Ah, that crazy year of Bizzaro-Pax-Americana.
To wit…
A large, three-sided metal monolith was discovered in the remote barrens of the Utah desert, right out of Arthur C. Clarke’s book and Stanley Kubrick’s film, 2001: A Space Odyssey. Wildlife officials spotted the object while counting bighorn sheep during a flyover in the southeastern portion of the state. The monolith was 10 to 12 feet high and there were no indications as to who put in there and why.
The ongoing conclusions ranged from a minimalist avante-garde style artist wanting to homage Clarke’s novel, or Kubrick’s film, or that it was an installation designed by forces from otherworldly sources to test our resolve in one of the worst years of our lifetimes. Some folks called for Utah authorities to leave it alone, even though it was illegal to install structures and art pieces without authorization on federally managed public lands. It appeared some didn’t want to take the chance we might inadvertently summon a demon or an alien invasion.
That was how wound up 2020 had gotten us.
Fair point.
The original monoliths in Clarke’s book were artifacts of an alien civilization designed with the purpose of advancing intelligent human life. In Kubrick’s movie, the first monolith’s discovery is famously depicted where a tribe of proto-humans come upon the black rectangular rock, resulting in the now legendary scene of a hominid man-ape first learning to use tools by figuring out a bone could be a club, tossing said bone up into the air, then a satellite transplants the image and reveals the passage of time and the development of progressive sapience.
By the by, most folks think sentience is the thing they’re talking about when they’re defining the monkey brained differences between humans and ‘so-called’ lower life forms. It’s not. Sentience is the ability to experience the world through senses. Most animals do plenty of that. Sapience is the ability to know things, and to reason and abstract and extrapolate within those sensory perceptions. I’ve used the word ‘sentient’ a number of times in this chronicle. That’s just me being a lazy wordsmith, because more people are familiar with the ‘sentient’ term than the ‘sapient’ one. Just thought I’d point that out. You sapient little homo sapien, you. :)
In 2001’s fairly decent cinematic sequel 2010, Roy Scheider comes upon another much larger monolith out near Europa, one of Jupiter’s mysterious moons long studied by astronomers as a potential source of life in our solar system. Once again, the artifact mysteriously directs the course of human evolution. In the original, Dave Bowman turned into a star child of sorts, a being of unlimited power and mastery over time and space (in all fairness, trying to interpret Kubrick’s ultimate cinematic intent in that wacky, psychedelic. sixties heyday tends to be a fool’s errand, which is apparently the way he liked it). In the sequel, Jupiter becomes a second star within our solar system, humans are told by their unseen alien benefactors to stay away from Europa, and they can have all the rest of the planets in the system.
In the 2001 lexicon, the monoliths serve as catalysts for a sapient jump forward for humanity. As such, it was posed the message from the artist who set the metal monolith out in Utah could’ve been it was high time for us to make the next leap of intelligence in our evolution.
The artist wasn’t wrong about that much.
If only we had a true monolith to kick start our stagnation.
At the time, I was derring-do about it, and I thought maybe somebody should go out there and knock on the thing. It might’ve been worth risking demons or murderous, Daisy-singin’ HAL-2000 style super computers if there was a chance we’d get a real time directive from on high. We needed all the help we could get then, and given current world affairs, perhaps even more now, from any sources willing to lend a hand, be they star children or Europans (that’s Europans, kids, not Europeans). With the perfect storm of 2020 and its deadly combination of pandemic, a new ascendancy of American racism, and the abdication of That Guy, I’d have taken the risk of a monolith’s mystery over more of the same all day long and twice on Sunday.
Eventually, someone did indeed knock on the thing. The monolith disappeared, leaving behind only a few rivets and a triangular piece of metal. Adventure photographer Ross Bernards was out photographing the thing, when four other guys showed up and pushed it over. They dismantled it and took away the refuge in a wheelbarrow, retreating as covertly as they’d arrived. Back then, I’d have flipped a coin as to whether they were diehard desert conservationists, government agents, or American citizens who felt threatened by its mere existence. In that day and age, what with all the raging paranoia bleeding throughout our society, the latter seemed far more likely than men in black or concerned naturalists.
