Wayne and Rebecca Madsen

There are artists in the world. And have been for a long time. Most people create something, some create some really good things and those are the people we call "masters."

Then, sometimes, someone comes along and does something which doesn't fit into the "hey-look-what-i-can-do" category, nor into the "i-believe-this-is-what-you-call-art" arena of creativity. On the rarest of occasions in history do you get someone like James Turrell.

I have been thinking often of James Turrell's work, at least since I first went to a skyspace in Seattle at the Henry. A skyspace is a room, often only able to hold about 15 people, which has a large hole in the ceiling, opening to the sky. As you sit in the room, there is only one place to look: up. Heavenwards. Towards the vibrant colors of the dome which sits above and around us.

There isn't anything quite like the atmosphere and the interaction between it and light. The terrestrial field shows us beauty in its complexity, but the sky - it shows its beauty in a serenity of the purest spirituality. The only connection I can make between viewing James Turrell's skyspaces and my experience is that of spirituality. Sadly, there aren't enough James Turrell pieces in the world. Maybe that's for the better: would we take lightly the sanctity of space if that space became a Benjaminian Spectacle? Probably not. But I think more of them need to come, and possibly from other hands than just Turrell's.