Spiral Jetta: A Road Trip through the Land Art of the American West

by Erin Hogan

Erin Hogan hit the road in her Volkswagen Jetta and headed west from Chicago in search of the monuments of American land art: a salty coil of rocks, four hundred stainless steel poles, a gash in a mesa, four concrete tubes, and military sheds filled with cubes. Her journey took her through the states of Utah, Nevada, New Mexico, Arizona, and Texas. It also took her through the states of anxiety, drunkenness, disorientation, and heat exhaustion. Spiral Jetta is a chronicle of this journey.

A lapsed art historian and devoted urbanite, Hogan initially sought firsthand experience of the monumental earthworks of the 1970s and the 1980s—Robert Smithson’s Spiral Jetty, Nancy Holt’s Sun Tunnels, Walter De Maria’s Lightning Field, James Turrell’s Roden Crater, Michael Heizer’s Double Negative, and the contemporary art mecca of Marfa, Texas. Armed with spotty directions, no compass, and less-than-desert-appropriate clothing, she found most of what she was looking for and then some.

Genres: Art, Travel, Nonfiction, Memoir, Art Design, Nature

190 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 2008

Reviews

[Mike · Rating 2 out of 5]

The book is a straightforward account of a road trip to see the earthworks (most notably, Spiral Jetty, Double Negative, and the Lightning Field) with all of the usual nightmarish ordeals that occur on a road trip that you later laugh at. But there are several problems with the book: first, it's a version of City Slickers, wherein a "sophisticated urbanite" who happens to be the public affairs director of the Art Institute of Chicago decides to test her mettle by driving solo out to the west to see the earth works. But just as country bumpkins often get suckered in the city, the same happens in reverse when the urbanite doesn't comprehend how to function out in the country. While comedy was supposed to ensue, the writing fails to deliver: the author just ends up portraying herself to be annoying and foolish without redemption. On top of this backstory, the author's motivations are unclear and vague: she mostly claims that she wants to learn how to be in solitude, which is odd given that it's relatively easy to be in solitude in a city. To be a genuine jerk, I think she means to say that she wanted to learn how to find quietude, not solitude, as that is what I would argue typically occurs when confronting not only a work of art, but of experiencing the vastness of space out in the west. Regardless (and to be more of a genuine jerk), I think her primary motivation is simply to write a book about this road trip and she had already planned to do so. There's nothing inherently wrong with this, except that she never admits this as being a sole motivation. Perhaps it goes without saying that her "experiences" are eventually going to be codified and commodified into a book and so this gripe is meaningless. I don't know. And a final major problem: the book is not even a very good road trip book, particularly in light of what is already out there: Kerouac's On the Road, William Least Heat Moon's Blue Highways, etc.

In short, the author was woefully unprepared, had no compass (and failed to buy one after nearly getting lost in Utah), did not seem very bright, and was not very insightful about what she ended up seeing. After seeing Spiral Jetty first and learning from some other pilgrims that she should check out the Sun Tunnels, which was originally not on her itinerary, the author decides to "spontaneously" drive out to see the Sun Tunnels. Now, this is truly crazy and the author is honest enough to admit that she nearly gets lost and never finds the Sun Tunnels. The strange thing is that she later castigates the Sun Tunnels, referring to them merely as "just four concrete tubes out in the desert." Well, if you had actually managed to get to them, you might have found them to be quite powerful and an equal to the Lightning Field (if not better, which is what I think.) She does the same thing with James Turrell's Roden Crater, which she attempted to go see, but was unable to find. One reason that she was not able to find it is that the work is not open to the public at this time because it hasn't been finished! Again, not too bright.

To be as charitable as I can, the best parts about the book are the chapters on the Lightning Field (though even here, her thoughts about the work are pedestrian and the chapter contains an excruciatingly bad play on words that's not worth reciting, but if you're an inquiring mind, it's on page 132), a chapter on Juarez (which has nothing to do with earth works and so the question of why it's in the book, let alone why someone would go to such a dangerous place, remains a mystery), and a final chapter on Marfa (again, though, the author's tepid ideas get in the way: she can't seem to handle that humans, including rigorous artists such as Donald Judd, are complicated and might appear to present work that is incongruous with how they actually live. Is that really a radical idea?)

