Big

 

The glossy smooth red granite Big Purse has served as couch, baggage stand, and stumbling block for years. It was my first thought when I read of the death of Claes Oldenburg (1929-2022), an artist who worked with fabric, wire, and steel, not granite, one of his most famous works being a Big Burger about the same size as the Big Purse. Oldenburg may have lived in the Big Apple, but his 1962 Big Burger predates the invention of the Big Mac by five years. It makes sense that this Mister Big “rose to prominence”, as the cliché goes, in the pop sixties. A handsaw, a shuttlecock, a rubber stamp, an electric plug, an avocado and many other unassuming everyday objects, also rose to prominence due to Oldenburg’s proclivity for going big. Georgia O’Keeffe (1887-1986) was asked why she painted such huge flowers on her canvases. She replied something like, she lived in New York then where everything is big, so she painted her flowers big. This may be why Oldenburg wanted to make Big Impressions. Just as humans like to make matchbox cars, miniature replicas of the originals, so they also like to go outsize and over the top. Is this compensatory behaviour? Or simply fun? It has elements of American cartoons. Why be normalman when you can be superman? Whether this is an expression of ego, or a satire of ego, is a question, like why do humans admire other humans who are “larger than life”, to use a phrase? Nambour is not New York, and the enterprise that constructed the Big Pineapple does not ascribe Oldenburg as an influence. The yellow fibreglass skin and green steel crown with interior curved staircase and linoleum viewing levels of this 16-metre high tropical fruit is what Americans call a roadside attraction. The consequent Australian temptation to make Big Things, while motivated by commercial outcomes (Big Dollars), seems to be based less on art objectives than novelty. I keep putting off my visit to the Big Vincent, as we call it, the lumiere show that converts the fit-for-purpose gallery paintings of Vincent Van Gogh (1853-1890) into floor-to-ceiling immersions of starry starry nights and stark staring portraits. Giving meaning to this extravagance is possible, but my concern is it won’t be as meaningful or inspiring as walking around all the Big Buildings under the Big Sky outside. I ponder the Big Things positioned in front of those buildings, as though for example the Big Wave of Inge King (1915-2016) could personalise the uniformity of nearby city towers or give them the human touch. They become like the building’s mascot, an identifier, a thought that leaves me with ambivalent feelings. Like Alice in Wonderland, who gets bigger then smaller depending what she tries next, but then don’t we all? It’s called growing up.