Babel

When you come into the presence of Cildo Meireles’s 2001 installation Babel, the first thing you are struck by is how big it is. It is a tower that looms above you. As you approach, you are also struck by the audio which emanates from it. This is because the tower is a tower of radios. Each separate radio that makes up the tower, set at the lowest possible still-audible volume, comes together to form a pillar of sound.

These analogue radios pick up all possible radio stations in the area. Often they speak the same language, but the sheer number of radios means that the different dialogues meld together so as to become confused. As a result, there’s a sense of not knowing what you’re hearing and, therefore, an impression of the profusion of languages described in Genesis 11:9 is really brought to the fore. For Babel, aka Babylon (Hebrew: babel), is presented in the biblical account as resonating with the verb for confusion (Hebrew: bālal).

This giant tower of radios is described by Meireles as an ‘archaeology of radio’ because at the bottom are the oldest and at the top the newest. Thus, the tower is also a history of the human technology of communication which has changed the world. The advent of radio meant that humanity’s separated state could in some sense be ‘reversed’. We could defy the limits of proximity and speak across vast distances; no need to shout or send smoke signals. A mere whisper was enough to span the miles. Thus, the great divides between people could seem to vanish and relationships could be forged across borders.

And yet, when we experience Meireles’s monolith of audible history, it is hard to distinguish or understand each voice, hard to choose what to tune into. This pillar of confused sound is a reminder that Babel is a story about our failure to be able to communicate with each other. It is a potent monument to the tension of human relationships; the closeness we can experience and the distances we forge as our voice and ideas drown out others. Meireles’s Babel, then, can be seen as a call to enter into this confused dialogue, not by adding another voice, but by listening, however much of a challenge that might be.

In 1966, Carl Andre installed eight ‘Equivalents’ in Tibor de Nagy Gallery, each consisting of 120 bricks in varying, two-tiered, water-like configurations.

‘It’s just a pile of bricks’ lamented critics when Tate purchased Equivalent VIII in 1972. The outcry seemed to emanate from a perception that bricks are devoid of ‘meaning’, lacking importance, and generally banal. What is made of bricks matters, not the bricks themselves.

Yet, bricks can tell a story.

Over half a century later, Andre’s bricks simmer with potent resonances. In 1985, Andre’s wife, the artist Ana Mendieta, fell to her death from their New York apartment following a quarrel. Two years later, he was charged with her murder. Although acquitted in 1988 due to insufficient evidence, suspicion has remained in some circles until this day. Indeed, Andre’s works can still cause controversy, and protests frequently occur when galleries exhibit his creations. For example, the 2016 inclusion of Equivalent VIII in Tate’s Switch House led to protesters surrounding the work and covering it with a sheet which accused Andre of the crime he had been acquitted of.

Yes, bricks can tell a story.

Babel is famous for its buildings: the tower and a city. But like Andre’s work, Babel is also about bricks. Indeed, the first declaration of monoglossic humanity is: ‘Come, let us make bricks, and burn them thoroughly.’ And Genesis 11 informs us, ‘And they had brick for stone, and bitumen for mortar’ (v.3).

The inclusion of bricks in this biblical episode resonates with more than a lost ‘once upon a time’. It concerns the enemies of Israel, the Babylonians, and their building practices. Babel and Babylon are the same word in Hebrew, and these invaders and oppressors of Israel famously built their monumental edifices (ziggurats) with fired bricks. Millions of them. This was markedly different from the Palestinian building material of stone. Here then, for the audience of Genesis, bricks signify conquest, animosity, and opposition. And in Genesis 11, a revenge fantasy is created where the thriving city of Babylon is left desolate, its edifices abandoned, and its people thwarted. A pile of bricks is all that is left to testify to the greatness that once was.

Therefore, all these bricks tell a story. They signify controversy and opposition. They indicate hostilities which simmer beneath the surface. And they testify to human longings and loss. These piles of bricks are far from banal.

References

Brown, James. 2014. ‘The Burlington Magazine and the “Tate Bricks” Controversy’, May 2014’, The Burlington Magazine Index Blog. Available at https://burlingtonindex.wordpress.com/2014/05/13/carl_andre/ [accessed 11 August 2023]

Croatto, J. Severino. 1998. ‘A Reading of the Story of the Tower of Babel from a Perspective of Non-Identity’, in Teaching the Bible: The Discourses and Politics of Biblical Pedagogy, ed. by Fernando F. Segovia and Mary Ann Tolbert (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis)

McLaugh, Rosanna. 2016. ‘Artsy Editorial: How Ana Mendieta Became the Focus of a Feminist Movement, 6 December 2016’, www.artsy.net. Available at: https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-how-ana-mendieta-became-the-focus-of-a-feminist-movement [accessed 11 August 2023]

Michalska, Magda. 2020. ‘Where is Ana Mendieta? The Unresolved Mystery, 29 October 2020’, www.dailyartmagazine.com. Available at https://www.dailyartmagazine.com/where-is-ana-mendieta-the-unresolved-mystery/ [accessed 11 August 2023]

Sarna, Nahum. 1989. The JPS Torah Commentary: Genesis (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society)

In May 2011, Argentinian artist Marta Manujín created her own tower of Babel in Buenos Aires. It consisted of over 30,000 books in various languages attached to a seven-story steel structure rising to 27 metres high. Within the structure was a spiral walkway, which meant that visitors could move amongst the books and interact with this literary monument on their upward journey. The idea of ascent is, after all, integral to the story of Babel, for the tower was made there (Heb. sham) to reach to the heavens (Heb. shamayim).

But Manujín’s ascent was not forged around the monovocality of the original tower. As visitors ascended, they heard a soundtrack of the word ‘book’ being uttered in various languages: livro, libre, Buch, Bestil, raamat, biblio, puke, buku, carte, iwe, kitob, sefer…. Thus, this upward journey could enlighten, for as people ascended the tower they could ‘see’ the way the world really is, in all its diversity and plurality. And rather than celebrating localised human achievement, they could be caught up in a celebration of sheer variety and heteroglossia.

However, such a celebratory monument was not destined for permanency because Manujín’s career has been based around making works that are destined to be destroyed. And that’s what happened with her tower. Twenty days after its installation, the books were removed. Some were given to the public library, others gifted to individuals who took them away into their own separate lives. The intentional dispersion of books as part of the work’s purpose speaks to the original Babel. This is because, by all staying together in one place and focusing on building, humanity was not spreading out, multiplying, and filling the earth (Genesis 1:28; 9:1). There was more to be found and discovered.

Therefore, this story of beginnings, of aetiology, demonstrates the reality of the world: we don’t all live in one place and we don’t all speak the same language. And the sharing of languages and books in Manujín’s installation indicates that our not all having the same words as each other can be a source of gain; that there is more to be discovered outside of our own languages and stories. Indeed, Manujín’s tower seems to call us to believe that in plurality there is richness, and that it is a collective experience worth being part of.

References

2011. ‘La Torre de Babel de Libros, Marta Manujín, 2011’. Available at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XXa98wz5zbk [accessed 17 August 2023]

2014. ‘Marta Minujín on Art, Books and Democracy, 22 December 2014’, www.guggenheim.org. Available at https://www.guggenheim.org/video/marta-minujinnon-art-books-and-democracy [accessed 17 August 2023]