As it turned out, the coin flip wasn’t necessary. Two extreme athletes versed in wilderness conservation took responsibility for dismantling the Utah monolith. Sylvan Christensen and Andy Lewis had large online followings for their social media posts regarding their BASE jumping and slack-lining hobbies. In videos posted on Instagram and YouTube, they admitted they were part of the group that pushed down the monolith and took it away. Christensen said the land wasn’t prepared for the influx of tourist looky-loos and that rangers couldn’t hope to keep up in dealing with the impact of curious Instagrammers. While his group supported art and artists, they believed it was an ethical failure to cut into the surrounding bedrock rock to erect the monolith and moreover, the damage to the wilds around it including litter and off-trail blazing caused by internet sensationalism and tourism would’ve been worse. Not unfair points, but damn, way to kill the romance, dudes.
Only a few days afterward, a similar monolith was reported nearly halfway around the world in the Romanian city of Piatra Neamt, close to the Petrodava Dacian Fortress archeological landmark. The new monolith was erected on the Bâtca Doamnei plateau, near an archaeological site overlooking the city. It was about 12 feet tall and constructed somewhat poorly, welded together shoddily with a reflective metal that refracted light and exhibited wavy, looped markings on its surface. It disappeared as fast as it had appeared.
Later that same week, yet another silvery, metallic monolith appeared, this one erected in the same haunted and vaunted Santa Lucia Mountain range I’ve mentioned before, back when the Dolan Fire was laying waste to Big Sur. It was found atop one of the switchback hills of Pine Mountain in Atascadero, California, a little cow-kickin’ town of which I happen to be readily acquainted. Atascadero is a nice enough central coast hamlet, but it’s rarely a place of significant controversy, nor is it often an art destination.
Here’s where that particular monolith incident gets wonky, and as it happens, pertinent to our ongoing story of 2020’s neo-con woes.
A group of young, aspiring MAGA loyalists found a way to stoke the fires of ‘net clickbait when they posted a video link on the blockchain streaming site DLive and live streamed their five-hour journey to tear down the new Californian manifestation of the monolith phenomenon. The entire video was rife with examples of fringe whiteboyism, including the group’s members mentioning racist rhetoric terms like burning crosses and white power, singing old school military songs like Battle Hymn of the Republic, wearing tacticool gear like combat helmets, night vision goggles, and face paint.
When they finally reached the site of the monolith, one of them could be heard saying “Christ is king in this country…we don’t want illegal aliens from Mexico or outer space, so let’s tear this bitch down.” Then they pushed the thing over while sing-songing ‘America First’ and ‘Christ is King.’ Another stuck a wooden cross in the ground where the monolith stood, evidently to superimpose Christian faith over, uh…an alien signal?
Then they all posed with the downed monolith, stepping on it as if they were gallant knights who’d vanquished a dragon. They tied ropes around the structure and dragged it down the mountain. In the video, they’re chased by an unidentified group, whereupon they hide in some nearby bushes. Distant voices are heard; the group wondered aloud if the people after them are part of antifa, reminding each other to not to underestimate such folks. They came up with a plan to call the cops and frame their chasers as the monolith vandals, that brilliant strategy apparently not taking into consideration they’d been live streaming to the internet the whole time. They ended up leaving the monolith in the bushes and escaping, lauding each other on the way home, having successfully eluded their supposed anti-fascist enemies.
There was actually so much outrageous whiteboy stuff to analyze, berate, mourn, or condemn about that, it really did depend on one’s mood of the day as to which route one wanted to take. As I was in a rare fair mood at the time, I limited my observations to noting the average age of the participants; they were young Californian men who likely didn’t represent the majority of Gen Z, yet it was still disheartening to see there were remaining pockets of Boomer and Gen X parents continuing to teach their children misguided, white nationalist rhetoric.
