I drove up to Mass MoCA in North Adams to see the pile of rice. I knew about it because of the billboard that they put up just outside of Great Barrington. The billboard said, "A Mind Blowing Experience." Actually I sort of resent being told in advance that something is going to be a "Mind Blowing experience", as I feel that such experiences are much more profound and effective when they are unannounced and happen unexpectedly. But, I had several questions in my mind about the rice, so I drove up there to take a look at it.
I drove up Route 8 through the town of Adams . In Adams there is a quarry where they process sand. From the road you can see a huge pile of sand in the distance; it is a cone shape, very similar in fact, to pictures I have seen of the rice. I decided to stop and look at the pile of sand and while there, I asked it a few questions.
I said, "Pile of sand, there is a pile of rice in North Adams and they say that it is so big that the total number of grains of rice is about equal to the number of human beings inhabiting the earth. If the pile of rice represents that, what do you represent?"
The pile of sand replied, "That's nothing. First of all I am much larger than that pile and each of my grains is much smaller than a piece of rice. Therefore I represent a much greater number than the pile of rice, even though I occupy an extremely similar shape. The total number of my grains of sand happens to be exactly equal to the number of people who have ever lived on the earth. Therefore, if the installation at Mass MoCA is a mind blowing experience, as the billboard claims, then what am I? I would have to be compared to a cosmic epiphany that occurs to a great genius once in one hundred years. But for some reason, though I am all of that, no one even slows down to have a look at me as they drive by here. They are all on their way to see that little pile of rice; actually I don't see what all the fuss is about."
But I want to stick to the point and tell you about the pile of rice, especially if you are someone who won't get a chance to see it. I arrived at the museum at about 11:00 in the morning after stopping at the Pittsfield Library to pick up a free pass to Mass MoCA. Despite the fact that I had made the trip however, and even though it would cost me nothing to get into the museum, upon my arrival I very nearly decided not to go inside. Something I saw at the entrance got me so upset that it very nearly ruined my trip. I discovered that outside the museum, quite close to the front door, they have set up a large torture chamber made exclusively for trees. And there, for some absolutely unknown reason, they are torturing six trees to death. The trees are hung upside down in barrels by their legs. Apparently they must have committed some absolutely horrible crime to be subjected to such a punishment and apparently, this has been going on for a few years as can be determined by the pathetic way those poor trees are bending their branches upside down in a fruitless effort to get their leaves into the light. I don't know what they did and perhaps they deserve their fate, but I must say that as I stood looking at them, I wept. Perhaps they are actually innocent trees who never committed any crime. Well then, I can only hope that whoever is responsible for this travesty gets a similar treatment in the next life. And oddly enough, this has occurred in the Berkshires, where I have always assumed that people loved and cared about trees.
I entered the museum in a rather frightful state of mind I’m afraid after bearing witness to such dreadfulness, and perhaps, as a consequence, I had some negative feelings about the rice installation but, I proceeded nonetheless as I had important questions to ask the pile of rice. To describe the scene, the rice is in a very large room. At once it makes you think of the Pyramids of Gisa or at the least, those pictures of the pyramid and one cannot help but be struck by the absolute silence. Although silence is an attribute of most art exhibits, this particular silence was especially noticeable, as if there were some hidden secret or mystery about the rice, something magical possibly having to do with occult rites with magic letters and numbers. This was somewhat intimidating I must admit, but nevertheless, I walked right up to it and said, "I would like to know which one of you is supposed to be ‘Paris Hilton.’”
I received no answer and in thinking about it, I suppose that the pile of rice may not have known which one was Paris Hilton. After all, if you consider her face, it is rather like a plain piece of white rice. I accepted the fact that I got no answer but I also wanted to know which two of the rice grains, were Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. I assumed this would be a much easier question to answer given how easy it would be to spot Angelina’s lips and of course, Brad would be right next to her.
This pile of rice however, exhibited all the snobbery that you would expect to find in a big city art establishment and I could not engage it in conversation – something which was no problem with the pile of sand.
When I think back on the experience, I wonder if my questions may not have been sort of critical and accusatory perhaps, which may explain why I received no answers. For example, I wanted to know which of the rice represented black people and following that, how did that rice representing black people feel about appearing as white rice. And furthermore, what about the Asians? I felt that there was something inherently racist about using white rice for everyone. If this was going to be a “mind blowing experience,” why not have only white rice for white people, black rice for black people and yellow rice for the Asians. Now I think that would be an interesting installation, especially for the white people.
And which rice represented homosexuals; I wanted to know that also.
Despite my curiosity however, I came away with nothing. The most interesting thing about the exhibit in fact were those grains of rice that had rolled away from the huge pile and could be found grouped loosely together in little sections out on the floor. Here and there were little rice families set apart from the mass and every now and again one could find a single piece that had been kicked far away to the other side of the room – one single grain of rice, all by itself, over in a corner of the room. I found that it was those individual grains with whom I identified the most and that the big pile meant almost nothing to me.
On the way home I stopped to talk to the pile of sand again. I said, "Pile of sand, I respect your integrity as a work of art and I know just how you feel. You’re an important installation and you make a profound statement, yet nobody takes any notice of you. That's because you’re just local art and not something for which someone paid thousands of dollars to transport from Denmark or something. I have been ignored in the very same way. Why, would you believe that I have precisely the same number of hairs on my head as the population of Pittsfield – the very same number and all of them white? And what is more, several years ago, my hair was equal to the population of Philadelphia . That’s right; Philadelphia ! And at that time, all of them Black!
Richard Britell
Housatonic 2007
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