Walter De Maria, Earth Room, 1968
Imagine a room full of earth. The air smells of damp soil, quiet, weighty. Footprints...
Imagine a room full of earth. The air smells of damp soil, quiet, weighty. Footprints...
The circle tightens. We begin as dust, we return to earth. Between these two points,...
Traces remain: fingerprints in soil, fossils in stone, whispers of life beneath what we see....
There it is: the blue-green globe suspended in space, orbiting silence. Seas shimmer, continents dark,...
Within a tower’s walls, a circle of women sits in quiet vigil, threaded by labor...
Underfoot, there are sheets—silent strata of color: clay, loam, ash, sand. Each layer tells a...
We dress it in concrete, strings of lights, asphalt veins, steel spines. We call it...
A face emerges from the soil, both human and planetary. Eyes closed, lips parted, hair...
She took the sky in her brushes, breaking it into waves of color—splashes of red,...
Amid the roar of steel and smoke, there stands a fresco—an ancient hymn painted in...