There was an announcement this week from the City of Knoxville that the "Treble Clef" sculpture located at the intersection of Gay Street and Summit Hill Drive will be permanently removed due to its badly deteriorated condition and the impracticality of its repair. The 18-foot tall sculpture, constructed of a fiberglass skin over a metal frame, was donated to the City in 1986 by the Knoxville News Sentinel in celebration of their 100th Anniversary and to honor the city's country music heritage.
The city's press release stated:
"The Public Art Committee made its recommendation after consulting with experts about the condition of the "Treble Clef." The committee determined that its structure had been weakened by years of exposure and that surface treatment to improve its weathered appearance would not be adequate to ensure its ongoing viability."
One might expect me to oppose this removal for any number of reasons: the support for public art, the symbolic nature of the commemoration, or possibly, visual nostalgia. But, I don't oppose it...but I attach a very special qualification.
I admit that on first spotting the work sometime in 2000 or 2001, I appreciated the fact that this was one of the few pieces of public art in Knoxville and that it existed in recognition of the country music legacy. However, I must also admit that I was less than impressed with its visual appeal or success as a symbol. What I thought was some kind of reinforced cast concrete construction--a construction that reminded me of the ubiquitous textured concrete techniques of the 1970s--turned out to be, on closer inspection, a fiberglass shell over a metal frame...and the finish of the fiberglass was showing age even then.
Also, the slightly abstracted shape of this G-clef bothered me a bit. It wasn't a bold, demonstrative G-clef, nor did it really offer an inspired degree of abstraction. Instead, it seemed a lot like those wimpy music-inspired chotzkas that show up in mail-order catalogs this time of year. Of course, the line between decoration and art is murky, subjective, and ill-defined. Still, I felt that this design was quite squarely in the former category. I later warmed to it a bit, concluding that it wouldn't be so bad if it was constructed in some kind of shiny, warm, polished metal--a dazzling necklace around the neck of the city that would boldly communicate its intent. And, it would last.
However, as of late, this piece had become anything but dazzling and looked quite scruffy and cheap. When the announcement of the removal came, I was surprised, but not really shocked or disappointed.
But, here is the important qualification. The premise of that sculpture--to honor the legacy of our musical past and to look forward to a musical future--seemed to be far more important than this incarnation indicated. Knoxville has often struggled with discovering its intrinsic identity; different attractions have been proposed at different times in an effort to create one. Possibly, though, that identity has been here right under our noses all along--a vital, working, thriving music scene encompassing the gamut of musical tastes: roots music, rock, alternative, classical, jazz, blues, and new edge. A lot of foundation already exists: WDVX is downtown, Tennessee Shines at the Bijou, the Arts and Culture Alliance, AC Entertainment's Big Ears Festival, Knoxville Opera's Rossini Festival, the Knoxville Symphony, jazz ensembles, and the Tennessee and Bijou as performance spaces, not to mention all the clubs and bars with impressive schedules of acts.
What we need now, as one downtown proponent recently suggested, is a new symbol...some glue...a cohesive effort that ties all the little gestures together...an organized effort to recognize the marketable vitality of the scene and the willingness to fill in more pieces of what has been a puzzle. Possibilities? A downtown recording studio, new performance spaces and rehearsal halls, and a serious, if not permanent, curated exhibition of Knoxville's musical past and its burgeoning present. Why look to the sky for stars? They're right here on the sidewalk.
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