Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s Iconic California Installation Returns in a Museum Show

For a brief two-week spell in the Fall of 1976, a billowy white curtain snaked across the hills of Northern California before plunging into the Pacific Ocean. The shimmering mirage was the work of Christo and Jeanne-Claude, partners in art as in life, who had spent the preceding four years winning over local ranchers and navigating government bureaucracy all in the name of public art. Not that the couple complained. They saw the petitions and endless hearings as integral to the project as sketches and steel poles, elements that turned into what they called the “ultimate art project.”

Fifty years on, the Museum of Sonoma County is commemorating the seminal installation with an exhibition that brings together blueprints, original construction materials, and documentary photographs to tell the remarkable story of just how Christo and Jeanne-Claude made it happen.

After five months of construction, stretched nearly 25 miles across the rolling pastures and farmlands of Sonoma and Marin counties. It was by far their largest project to date and the resources required give a sense of scale: 240,000 square yards of woven nylon fabric, 90 miles of steel cable, 2,050 steel poles, and 13,000 anchors. They negotiated usage agreements with roughly 60 land owners, attended 18 public hearings, and were responsible for the first-ever Environmental Impact Report related to a public work of art.

How exactly did a pair of European émigrés from New York’s art world gain the trust of conservative ranchers? With ease, it turned out. They simply introduced themselves, their history of creating large-scale works (such as 1972’s in Colorado), and built trust over the course of years. Tellingly, at the public hearings in which environmentalists organized in opposition, the ranchers emerged as the project’s strongest advocates.

“As with every project, they told people it was about giving people emotions, creating something unexpected, and freedom of expression,” Vladimir Yavachev, the director of projects at the Christo and Jeanne-Claude Foundation, said over the phone. “Ultimately, their work is about freedom and this very much connected with 1970s California.”

When it comes to Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s most overtly political works, the wrapping of Germany’s Reichstag in 1995 or their barricade of 89 barrels that evoked the Berlin Wall stand out. , however, was more than mere aesthetics. It proved a commentary on property rights, the democratic process, and the role of government. It was also rebellious—the fence’s descent into Bodega Bay defied the California Coastal Commission, which had not granted this final permit.

As ever, the couple refused sponsorship for the project and funded largely by selling preparatory drawings. By the time the posts were sunk and the fabric was swaying the California breeze, Christo estimated they had spent $2.25 million (upwards of $11 million today) on the project. A good chunk was spent on lawyer fees, though they also paid the roughly 300 workers well above the minimum wage.

For the artists and the region itself, it was money well spent. , the museum said, shifted Sonoma County from a traditional agricultural community into a hub for art. And as Christo put it in 1977: “I don’t think any museum exhibition has touched so profoundly hundreds of thousands of people who visited .”

As Yavachev noted, today the terrain north of San Francisco that Christo and Jeane-Claude scouted, walked, and mapped, has been transformed with pastures for raising dairy cows now occupied by vineyards. There’s a remnant, however, of the project in Valley Ford: one of the steel poles was left standing beside the town’s post office. Nearby, there’s a time capsule, one filled by those from the community who worked on It’s set to be opened in 2076.