By Anonymous

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Read the Hearts in SF response to this essay

To me, “Hearts in San Francisco,” the 2004 citywide exhibition of heart-shaped “art” lacked a certain, well, heart. I eagerly shared my feelings with whomever would listen. Wells Fargo had one covered in special commemorative coins, a display of wealth I consider offensive in the name of public art. Few of the more than one hundred artists commissioned took any risks, visual or otherwise. In a time of war, this is hard to stomach. While I was relieved to see one work by Rigo that had some sense of humanity, I was genuinely disappointed by the invasion of such toothless art in a city with such a rich field of talent.

We were having beers after work when N said, “We ought to make our own and put them all over the place.” I said, “If you’re serious, I’ll put resources into it.” A deal was struck, and we began to work on the project. N had access to a Computer Numerically Controlled tool, which would cut the shapes. I wanted practice on a drawing program, so we started work while we were still trying to come up with good concepts and placement ideas for our hearts. We would religiously copy the originals to scale, and would make the hearts out of half-inch plywood bolted together with an angle iron. Three hearts seemed doable, especially if N brought K on the scene.

There were lots of details to work out, but I think we came up with three good responses to “Hearts in San Francisco.” K’s was a war message, titled Lucky in Love, but Not in War, played off the shape of the heart, depicting a four-leafed clover. N’s heart, Weapon of Mass Destruction, was upended with the point facing the sky, like a missile, and was covered in camouflage paint and military-style stencils. Mine, Home is Where the Heart is, was a shelter that could sleep two. It was complete with a bed, dry socks, towels, a photo gallery and a message board.

We loaded the hearts in the back of my pick-up truck. We were cheered for and stared at as darkness fell upon us. Dressed in coveralls, we piled out at the bottom of Market Street on the Embarcadero, and as fortune had it, we were nestled amid a cancer fundraising walk. We put out orange cones and unloaded. No one bothered us, and no one asked any hard questions.

It appeared to be no one’s job to remove our work, so it survived for days, before apparently capturing the attention of, who else, but the “Hearts” people. How else could we explain away the eyewitness account of a certain obscure brand of rental truck we had previously seen load and move the official art. In the four-and-a-half days it stood in Justin Herman Plaza, many people wrote greetings and supplied feedback on my piece, but I missed seeing it that last day. N, K and I had just decided to do an interview with The San Francisco Chronicle. Our hearts disappeared less than an hour before we were supposed to meet our interviewer. This allowed for our anonymity to remain, which I appreciate, along with the irony.

I think our hearts changed the context of the sanctioned art–and improved it. We succeeded in punctuating the exhibition in a subtle and artful way. It set us back a few hundred dollars, but I would certainly do it again.

Interview with Amy Kweskin

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Read the original “Hearts in SF (Remix)” article.

How did you get involved with Hearts in SF?

I was referred to the project by Richard Newirth, Executive Director of the San Francisco Arts Commission.

What did the call for art and the curation involve? How did the project outreach to artists? What were the geographical and thematic criteria for applying and selecting?

The call for artists was put out via mail and email to non-profit arts organizations, arts associations and galleries around the Bay Area. Additionally, PSAs were announced on radio stations. Several artists were invited to participate by the steering committee who worked closely with museum directors, gallery owners, the City of San Francisco and the SF Arts Commission to identify artists whose work would lend itself to the Hearts‚ canvas. It was essential to the project‚s mission to bring both emerging, aspiring and established artists into the project. Anyone could submit a proposal, the only restriction was that they could not use corporate logos in their artwork. An artistic subcommittee of the steering committee chose the artists. Artists were selected based on the artistic design, ability to fully utilize the Heart template and ability to execute their proposal. >

I wonder if there were any challenges or tightropes to walk with regards to the sociopolitical considerations of curating and installing a citywide public art project? Issues of cultural and political diversity, for example.

We picked artists that represented the diversity of San Francisco and the Bay Area in their artwork‚s content and style but we didn‚t always know what „culture‰ the artist represented, it wasn‚t the top priority. In one case we found out that an artist was 16 years old after we chose his design. After giving him a call we were convinced that he could successfully complete his design, and he did.

