Now, I am going to preface this by saying that these pictures aren't of the best quality. I couldn't make it to MIT until one night, and so most of these are either edited in order to make the art more visible, or just plain dark. However, I will say that it was simultaneously nice and scary to be wandering the MIT campus alone at night with no one else outside. I felt like a trespasser, indicated by numerous "NO TRESPASSING" signs that I was ignoring, but I stayed on the outside of each building to be on the safe side. Now that the scene has been set, you will understand how the incredibly industrial and colorless artwork lent its hand to the air of emotionless intellect that resonated throughout the courtyards.

"Elmo"

To jump right in, I'll begin with the statue "Elmo" by Dimitri Hazdi, as it was the first outdoor statue of all, created in 1963. At first glance, it looks completely unremarkable to me. It's pretty small, and if I had to guess I suppose I would say it looks like a man crawling with a giant backpack on, but it looks more like a random assortment of blobs, to be honest. However, upon listening to the recording, it turns out I was relatively close to the intent. The business about Greek warriors doesn't really strike me, but Hazdi's intent overlaps the brutality of war and armor, which is definitely an idea present. The picture provided by the interacted map doesn't at all convey the intensity and yet oddity that surrounded the piece when I visited. The plants were overgrown, and there was an odd little path to the work, which seemed almost as if it were a shrine, tucked away in a small courtyard. Yet despite this confusing and intense setup, I feel it is one of the only pieces that I truly got something out of. Instead of capitalizing on sharp edges and industrialism, as you will soon see the other pieces do, this piece was abstract while still conveying a message of strength, and I felt it to be more easily connected with than the other pieces.

"Birth of the Muses"

Sitting about 40 feet away, the next piece, "Birth of the Muses" by Jacques Lipchitz, rests somewhat concealed in the shadow of a building, without the shrine effect that "Elmo" gives off. One could almost miss it if "Elmo" caught their eye first. This piece seems to be trying to disappear. It is incredibly flat, plastered against the wall. A first impression is that it is simply a horse, perhaps with wings, but past the head it all becomes more abstract. The original intent was to depict the pegasus, which, simply a winged horse, is certainly clear. However, the further intent to show the mythic water springs that the pegasus brought about to create the muses, is less clear. If the horse's face were less clear or the muses and water more clear, I feel this piece would be more effective, but since it is so clearly a horse, most people would stop at that and not bother to look up other intent. Not to mention it takes up such incredibly little space it would be entirely easy to miss. I am also incredibly confused by it in general. Compared to the impression of strength and sharpness/mathematical relevancy to a technical school that most of the other artworks convey, this one is more basic art, with less modern angles and more classical values. It seems incredibly out of place.

"Angola"

To turn our back on more concrete pieces and move on to the confusing and abstract, we have "Angola" by Isaac Witkin. This piece, which looks just like a study of how metal bends, like "Birth of the Muses", sits awkwardly off to the side of a courtyard and lacks the punch of being a focal point. I had literally not a singe clue as to the meaning of this piece. It's lopsided, it mixes curves with sharp angles, and it seems to have no real intent. I also had no idea what "angola" meant, besides being a country in Africa, so that didn't help at all. The piece written on it also seemed to have no idea in the direction of this piece, talking about how perhaps it was intended to look as if it carves out space, or it is just a study of angles and shapes, or maybe it even represents energy, and the energy of a person. Regardless, it remains a mystery to me. Although it does share the same sharp, industrial angles as its fellow sculptures on campus, I find it lends nothing to the area. Not only is it incredibly unremarkable, it seems to have no meaning or intent. If they could get rid of any, it would be this one for me.

"TV Man or Five Piece Cube with Strange Hole"

I actually very much enjoyed the statue close to the last one, which was the focal point of its courtyard. Blatantly entitled "TV Man or Five Piece Cube with Strange Hole" by David Bakalar, there is very little commentary on this piece, other than that it means to represent exactly its title. And it does, at least for me. It looks like a man laying down, with a TV-like rectangular hole in the implied face, and strange holes in what would be the hands. Not only was it not made predominantly of ugly metal, but rather beautiful granite, but it also provided much for the spectator to work with. Is it a social commentary on how TV affects us and makes us lazy? Does Bakalar simply want us to explore the meanings behind the holes? Are we meant to travel behind the piece as I did and look at the city through the rectangle, and make the cityscape appear on TV? While I have absolutely no answers to these questions, this is without a doubt my favorite piece. It is abstract while still appearing to be something, and it allows the spectator to get creative, while it still maintains the sharpness and industrial-esque theme of the majority of the sculptures on campus.