But what really ended all hope for me occurred when the author cited John McPhee's Annals of the Former World. There's nothing wrong with it and the quotation is quite nice, though the author's characterization of McPhee as "the only 'geologist' [she's:] ever read" suggests that she is unaware of McPhee being not just a 'geologist,' (which he actually isn't), but one of the greatest non-fiction writers ever. The point of this, though, is that when the author quoted from McPhee in talking about the deep time of geology, it was as if the gauntlet had been thrown down, the author's bluff had been called, the jig was up, etc. Because all I could think was, "how much better would this book be if John McPhee had written it?"

[Sian · Rating 2 out of 5]

Would have given this more stars had the writer not been so obnoxious and judgemental! Jeez, she's all judgy on Midwesterners, young people, men in bars.... Plus she drinks four (or five?) beers and then drives and incorrectly states that's Walter de Maria was a drummer for the velvet underground (it was a different band!) and then sometimes she is just dull.

I mean - this could have been great, and I like reading about all the land art and how you actually visit it, but she very much comes from the point of view that you can't like or be interested in art unless you are educated and from the city.

[Robert Boyd · Rating 4 out of 5]

There is a crisis in art criticism in the U.S. IT has been depicted as a battle between judgment and indifference (in the postmodern sense--you choose not to judge because you know any judgment, once deconstructed, will demonstrate bad faith). It has been depicted as a battle between belle lettrist writing and highly theoretical writing--the poets vs the philosophers. And most of all, it has been described as a situation where critics have zero influence over what is considered interesting and worthwhile art--that role has been usurped by art consultants, auctioneers, top dealers, and ultra-rich collectors.

Is there a way out of this crisis? I don't know, but one strategy is to abandon the creaky critical genre of the review for other forms. This book is a memoir, a personal account of a road trip. It includes journalism and aspects of the personal essay. It neither pretends indifference nor offers Olympian judgment. It is informed by theory (Michael Fried's famous essay on minimalism is a constant reference point) but in the end, it has more in common with the belle lettrist tradition. But the personal nature of the work pushes it beyond. At the risk of mischaracterizing it, it is almost like a "new journalism" or "gonzo" approach to art criticism. Not many writers could pull it off, but I found it refreshing.

[Marc Weidenbaum]

Spiral Jetta is, like other recent memoirs, two books in one. Like Eat, Pray, Love is both personal memoir and foodie travel guide, and Julie & Julia both personal memoir and cook's journal, this book, by Erin Hogan, is both personal memoir and art travel guide. And no, I've read neither of those other two, though I did see the latter flick.

A dyed-in-the-wool city mouse, Hogan drives solo into the deserts of the American southwest in search of various landmarks of land art, like the sculpture Spiral Jetty, by Robert Smithson, from which the book takes its name (she drives a Jetta -- God knows what the book would have been called if she drove a CRV), and the Lightning Field of Walter De Maria.

She starts off fearful well point the past of humorous. You really sense she could have a nervous breakdown at any moment. Slowly she gains confidence -- not only in her ability to be with, and take care of, herself, but in her artistic sensibility. About two thirds of the book is Hogan narrating her journey: where she drives, where she sleeps, what she eats, whom she meets. The remaining third is an art journal: reflections on the land art she visits (and, in the case of one piece, doesn't manage to visit). It's a minor thread, but as the art descriptions proceed, she seems less beholden to her source material, less enthralled by the authority of the art critics who preceded her, and more comfortable staking out her own experience and interpretation thereof.

The two parts don't fit perfectly, and part of that is because they don't work together perfectly on their own. The personal journal isn't all that personal; we know little of who Hogan is, what she's escaping, and what beyond a certain mousey-ness (city or otherwise) she wants to shed. The art journal is written in such a different voice, that it's unclear either voice is truly Hogan. If the book were great, then by the end those voices would merge. Instead, it's just a pretty good book: enjoyable, informative.

There's one sentence that to me signifies the disparity between the sections, and the weakness in the book. At the end of chapter five, Hogan sleeps endures a very cold night of camping, not once fearing for her safety. We know this because the night isn't easy, and she makes it through. And then she feels the need to tell us, "Perhaps I really was learning how to be alone and to adapt to new environments." Perhaps? Of course she has, and more to the point, this is already self-evident. If she trusts us as readers to understand, secondhand, the art she is witnessing, it's odd that she doesn't trust us to connect the dots in the other section of the book.

