Great art is supposed to record history, not witness it.
But 25 years ago, on Sept. 11, 2001, a 31-foot-tall sculpture, “Modern Head,” stood watch as an unfathomable tragedy unfolded in Lower Manhattan.
“Modern Head,” all 13,000 pounds of it, was temporarily installed in 1996 by the Public Art Fund for New York City, in a Battery Park plaza, one block from the World Trade Center. Its vibrant blue color eerily echoed the vibrant blue of the sky on that sunny, warm September morning, until almost everything around it turned into twisted metal, pulverized concrete, dense smoke and choking ash.
New York-born artist Roy Lichtenstein, regarded as the originator of the iconic 1960s pop art movement, created “Modern Head.” While Lichtenstein is perhaps best known for his paintings and drawings, many of which playfully appropriated the imagery of comic books and the Ben-Day dots of commercial art, he was a prolific sculptor.
“Modern Head” was conceived in 1974 as part of Lichtenstein’s series exploring, as he put it, “what in the world a modern head could be about.” For thousands of years, sculptors had depicted the human head. What, then, could a modern head be about?
Two decades before Lichtenstein’s “Modern Head,” Alberto Giacometti answered that question by transforming human proportions into fragile, sticklike figures and covering every inch of available surface with deep cuts, so the artist’s literal touch was visible wherever the eye looked. Lichtenstein embarked on the opposite approach. He began with the concept of how to make a human “look like a machine,” wondering what a human figure would look like if a mechanical draftsman oversaw its evolution and applied “machine thinking” to making a human head.
The artist’s mind traveled to places far beyond the reach of artificial intelligence. The result is an ebullient mix of art deco and art moderne design, with a dash of cubism, composed of clean, industrial cuts and all arranged on the diagonal, giving the work a distinctive forward lean, as if “Modern Head” were part lever or accelerator. But Lichtenstein also added a powerful reference to the classical past. It is almost impossible to gaze up at the winged element at the sculpture’s top and not think of the Ancient Greek Winged Victory of Samothrace on display in the Louvre. The first version of “Modern Head” was completed in 1974. A stainless-steel edition of four was fabricated in 1989, and one cast was painted blue.
That blue cast graced Lower Manhattan on 9/11, when a few vicious human beings turned flying machines into previously unimaginable agents of death and destruction. Initially, like many works of art on display inside the World Trade Center, most assumed that “Modern Head” had not survived the catastrophe. Then TV news footage recorded its iconic form amid the debris. Its base was covered in white ash, but the sculpture itself had only surface scratches. Amid the apocalyptic landscape and the blown-out windows of surviving buildings, “Modern Head’s” brilliant blue lines, half-circles, angles and wings continued to reach toward the sky.
“Modern Head” quickly became a gathering point for rescue workers and investigators. It even morphed into a low-tech message board. Lacking any other means of communication, FBI agents taped notes and attached Post-its along the sculpture’s neck to leave messages for one another. They posted the essentials of an investigation: basic instructions, updates on personnel and shift assignments, directions on where to meet, and vital bits of information, whatever could fit on torn-off notebook pages or sticky, yellow squares, as the agents sought clues amid the catastrophic ruins.
Today, “Modern Head” still resides outside, but in Washington, D.C., on the corner of Ninth and F Streets NW, as part of the Smithsonian American Art Museum’s collection. Dorothy Lichtenstein, Roy’s widow, requested that the work be donated to the museum.
The sculpture’s story is part of our national history, although few passersby know it unless they stop to read the faded commemorative plaque.
Roy Lichtenstein likely was not contemplating a literal representation of the ancient Egyptian and Greek myth of the phoenix rising from the ashes when he created “Modern Head,” but that is what “Modern Head” has come to represent, and that may be the best answer to the question: what is a modern head about? Resilience and rebirth after monumental tragedy have become among the most meaningful stories of the 20th century and now the first quarter of the 21st century, hopefully in both life and art.
Jeffrey Loria, a lifelong New Yorker, is an art dealer, the author of four books and the former owner of several sports teams, including the Miami Marlins. He was a friend of Roy Lichtenstein and donated “Modern Head” to the Smithsonian.
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