Blown. or should I say: blown and blown. I am referring to the sculptural art I am describing today and the hurricane that blew across it. All of this can be visited at Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden near Miami, FL. Or rather, can’t be visited right now, since they are trying to clean up after the damage, with hordes of volunteers expected tomorrow to pick up the plant debris.

I really wonder what they do with the glass sculptures during natural catastrophes like Irma. The installations are too big, for the most part, to be moved easily. Maybe they have containers that settle around them, anchored in some fashion?

Fairchild is a truly beautiful garden, with humongous cacti and palm tree collections; it contains a large number of pieces of Chihuly’s work. Or at least work that has his name on it – there are now intense questions, accusations and law suits swirling around, claiming that he exploited his assistants, plagiarized them, stole from them ideas and revenue. This kind of conflict is not new when it comes to work made by groups of people when no single person can pull it off solo.

I read somewhere that Henry Moore, for example, did the drawings and small models for his sculptures, then had others execute the large versions we see in the museums. Ideas over craftsmanship, I guess. Except that ideas are shared when you co-produce, too.

http://www.tampabay.com/things-to-do/visualarts/who-is-really-making-chihuly-art/2334662

I visited the garden three years ago and had my usual mixed feelings when I encounter these larger-than-life explosions of Chihuly glass. They did something magical to the landscape, or echoed its magic. They deliver intense color and amorphous forms, cascading at times in ways that are really impressive regarding the skill of their construction. But a hint of gaudy always makes me step back, and all the talk in the world about how Chihuly bridges the gap between the decorative and art is not convincing me to think of it as predominantly the latter. This is of course the person speaking who vastly prefers Biedermeier over Rococo, something elegant but plain over something elaborately ornate.

My Pacific Northwest readers can easily judge for themselves – Seattle has an entire glass garden devoted to Chihuly, and the glass museum in Tacoma has him prominently in their permanent collection.

With all that said, I had a splendid day at Fairchild – walking around corners and discovering these pieces hidden or not so hidden in the vegetation instilled a sense of whimsey.

Almost enough to forget my annoyance that the insanely high admission prices prohibit your average-income family to visit and thus secure a mini paradise for the elites. Which is now blown.