Two additional notes:

The first half of the book is illustrated occasionally by way-amateur photos taken by Hogan, and then, after page 106 (of 180 total, including references -- at least in the paperback edition), there are no more photos. And no explanation why.

At the every end, there's a map of her journey. It wouldn't have hurt to have it up front, because as in The Lord of the Rings, a little visual orientation can be a big help. My personal experience of the map's appearance was one akin to the occasional sudden eye-opening shock Hogan experiences in the book. After almost 200 pages of descriptions of art, and a couple handfuls of blurry black and white photos, suddenly there is a crisp, geometrically intriguing map. My mind had been so deep in the idea of looking at art while reading the book, and so parched for the lack of actual visuals, that the map was like a very cool glass of water after a very long drive in the desert.

[Steve Miller · Rating 5 out of 5]

I generally avoid books with puns as titles, but this was worth the eye roll. Hogan ventures out from Chicago to explore the great icons of land art in the western US (Spiral Jetty, Double Negative, Lightning Field, etc.). A nice introduction to those pieces that makes the reader want to learn more.

[Dana · Rating 4 out of 5]

Erin Hogan, a self-identified recovering art historian and inveterate Chicagoan, wants to break out of her 9-to-5 routine, face solitude, and see the great American land art monuments. Spiral Jetta: A Road Trip through the Land Art of the American West is a three-week pilgrimage that takes Hogan through Utah, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico and Texas to Robert Smithson’s Sprial Jetty, Michael Heizer’s Double Negative, Walter De Maria’s Lightning Field, and the Chinati Foundation and Donald Judd’s home in Marfa.

We spend plenty of time cruising desolate roads in Hogan’s Volkswagen Jetta—getting lost looking for imprecise landmarks hidden amid mesmerizing Western scenery. And once we arrive, we often also travel on foot in the heat of the desert, circling artworks while we sweat, swat flies, kick up the dust, and contemplate. In between art stops, we experience lonely stays in Howard Johnsons, an adventure in a gritty dive bar, and a first-time camping escapade.

Hogan’s voice, worries and humor comes through as she stresses about all the things that can befall a lone woman on the road, engaging with a range of strangers from friendly to sinister and obsessing about the effects of the bumpy back roads on her expensive car. “Each day brings multiple cycles of anxiety and relief,” she says, and we experience this with her.

But in major ways, Hogan’s writing is guarded. She is no Cheryl Strayed or Elizabeth Gilbert, roaming to heal while baring every aspect of the soul. The only reason we know that the day job Hogan is breaking from is as director of public affairs at the Art Institute of Chicago is because of the bio on the book jacket. We never find out what makes her a recovering art historian; how she feels about her job; if she has a romance or roommates or anyone she misses while on the road. Spending so much time in a car with her, at times I wanted to know her more intimately.

In other ways, though, I appreciated the remove as her experience becomes universal and truly about the art. Where she shields her personal life, she is brutally honest about the works.

Her descriptions bring them to life, and she asks fascinating questions while we look. Are earth works objects or environments? Do they mark space or time? Can they self-sustain, or do they depend on a viewer? What is the impact of context, and is control over context possible or will nature and/or human nostalgia always intervene? Why is one thing as grand as art while another is only a “touching oddity”?

She also isn’t afraid to question the very creation of these works, asking if they are really worth the millions of dollars it takes to construct and if so, who they will affect and if the experience is really so radically different than camping. Many locals that she encounters either don’t know about the art or are aware but unimpressed, leading her to wonder if the works are unnecessary if you are already live in the rural West and have a habit of watching the sky/sunrise, thus having already acquired the natural, heightened perception of the world that these works help others gain.

In her moments of greatest despondency, she even goes so far as to wonder if Earth Art is a fraud—or, perhaps even worse, if she herself is emotionally insufficient for not having the expected reaction.

At other moments, though, Hogan is enlivened by what she sees. She views one particular piece both at sunrise and sunset, calling it “a revelation… desperate and lovely and organized and chaotic.” And even after the fact, she says that she has a heightened sense of perception whenever she thinks of the work, saying that “to live always in this heightened state must be nightmarish, overwhelming, but I imagine that most people, including me, could benefit from more of those moments.”

In the end, Hogan finds many of her questions unanswerable. But I think the delight of the narrative was in the journey, from disappointment to connection and all the looking and thinking and uncertainties in-between. I had a heck of a lot of fun wandering—and wondering—with her, and would gladly go on another cultural voyage with Hogan.

