In the desert of the real

IT'S not every year -- or decade or even century -- Art in America names a sculpture in downtown Las Vegas one of the top 10 public art projects in the country. But that's exactly what the magazine did in its recent 2008-09 annual review, bringing attention to an artwork this critic affectionately calls "the homeless volcano," since the only people who regularly find themselves lying in the majestic presence of "Monument to the Simulacrum," located in Centennial Plaza at 4th Street and Lewis Avenue, are those who might be better served by a free sandwich. Or an American cheeseburger, as UNLV art professor Stephen Hendee, the monument's creator, learned when his friend, academic Sylvere Lotringer, came to town to view the monument.

"It was an odd juxtaposition," admits Hendee, who flinches a bit at my nickname for his celebrated piece. "Between the vagrants and Wendy's giving away free cheeseburgers with Wendy's banners everywhere, it certainly provided the piece a cynical context."

Twelve feet tall and made of quarter-inch stainless steel, the futuristic, forward-looking "Monument to the Simulacrum" is anything but cynical. It's a stately installation that not only reflects the mountainous geography of the surrounding Vegas Valley, but mirrors the way in which Vegas itself strives for an apex of fortune and success.

"I felt it was important to create something that people could rally around," adds Hendee, taking a sip from his iced tea at Starbucks. "The piece needed to offer things that are expected from public art."

When Las Vegas put out a call for proposals in honor of the city's centennial in 2005, Hendee entered the competition with a design that would relate to the time capsule -- which contains everything from a cocktail waitress uniform to a "Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas" souvenir -- and would not be opened until a century later. The monument's design was completely computer-generated using 3-D modeling software. From there Hendee sent it off for a technical drawing in order for a realistic construction process to be formulated. He shepherded his vision all the way to completion and attended the monument's unveiling last year with Mayor Oscar Goodman.

According to Hendee, public art needs to be fashioned for the consumption of regular citizens. Contemporary art, on the other hand, has a more specific audience in mind; contemporary art is largely critical while public art is, generally speaking, more positive.

Of course, Hendee's background is in hardcore academic and contemporary art, which makes him, in one sense, an unlikely choice for the time capsule artist. At the same time, though, his work -- computer-generated installations that radiate like science-fiction tombs -- has always possessed an attractive, superficial sheen. It's what lies beyond the shell that makes it so complicated and complex.

"I've been afforded a great deal of support from people who enjoy the pleasing colors and shapes that my work tends to offer," he says. "And then there are others who admire the content and the criticism that is potentially inherent in the work."

"Pleasing" and "critical" are perhaps two warring adjectives that might apply to one of Hendee's philosophical influences, Jean Baudrillard, the late French post-structuralist whose most provocative claim was that the first Gulf War never took place (given that, in 1991, the outcome was more of a media spectacle and had changed little politically in Iraq or the U.S.). But while Baudrillard often wielded an impish sense of humor, there is little obvious joviality in Hendee's public artwork, which is dedicated to Baudrillard.

"I recognize [Baudrillard's] sense of humor, but I recognize [Baudrillard's quasi-rival, French philosopher] Paul Virilio's rationality," says Hendee. "Neither one is a solution-maker, but each understands the acceleration of technology, of our culture, and how we might survive but the old notions of humanity might not."

Indeed, it was Baudrillard whose phrase "welcome to the desert of the real" popped up in The Matrix film, and who once called Las Vegas a "hyperreal" city. (The philosopher even gave a reading here once, wearing a gold lamé suit.) To honor Baudrillard, then, is to honor the certainty that Vegas, despite its synthetic reputation, is forever cemented in America and the world's popular imagination. Unlike most art that celebrates Vegas, however, Hendee never allows his work to settle for camp, kitsch or cliché. There are no images of showgirls, mobsters or Elvis impersonators, for instance.

"I can't really do that," he confesses. "There's always a disconnect. I might use pop culture as a point of reference, but ultimately I'm very old-fashioned. I want my ideas to be my own."

Hendee is also working in the ideas of others, namely his wife Catherine Borg (whom he is assisting with the installation of her new show at the Contemporary Arts Collective). In fact, a bit of extended teamwork was involved in the completion of the monument, with a Vegas casino-oriented company, Theming Solutions, pitching in with things like fabrication, installation and electrical engineering.

"I got the sense they were intrigued by this project because of the intent to let it stand for a hundred years," says Hendee. "Working for casinos, they're used to their work being torn down or imploded after just a couple of decades or so."

Vegas' actual structures may come and go, but a work dedicated to its artificial flow may stand for a century? It's a delicious irony Baudrillard would have appreciated.