The Gift of Fire

Let me tell you about the time I got drunk with Donald Judd.
My first year of graduate school three exchange students and I decided to drive out to Marfa,Texas to view the installation at the Chinati Foundation. Derek (a professor) phoned ahead to arrange for us to stay for a few days so that we could experience the installation more fully. We set off in my 1980 Dodge Colt. After a grueling 15-hour drive we arrived and were escorted to the installation. As I walked into a transformed helicopter hanger a hush like that would experience in an empty church greeted me. It was breathtaking. The fatigue from the trip melted away and the quiet meditation before me took over - transporting me to a more peaceful place within myself. After this initial introduction we settled into the barracks. A curatorial assistant extended an invitation to dinner and we accepted.

When we arrived at "dinner" we were surprised to see a table set for about thirty people with Donald Judd sitting at the head. I remember the other students and I exchanged a look between us when we realized what kind of a dinner we had been invited to attend. All the prominent people of Marfa were there. The mayor and ranchers from the area were all in attendance. It was definitely not our style. But the food was free so we stayed. After a meal of brisket and guacamole there was a concert.

The concert consisted of bagpipe music in a gymnasium. Imagine two hours of constant bagpipes echoing endlessly, the sound reverberating off the walls of the building. At first it was a bit confusing and annoying but as the experience continued I felt engulfed and lifted to a meditative place - very Zen. When the music finished the group went outside and there was an unlit bonfire waiting.

The group encircled the wood and waited as an assistant tried to light the logs. His ignorance was apparent as he tried to light it - first in one place and then - another. At a moment of frustration he poured gasoline on the wood and still he could not get it lit. Donald's embarrassment started to become apparent as the evening was supposed to be a carefully planned seamless spiritual meditation in commune with nature. I stepped forward at this point and asked the assistant to let me try. Knowing that if I held the flame in one place twice it would light I did so and (due to the gasoline) the bonfire went up in a spectacular show of flames. The uncomfortable silence disappeared as the people relaxed. I laid back on the gravel and enjoyed the leaping of the flames and gazed at the stars.

As people began to leave Donald motioned my friends and I to join him. He took us to his kitchen and pulled out the leftover beer. We all sat down and a conversation began. It went something like this.
DJ: You think I am a traditional artist?
Emma: Yes, in light of all the things that are happening in contemporary art.
DJ: There are no contemporary artists - Only people running around thinking that they are artists wasting their time.
Chris: So you are the last artist?
DJ: yes
Amy: Why is that?
DJ: Because my work does everything that artists have been trying to achieve. Now that I have reached the pinnacle art is now dead.
Chris: So - art is minimalism. - a pseudo religion in which a vector of nothingness is the pinnacle of enlightenment?
DJ: No - I am art and when I am dead, art will be dead.

The conversation continued in this vein for several hours. Emma, Amy and Chris all tried to argue that this artist or that artist was making important work and that was evidence that art was not dead. Donald remained unconvinced. I remained silent thinking that it was a pointless discussion. - it was obvious that he would not be swayed from his position.

At the end of the night - (it was about the dawn by that time) - I finally had to ask. So why are you talking to us? Why would you waste your time with a bunch of delusional children? And he said to me - because you gave me the gift of fire. I looked him straight in the eyes and said - so there is hope, then. He very slowly - without blinking - looked me straight in the eyes - and nodded.

Donald Judd died about a year later.