[Erin Zwiener · Rating 1 out of 5]

Ugh, don't bother. Read something by someone with some awareness about the American west or who's at least willing to do a bit of research and test their preconceptions. As a westerner, I was thrown off by her total lack of knowledge about rural places from the fourth page when she started musing about the geometric placement of hay bales in the fields and wonders if the farmers have an aesthetic preference similar to Donald Judd's minimalism, instead the more obvious conclusion that it's a choice of efficiency. There are little and larger moments like that throughout the book. Her sole research about western culture appears to have been reading Jon Krakaeur's Under the Banner of Heaven, so she's constantly on the look out for Mormon extremism. She's surprised that Moab appears hippy (and doesn't ask someone and therefore learn about its long counter culture history) and that she doesn't see sister wives anywhere in Utah. I groaned out loud when Hogan referred to Navajo teepees and pueblos (that would be hogans and lodges), and I still can't believe that got through her editor.

Hogan is horrendously underprepared in terms of skills, knowledge, equipment, and general mental fortitude. At the beginning of the book, that does add an element of levity, but since she never turns a critical eye on herself or seems to learn, it just becomes tedious.

Perhaps the worst part of the book is when she and a friend decide to visit Juarez. She manages to make the many problems that city faces all about her and her comfort as a tourist, which is just insensitive to the suffering that is faced there by residents every day. I wish she'd had the good sense to actually explore Juarez's problems in a constructive way or to not include the chapter at all.

The pacing of the book is also tiresome. I feel like the only details we skip are her restroom breaks. I don't need a play by play of every single highway stop. I just need well-written details that shine through. Unfortunately, Hogan is just not a strong writer. She also missed an opportunity to explore the creators of this land art as characters. When she does engage with them on the page, they come off wooden and incomplete.

When Hogan's actually visiting an art site, the descriptions of the piece are often confusing and she tends to dive into theory before we have a clear image of the piece. Between that and the low quality photos in my paperback edition, I consistently turned to Wikipedia to get a sense of the artwork, and really, I think that's a better source for information than this book is. The chapter on Lightning Field may be an exception, and I think it's the only artwork that this book made interesting on the page.

Skip it. Read Wikipedia if you're interested in the art. Read a better writer (William Least Heat Moon, Robyn Davidson) if you're looking for a cool travel narrative.

[Sara · Rating 1 out of 5]

As an examination of contemporary landscape art in the U.S. West, the book succeeds in part. That said, the level of in-depth information and critical analysis you'll get in this too-short book often disappoints. It reads more like a graduate school thesis draft than a polished manuscript, and the quality of the black-and-white photos is poor.

As a travel narrative, this book fails abjectly. The author spends dozens of pages and thousands of words describing her unjustified paranoia about sexual assault at motels and bars, her shallow stereotypes of the real people who live and work in the U.S. West, and her own obsessive worries about taking road trips. It'd be one thing if her accounts were humorous. Instead, they're painfully pretentious.

[Alice · Rating 2 out of 5]

This was really a 2.5 for me. The book worked best when the author stuck to discussing the art. When she tried to write a 'wacky' roadtrip narrative, I mostly wanted to smack her upside the head for her pretentious and condescending attitude towards just about everything she encounters and everyone she meets. I nearly gave up on this book because of it, but I was interested enough in the artwork that I forced myself to finish.

[James · Rating 2 out of 5]

Erin Hogan sets out, for undefined reasons, to explore the wide open spaces of the American Mountain West in a search for quietude and solitude while hoping to visit some of the great examples of Land Art - Smithson’s Spiral Jetty, Heizer’s Double Negative, and De Maria’s Lightning Field.

Her art criticism, especially when discussing how land art figures into notions of time and place, how Heizer and Smithson stand on two opposite sides of permanence in land art, of how Lighting Field catches the rays of the setting sun in all its splendour, is good enough for a travelogue but nowhere near good enough for a critical survey on these titans of American monumental art. Her travel writing, good enough for an art critic’s review, lacks a sense of place and purpose. We don’t find anything interesting about Hogan or her trip - the motivation for her travels is basically because she had a book to write and she was going to write it.

She seems woefully unprepared - no one said finding these artworks out in the vast wilderness of the West would be easy - but Hogan staggers from one site to another with occasional detours more likely chosen to fill the book. There is limited engagement with both the artwork and the people who have come to view it. Hogan seems doubtful that anyone without a degree in art history could even begin to think about art critically.

