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It is about fifteen hundred feet in length and fifteen feet wide, built from 6,650 tons of basalt rocks and earth.1 It sits just south of Rozel Point, in Utah’s Salt Lake, next to swirls of black oil from abandoned rigs. Thousands of people a year make the pilgrimage to see it as they are photographed from above, standing like tiny ants atop the salt as if minute stars dotting a constellation. For the rest of us, we see it only through photographs, and they are almost always aerial views, in which the swirl cuts across its site like a ‘strange footprint on the shores of the unknown’.2 As it turns out, ‘even the artist is startled to discover that this footprint is our own’.3 Is it architecture? Is it a larger-than-life sculpture? Is it nature? Is it a man-made imitation of the former? Is it site? Is it life itself? It is Robert Smithson’s Spiral Jetty, an iconic earthwork or piece of ‘land art’ that has, since its creation, been the stuff of art historical myth and fable – not least of which was its submersion under water at the same time that Smithson died in a fatal plane crash, creating a sort of double

Copyright in the expanded field: on l and art and other new mediums