"Reclining Figure"

The last of the less-angular and more abstract-with-an-implied-meaning pieces is "Reclining Figure" by Henry Moore. At first glance, with consideration to the title, I was not a fan of this piece. Not only does it look nothing like a reclining figure to me (it's in two pieces???) but it also seems to convey absolutely nothing at all. Yet I gained respect for the piece after listening to the recording. While he did still intend to create a reclining figure, which I still do not understand, he envisioned pieces of bone and stone in order to represent fragments of a person, which is quite interesting for an Anthropology major such as myself. These pieces do in fact resemble bone, and I am able to look at this from a new angle. This is what makes a good art piece, something that can speak to a variety of people if you just consider a different intent. What was also interesting was that apparently Moore was very ambiguous toward site-specificity. While some artworks do have meaning specific to location, I understand his reasoning, because I think any art that is meaningful somewhere can be meaningful anywhere.

"La Grande Voile"

The first in the three sculptures that look like building scaffolding fell down in random order is the most magnificent, "La Grande Voile" by Alexander Calder. This was likely the most intense piece of all. Since it is literally named, translated, "the big sail", one can assume the intent is to emulate, well, a big sail. To me, it doesn't look too sail-like, but I enjoyed that one could walk around it and underneath it and just the sheer enormity of the piece. The intent is to be able to see this piece from far away and to be a staple of the college, and while I am not sure how far away you can see this, it is certainly incredibly and an intense focal point. Even more interesting, the sail rests upon a buried time capsule. This is even more interesting, since it should be very visible from above, so on the chance that aliens decide to visit the MIT campus in the future, this might be a place they would look under for information. Regardless, while it seems like not much of a sail, it is impressive based on sheer size, and adds a nice element to the campus.

"Transparent Horizon"

Less impressive and less interesting is "Transparent Horizon" by Louise Nevelson, which for the life of me I could not get a good picture of so I've included the website picture of it as well. It is almost a more busy, smaller version of the previous artwork. It is less elegant, less immense, and less meaningful. In fact, I have very little to say about this other than it was very flat and contributed to the oddly flat nature of a lot of the pieces at MIT. She claims it intends to emulate natural forms, but it honestly just looks like scrap metal, not to mention it is located at one of the ugliest locations on campus. I think it adds very little to the surroundings.

"Aesop's Fables, II"

The last of the scrap-metal pieces is "Aesop's Fables, II" by Mark Di Suvero. What makes this piece stand out above all others on this list is the color. It is the brightest red. It honestly doesn't even matter what it means or the intent, because its color already adds so much to the monochromatic landscape. I did, however, listen to the recording for this to get a better understanding, and loved how the speaker encouraged exploring the entire perimeter and underneath of the piece, since the interactiveness of a piece is incredibly important to me. I also respect that this piece was, in fact, made of scrap metal, intended to convey this clearly. Again, the meaning seems less important with a piece of art whose sheer presence is so incredibly eye catching and such a staple.

"Upper and Lower Courtyards"

The last two art pieces I am choosing to talk about are the "Upper and Lower Courtyards" by Richard Fleischner. The biggest thing I wish my school had is a beautiful courtyard, and Fleischner achieves this while simultaneously being artistic. The funny thing about the upper courtyard is how difficult it is to see the whole picture from the ground (the brighter pictures are from the website to show how limited my view was), but I love how geometric and almost chess-board-esque it is, which lends an air of intelligence to the place. The lower courtyard conveys more of a serenity with its curvature and greenery, which I also think adds beauty to a very urban environment. Fleischner discusses the coexistence between industrialism and nature, including very subtle addition to an otherwise untouched landscape. This is such an important element at a college, and represents the height of interactivity in art. Not only can you walk all over the entirety of the pieces, you can sit within them, enjoy them as just a part of the place and less of an imposing art piece.
Overall, while the pieces all retained an abstract element and were left up to imagination, they all tied together to represent the technicality of the school. None were too out of place, and the uniformity and cohesion is what turns a collection of buildings into an artistic campus.