I was so hopeful for this book. Some of my favourite artists and artworks are included but as a critical review, there’s little insight and as a travelogue, there’s barely any insight into the land and its people either. It just feels so perfunctory and by the numbers.

[Marin · Rating 4 out of 5]

A good choice for anyone who's interested in contemporary art or who would be entertained by a thirty-something woman's solo road trip around the West. Though the narrative told me nothing I don't already know about the West, Hogan's voice was so personable and engaging that I didn't mind. I found her discussions of the artworks to be surprisingly insightful and her descriptions of encounters with locals delightful. It was art criticism without the artspeak, and it was fun without being shallow.

[Joanne-in-Canada · Rating 4 out of 5]

You've got to love a road trip book that contains the sentence: "I should have taken this incident as an omen, but I didn't." So much of Hogan's search for land art teeters on the brink of disaster, but walking (or, rather, driving) that thin edge wakens her senses and synapses. What more could you ask of a vacation?

[Ryan · Rating 2 out of 5]

One good chapter on Lightning Field - all others were written without much emotion or rigor. What was double negative really like? What was the experience of Spiral Jetty. Wait you didn’t go to Sun Tunnels? This book over promises and under delivers. Especially frustrating when the content and idea have so much potential.

[Anna · Rating 4 out of 5]

There was something so likeable about this book … on the one hand her road trip and her personal development through that. On the other hand the land art and how the natural environment spoke to her as much if not not more than the art … I really liked it and I really want to visit these sites especially spiral jetty and the lightning field !!

[Jenna · Rating 1 out of 5]

I may add a more thorough review later, but essentially, I found this book poorly written, poorly researched, poorly imagined, and outrageously racist.

[Amber Macklin · Rating 4 out of 5]

Loved this! Although the author can be very judgemental about the people of The West. The chapter on ‘The Lightning Field’ is one of the best pieces of writing i’ve read in a long time.

[Carson Crouch · Rating 3 out of 5]

Meh, I read it for class.

[Bruce · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Public Affairs Director of the Art Institute of Chicago shares her travel diary of a car trip through Utah, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. Her plan is to experience the monumental scale art created in the late twentieth century and to test herself against her fears of isolation, disorientation and spontaneity. Her account is frank and detailed. She gives the reader unfamiliar with the art works just enough background on the creators’ artistic visions and their history to balance her own personal response to them. For most of the trip she finds the works a bit anticlimactic. That is, until she walks through “Lightning Field,” Walter De Maria's grid of four hundred polished stainless steel poles in the New Mexico desert, at sunset. She describes the experience of the play of light on the poles as singing.

"It was a chorus of soft hues—of pinks and reds and oranges, sunset colors distilled and embraced and refracted by the polished surfaces—punctuated by bursts of brilliance as the sun hit the poles at just the right angle. The regularity of the grid only heightened the effect…"

Interestingly, the other work to which she enthusiastically praises is Donald Judd’s “100 Untitled Works in Mill Aluminum” displayed in two converted artillery sheds in Marfa, Texas. Once again, it is the interplay of the natural light and landscape with the careful regularity of the manufactured metal, the human artifacts in a natural environment that triggers her emotions and praise, an experience which was much milder when she visited the creations of earth and stone in the first part of the book.

This small format book with its black and white photographs presents its land art subjects in the author’s words rather than relying on her snapshots. An excellent bibliography and some practical travel directions complete the book.

[Benjamin · Rating 3 out of 5]

An interesting travelogue. Erin Hogan, director of public affairs for the Art Institute of Chicago, sets out, woefully uprepared, to tour the great works of American Land Art. She has no compass or GPS, few directions, and very little ability to exist outside of a comfortable, Sex-In-The-City-style urban existence. Predictably, she finds it tough going. At times, Hogan seems to be trying to make this book a story of overcoming personal obstacles, finding inner strength, etc., etc. This attempt is unfortunate, because her challenges, however real they may have been for her, do not inspire great sympathy. (In the opening pages, she nearly has a panic attack when she realizes, while relaxing in a nice room in a hotel full of people, that she is utterly alone.) Luckily, Hogan seems to realize, despite a few awkward attempts to universalize her situation, that no demons were fought, and no lessons were learned. Her journey was a road trip, not a pilgrimage, and the resulting book is just the personal impressions of a woman in a car on a rather poorly planned vacation. And that is precisely what makes it an interesting read: despite a few quotes from art historians in the text, there is very little theory here. American Land Art is typically (pun intended) buried in theory. So few people actually get to see the works in person that most people's relationships with Spiral Jetty, Double Negative, and the rest are entirely based on over-interpreted representations in the literature of art. Hogan offers a personal, fallible, occasionally irritating, but always refreshingly human perspective on these works. And that's worth something more than the personal journey of self-discovery that Hogan may have been attempting to relate.