Can you give us an idea of the range of reactions you had to the project over the course of its existence? From conceptualization to installation to disassembly. Give us the positive and the negative.

Based on the unsolicited feedback we received via phone, mail and email the general public loved the project. People made treks from all over the Bay Area to see the Hearts. To keep people interested in the Hearts we moved them to different locations and people were delighted to find new ones in their daily travels. The strongest reaction came when we removed the Hearts, people were heartbroken. In our final viewing event, A Lot of Hearts in SBC‚s parking lot over 10,000 people came to see the artworks.

Did the project achieve the goals you set out for it? What were those goals?

The goals of the project, as envisioned by Co-Founders Nancy Bechtle and Ellen Newman, were to raise money to benefit San Francisco General Hospital Medical Center, generate tourism and to show the world that San Francisco is a City with Heart. The fundraising goal was exceeded, having successfully netted nearly $2,000,000 for the SFGHMC. As for increased tourism, we receive emails from across the world asking where Hearts can still be viewed.

What were your initial reactions to the discovery of non-official “hearts” appearing around town? Was there any critique apparent, at first glance, or did it just seem kind of some opportunistic spoof? How ’bout later on?

We removed the three “unsanctioned” Hearts because every Heart location was pre-approved by the City of San Francisco and required extensive negotiation with property owners and the purchasing permits. Any Heart, ours or ones inspired by the project, that were located in areas not pre-approved by the City, could have been seen as a potential violation of our permits. Because we did not know who created these Hearts we could not contact them to discuss alternative display opportunities and they had to be removed. The benefit of public art is to generate a dialogue and response and that‚s what we saw in these three Hearts. But because they were anonymously displayed we saw them as some kind of spoof. However we were thankful that the artists had created their own Hearts and had not damaged or destroyed any of the 131 that were part of the Hearts in San Francisco project.

How do you respond to the critique implicit in the unofficial hearts, and spelled-out in the “Remix” essay? When describing your responses, consider from both an immediate, personal perspective (i.e., “Someone is criticizing me and my work”), as well as from a more clinical/curatorial perspective (i.e., “How does this criticism successfully (or not) address the intent of the Hearts in SF project?”).

Again, the benefit of public art is to create dialogue. The fact that these people were engaged by Hearts in San Francisco and inspired to respond is a positive benefit of the project. Throughout the project we received compliments and criticism of all degrees and in my view this was a creative and proactive response.

What do you think the critique is of both the unofficial hearts as well as the essays? Be specific. Also: Is it welcome or out of place? Is it sound or out of line? Do you think it contributed to the “conversation of art,” or was it an affront? I realize things aren’t always so cut-and-dried. Also — I know that when my work is criticized, it rankles. But if there’s something authentic and relevant to the criticism, and not merely “for its own sake,” then there can be some revelation that really gets to the heart of the issue. So that’s the tightrope this question walks.

It is unfortunate that the author of Remix has taken a negative view of the project when in fact their response illustrates that they were positively impacted by Hearts in San Francisco. We were a catalyst for them to articulate and advocate their concerns in a creative format. Imitation is the greatest form of flattery.

What happened to the hearts? Both the official and the “unofficial”?

Their Hearts were removed, stored for the duration of the project and because we didn’t know who created them they were eventually destroyed in early 2005.

How would the feedback you received on this project affect any future public art programs you undertake? Are you inspired to take it all on again? Or ready for a break from it all?

The response to this project has inspired me to help other communities take on similar public art ventures. It may not be considered “high art” but these types of installations allow the general public to get involved in viewing, discussing and creating artworks. So often people do not notice or understand public art but in the case of Hearts, Cows, Ponies or any other accessible template of temporary display, the general public gets very excited. We witnessed people spontaneously kissing, touching, singing to and climbing on the Hearts. How better to keep the arts alive?

I’m sure there’s more to say. What’s missing from my line of inquiry? Use this last question as an opportunity to fill in the blanks, and present perspective that I have missed out on.

Why did the authors of Remix feel that they had to be anonymous in their writing and artwork? Why not stand up and be recognized for being inspired by art and creative enough to generate a response?