Renew

A year after their awakening at Gas Works Park, nine mysterious golden sculptures live on in Seattle’s imagination … and its gardens.

Photography by Andrew Waits for City Arts

On the morning of August 24, 2009, Seattle awoke to unexpected glints of gold on the side of a grassy hill at Gas Works Park. A closer look revealed nine human-sized metallic figures, some emerging from egg-like shells, some fully freed and standing erect, others just beginning to break out. Some were a pure, bright gold; others were formed in subdued, darker, mottled shades. They were all a mystery.

The only clue to the new residents’ origins came in the form of a note. “Anew is gifted to the citizens of Seattle in the spirit of awakening,” it read. “Each of us has shells to break through, parameters to look past and wills to exercise. Arise and stand and then start moving. P.S. If still here I will remove once the rains return.”

As attention to the work began to build, its creator emerged. Her name was Cyra Jane Hobson, and with the aid of a small group of coconspirators, she had installed the nine-figure sculptural installation under the cover of darkness.

Described by the artist as “a meditation on existential awakening,” the piece was originally designed and built for Critical Massive, an arts festival held in Mount Vernon, Washington, each year, and was made possible by a grant from Ignition Northwest. The entire piece was constructed by Hobson during a month of flurried creativity. Five of the figures were wood and chicken-wire frames clothed in papier-mâché skins; the other four were made from plaster bandages that were shaped using human models.

As conceived, the figures would ultimately decay after the weeklong festival, but since they were still a vibrant installation piece with potential for broader exposure, Hobson decided to set them up in Gas Works Park. She tried not to anticipate their possible impact there. She thought they might get a bit of attention before they all disappeared. Initially she also thought she would be able to remain anonymous.

But her guerrilla action received a great deal more attention than she anticipated. Part of this response included a lot of dialogue on the Seattle Times online after the paper’s article on the clandestine installation was published.

“It was nice that it did spark a kind of debate about public art,” she recalls. “A lot of people jumping up and defending what public art is supposed to be, and inspiring a lot of people in that way. One of the interesting things that I saw was one person who was offended because it wasn’t paid for and it wasn’t put there [by the city]. They said it isn’t art unless someone is paying you to make it, unless it’s basically commissioned by the city or approved by people. And that’s an idea about art that’s extremely strange to me.”

The Parks Department initially said that it would be willing to leave the art up for a period of three days, but after the tremendous response by people clamoring for the opportunity to see the figures, officials agreed to leave Anew up until after Labor Day. But a few days later, all the pieces were gone. 

Curious as to where the figures ended up, City Arts went in search of them. With the help of Hobson we tracked down what happened to five of the pieces. One now resides in the garden of artist Margaret Hartley, where it is holding up quite well (see photo, opposite). Another, a figure shown emerging from a darker-colored shell, turned up in the offices of the Bob Rivers Show, where it had been taken as part of an unrealized plan to solicit an interview with Hobson. Meanwhile, after a brief sojourn in a Laurelhurst neighborhood, the standing golden man was taken back by the Parks Department. Two more figures were taken by a board member of the Ballard Boys & Girls Club, along with the exhibition’s accompanying plaque. After failing to sell them in a fundraising auction, the organization gave away the sculptures to “some lady” via Craigslist, Hobson was told.

The final four have been lost. They may have been secreted into private garages, or tossed unceremoniously into dumpsters. Hobson doesn’t know, nor does she care too much. She still has the memory of the night she changed a park, for a little while. 

“I went and hung out with [the sculptures] one evening,” Hobson recalls. “I just went and hid behind the grass and watched everybody. There was a kid playing tag with them. He would run up and hit one, then run around and look. And kids were climbing all over them so they were getting crushed down. It made me so happy.” •

See more photos from Anew in our exclusive online feature.