July 27, 2006

[Originally published in the 2005 Expo newspaper]

[Read about other guerrilla art interventions in the Expo DIY Library.]

It was a public art attack. February 26, 1993, at the foot of Market Street in San Francisco, the Department of Public Art (DPA) drove up in a rented pickup truck.

Out we sprang, dressed in white Tyvek disposable suits, each adorned with a black and blue DPA logo specially created for the purpose.

Comrade X had the clipboard with our work order, duly signed and filled out, describing our apparent civil service duty of installing the sculpture in Justin Herman Plaza (better known as "Pee-Wee" Herman plaza to the dozens of bicyclists who would soon be gathering there on that long-ago last Friday of the month for what was then the sixth San Francisco "Critical Mass").

Comrade Y approached the street lamp pole first, kneeling to begin mixing the industrial strength epoxy that would soon cover the ground where the metal frame would be placed.

Our sculpture remained hidden beneath black plastic as a smattering of passersby paused to wonder what we were doing. Once the epoxy was smeared, we wasted no time and lifted the sculpture from the back of the truck and moved it carefully into place.

After planting it on the rapidly drying epoxy, the last step was to attach the frame to the adjacent pole, achieved with a large, box-shaped, improvised clamp of two-inch metal pieces. It grabbed the pole and in a few minutes, the screws were all perfectly stripped after vigorous turning well beyond their points of resistance.

With a flourish of feigned city-worker boredom, we pulled the plastic away to reveal our masterpiece: "The Door Is Always Open."

A mannequin was flying over a 1965 Chrysler Imperial car door, its bicycle upended into the door itself. All of it had been painstakingly assembled during the previous week.

Within minutes we were off, friends and strangers remaining to ogle our work. An hour later, the "Critical Mass" cyclists began to assemble and enjoyed our project in their turn. Few cyclists are unfamiliar with the drama of getting "doored" while riding the narrow side spaces on most urban streets.

It was but the first of a series of occasional Art Attacks by the San Francisco Department of Public Art, stretching through the 1990s and well into the new millennium. No doubt others will appear in coming years.