Beyond that, it was hard to determine why they thought that new ‘monolithing’ art trend would be a homophobic affront to Christ himself, unless they were thinking it was a blasphemous, false idol sort of situation, which seemed a long shot, since nobody was ever seen practicing worship to the monoliths. Nor was it reasonable to think those ne’er do well kids could truly believe the monolith was a beacon to summon either undocumented citizens or space-faring extraterrestrials. No, it was almost certainly just an excuse to have a whiteboy adventure, and acquire some likes and comments on their social media feeds. The only things missing from the video to make it a near perfect whiteboy display of pomposity were excessive displays of firearms and excessive consumption of alcohol.
What did they do was emulate a bubble of modern tribalism, brought about through a Frankenstein mix of anti-intellectualism, illusory pattern perceptions crafted from cop shows, action flicks, first-person shooter video games, and internet sensationalism. It was worth noting the user on the DLive account who posted the video had frequently used racist narratives across his social media, including rants about pedophiliac rape tunnels under Bill and Hillary’s home as well as praising actions like spitting on Black and Brown folks.
Subsequent monoliths continued to appear, one near that sacred ground of Joshua Tree National Park down in the eastern Californian desert, another over in the U.K. on the Isle of Wight, and a second one in San Luis Obispo County in the Los Padres National Forest. I found the whole thing fascinating, and wondered if the monolithing movement was an effort in synergy, different artistic types encouraging a continued, silent suggestion for the human race to get its shit together, rather than the unoriginal machinations of copycat YouTube and Instagram provocateurs.
Eventually, the stunt-art group titling themselves ‘The Most Famous Artists’ claimed responsibility for the American monoliths. They shared photos on their social media feeds of the monoliths being constructed, and descriptions of the design process behind them. They said they offered the installations as ‘monoliths-as-a-service,’ and would charge any interested parties an artist’s fee of a paltry $45,000. Bummer deal. If in fact those stunt-art aficionados were indeed responsible for all the monoliths as they claimed, it seemed sensationalism and capitalism panned out to be the end-game after all, rather than alien guidance.
I’d rather have wallowed in my wonder.
Finally, my monolith intrigue was rewarded locally, when lo and behold, someone in my redneck of the woods erected their own copycat monolith, near a watershed bird sanctuary on the southern side of town. I took my dog Destiny over there for a walk to check it out myself. You remember Dez, don’t ya, loyal reader? The last of my Aussie pack. Even then, months later after her elders passed during the height of that summer of pestilence and madness, she remained heartbroken, but I still took her out for isolated walks as much as possible.
Anyway, we’d hiked the bird refuge trails before, so the bogey in question was easy peasy to find, and it was pretty cool, despite obviously made by human hands. It wasn’t terribly sturdy, welded and soldered on the fly, definitely made of tin or aluminum and not, much to the lament of my sci-fi nerd inside, an unknown alien metal. I dunno whether it was the pop cultural imprint of the 2001-2010 cinematic imagery or if it was simply the enigma of the art, but either way, it felt apropos, given the year we were having. Local kids had already gotten to it with small graffiti emblems and sweetheart initials and such. Still, I appreciated the apparent fact I still had a sense of wonder at all, what with the year we Californians were having.
Hold fast to your wonder, girls and boys.
It’s one of the few things we own outright.
*Compiled from November 24, 2020
**Editor’s Note: Here in June of 2024, it’s been reported this week that members of the Las Vegas police search and rescue unit found a new monolith - the first one reported since that wave back in late 2020 and early 2021 - near Gass Peak in the Desert National Wildlife Refuge outside of Vegas. This one seems to be constructed fair, with a glimmering, refractive outer surface mirroring the desert landscape around it. It appears the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service will be taking it down, because they’re concerned about people coming in as they do, wanton and reckless, and damage the surrounding environs. That would be problematic as it’s a preserve for bighorn sheep and rare plants, the largest of its kind outside of Alaska.
So…the monolithing trend continues now four years later. Man, I still wish it were aliens dumping these bad boys about the earth and not dumb ol’ humankind. That said, do I appreciate the artists’ efforts in provoking mystique? I surely do.