauty of The Lightning Field during our (or any) stay was when it was at its most spectacular intensity: at sunset and sunrise.
After preparing (and enjoying) our dinner, we cleaned up the dishes and went outside for the sunset show.
As the sun went down, poles that had been shadowy figures all afternoon were now, for a few moments, beacons of light with their pointed tops resembling flames. The unseen birds and crickets played a musical accompaniment to the light show. When it was over–all too soon–we returned to the cabin to await the second feature: the sunrise show.
We slept fitfully. The bed was comfortable enough, but the feeling of being out there all alone was not an easy one for city folk. So when the night sky finally began to turn into dawn, we were both relieved and thrilled by what we were about to see.
In the morning, the poles were illuminated from the opposite direction, as the sun slowly rose.
The sunrise show was much the same as the sunset show–only in reverse. But because it was getting brighter rather than darker, it was not as eerie as the night before.
No matter when the sculpture is viewed, however, there is no question that the impact of the experience is much more than just the viewing of the poles. Everybody who goes out there will see something different. And if you go a second time, you will surely see something different from what you saw the first time. It all depends on the weather, the light, where you stand and how observant you are.
As the name implies, lightning at The Lightning Field is a special treat–or an extra torment, depending on how you view the experience.
Although lightning strikes occur about 60 days each year (the main season: mid-May to early September), there was no lightning during our visit.
But no matter what you see in The Lightning Field, the experience will forever change your perception of the planet and of yourself.
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The Lightning Field visiting season is May 1 to Oct. 31. Some openings are still available for this year–especially in September and October; reservations for 1998 will be taken beginning March 1, 1998. The fee per person per night is $85, except in July and August when it is $110 (the fees cover only a part of the expense of maintaining the sculpture and cabin; the rest is covered by private and organizational donors). For information and reservations, contact The Lightning Field, P.O. Box 2993, Corrales, N.M. 87048; 505-898-3335 (fax 505-898-3336; e-mail TheLightningField@msn.com). Note: Photography of the sculpture and the cabin is not permitted.