[Pamela · Rating 3 out of 5]

Spiral Jetta is about art, Land Art. Or you could say it’s about Hogan’s travels, her adventures and a few of her fears. Hogan is far from the urban Chicago she is used to, and alone – at least for the first portion of her journey. She drives her Jetta across roads that are best suited for a four-wheel drive vehicle, and rightly worries about her car. The first stop is Spiral Jetty in Utah near the Nevada border, in the Salt Lake region.

There are a few moments of the book, when she lingers on art critic’s writings and such, I thought an art historian or student may get more out of the book than I, but all in all it is interesting read. I felt inspired to visit some of these pieces, as I live near part of the western desert she visits. But I will go in a Jeep and not alone.

One chapter, while short, puzzled me on why it was included. It didn’t fit in with the art theme, but it was about travelling. This was during her visit to Juarez, Mexico. A very troubled city with high murder rate, not a place one would think of visiting on purpose. At least during this time of Hogan’s travels she had a male friend with her, and nothing terrible happened but she sensed something.

I read the book on my black-and-white nook and wished I could see the photos in color. I received the eBook free from University of Chicago Press and even on my computer the photos were in black and white. I would hope the paper version was printed in color, I may have to go search out a print copy and see.

I rate the book three and a half stars.

[Meredith Wortzel · Rating 2 out of 5]

When I first read the review of this book a few years ago, I didn't think I was going to like it because I thought it would be too much of a self-discovery/personal memoir and that really is what it was like. The only land art that I have seen that Hogan saw as well was the Spiral Jetty and I probably should have stopped after that chapter because I didn't agree with many of her reactions. And she meets a couple there who said they were walking up to the hillside to watch the sunset and she thought that was code for having sex. #1 - Robert Smithson stated that his favorite view of the Jetty was from the hillside and #2 - sunset at the Spiral Jetty was gorgeous. I can't imagine driving all the way out to the Spiral Jetty and not at least walking to the top of the hill.



She titled two chapters Sun Tunnels and Roden Crater, neither of which she saw and had a chapter on Moab and Juarez, Mexico. The book was only 170 pages to begin with and a lot of it seemed like filler (yes, I understand it is a journey about her road trip and where she went, but she really didn't see that much art). If I hadn't gotten this out of the library and actually paid $20 for it, I would have been really annoyed.



Her best chapter was about Lighting Field by Walter de Maria, where she seemed to discuss some more of the logistical aspects of the work, so it was better than any of the other chapters.

[Lisa Kucharski · Rating 4 out of 5]

Really enjoyed this book that wove probing questions about site specific works of art with the people and landscape that they were actually placed. Having had a similar love of earth art and the ideas surrounding it I found the book interesting and it felt like I was listening to a conversation I might have heard from a fellow artist. For someone not familiar with "art lingo" and their concerns this book would feel very foreign.

I have had similar experiences with art, where you see a piece after reading some hype or essays and then are left with a feeling -- of disappointment only to find that your experience is worth something though it is not what you have read. (And I totally agree with her feeling about Chamberlain's work.)

One thing I took away from the book, was the highly intellectual artists putting work into "nature" but the surrounding culture was completely at odds or disinterested in it. Many of the artists, developed ideas in an extremely urban setting only to place their art in extreme rural areas. And by doing so, denied access to many sympathetic to their ideas... thus creating the situation of "building grand visions out of the unseen."

If you're an art person and you are familiar with contemporary art, you would probably really enjoy this book. If you are not, it would behoove you to actually read up about the works she goes to in the book before reading it. Or at least look them up on the internet to see what she's talking about.

[Heather · Rating 4 out of 5]

I bought this book to read on a trip to Arizona, but my boyfriend read it and then we lent it to his aunt (who lives in AZ) so I didn't get to start it until a few weeks later. This was a very thoughtful and thorough trip through the land-art in the southwest. Unfortunately, we didn't get to see any of the art that Erin Hogan writes about, but her short stay in Flagstaff and some driving around the desert did sound familiar.
A lot of this land art is huge and open to interpretation. What I most enjoyed about Hogan was, despite her being a museum curator, she doesn't think all the art she saw was "worth the drive." I appreciated that she viewed the art with a very critical eye, and when she did appreciate a piece, I knew that it was worth it.

[Nat · Rating 3 out of 5]

I've done part of the drive described in this book: I started in El Paso, drove to Marfa to see the Judd boxes and Flavin lights, then went to New Mexico to see Walter de Maria's Lightningfield. It was too long of a drive to see the Spiral Jetty, and I knew not to try to look for the Roden Crater.

I read this after reading Pierre Clostermann's account of flying Spitfires and Tempests in WWII. War is awful, but it does make for incredible storytelling. Whereas late-late capitalist knowledge-economy city-dwellers find their etiolated form of high adventure by going to an unknown bar on a road-trip and sleeping alone in motel rooms.

But the author went to Quemado to see the Lightningfield and didn't stop in Pietown for pie? That's ridiculous.

[Sara · Rating 1 out of 5]

As an examination of contemporary landscape art in the U.S. West, the book succeeds in part. That said, the level of in-depth information and critical analysis you'll get in this too-short book often disappoints. It reads more like a graduate school thesis draft than a polished manuscript, and the quality of the black-and-white photos is poor.

As a travel narrative, this book fails abjectly. The author spends dozens of pages and thousands of words describing her unjustified paranoia about sexual assault at motels and bars, her shallow stereotypes of the real people who live and work in the U.S. West, and her own obsessive worries about taking road trips. It'd be one thing if her accounts were humorous. Instead, they're painfully pretentious.

[(Lonestarlibrarian) Keddy Ann Outlaw · Rating 4 out of 5]

Offbeat and informative -- I learned a lot about conceptual land art. The author played up her weaknesses a bit, especially concerning her fear of solitude. Chicagoan Hogan dared herself to take this picaresque journey alone, although at a certain point about two-thirds of the way through her adventure, she was joined by a friend. I would love to follow in her footsteps and see some of the art she sought out, most especially Spiral Jetty and Double Negative. Her art history background lends gravitas to the work, balancing out the memoir-ish airing of neuroses. Ending with a few days spent in Marfa, Texas, a place I've longed to visit, Spiral Jetta is a book I hope to refer back to when that time comes.

[Steve · Rating 3 out of 5]

Not normally a book I would have read, but the August free book from University of Chicago Press.

And I did enjoy it, for it works on two levels: an overview of "modern land art" (Robert Smithson’s Spiral Jetty, Nancy Holt’s Sun Tunnels, Walter De Maria’s Lightning Field, James Turrell’s Roden Crater, Michael Heizer’s Double Negative, and the contemporary art mecca of Marfa, Texas) and a self discovery travelogue. While I don't get the meaning behind the "art" part ("Presentness is grace."-- Michael Fried, Art and Objecthood, ...indeed??), it was interesting hearing about them.

Hogan's writing style is inviting and her humor at her foibles charming.

[Dorothee Lang · Rating 5 out of 5]

enjoyed the book a lot - it worked like a virtual road trip for me, made me visit the landart places in images and youtube clips while reading the chapters, and brought back own memories of road trips / art trips that connected to Erin Hogan's reflections.

this book is probably most enjoyed by people who were on road / art trips themselves before, and already have some connection to landart.

i blogged about it with links (including a blog travelogue of a visit to Spiral Jetty), here: http://virtual-notes.blogspot.com/201...

[Dolores · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book was a good combination of road trip memoir and art history refresher. I appreciated her descriptions of these land-art sites, many of which I have been interested in visiting but wasn't sure if they would be worth the trouble. And her discussions of complicated art historical theories were interesting and accessible. Much funner than a dense theoretical work. It made me want to take a road trip, which I guess is a good result.

[Courtney · Rating 2 out of 5]

While I enjoyed Hogan's analysis of the various earthworks and site-specific pieces she visited, the last section of the book lost momentum in a very disappointing way. Considering the book is short to begin with, I wonder if maybe she would have been better off writing a series of essays on the art works, instead of attempting to weave her responses and history lessons into a longer narrative. This is a flawed project, but I'm glad I read it. 2.5 stars