As the U.S. election hits the home stretch, I think of the aspirations that drive our imperfect union, the aspirations propagated by two of our most widely known monuments, at least here in France, where I live: the Statue of Liberty, and the Hollywood Sign. Perhaps this is due to France’s role in being the initiator of the former and an originator for the industry that would prompt the latter. But now that I have been here a while, I also see how American culture is transmitted to those outside through its produced imagery, of which these two are most prominent. 

In thinking about these monuments, I am also reminded of Robert Venturi, Denise Scott Brown, and Steve Izenour’s architectural paradigm of the “duck” and “the decorated shed” from their seminal book, Learning From Las Vegas. Describing this architectural polemic at the time just over 50 years ago, the authors wrote, “We shall emphasize image—image over process or form—in asserting that architecture depends in its perception and creation on past experience and emotional association and that these symbolic and representational elements may often be contradictory to the form, structure, and program with which they combine in the same building.”

The Statue of Liberty and the Hollywood Sign mark an intersection of aspirations and architecture—the former pure by nature, the latter, contradictory. Each monument forms a lasting image of our country’s ideal, and together perhaps unwittingly chart the evolution of that ideal. Such is the nature of material culture.

1. Where the architectural systems of space, structure, and program are submerged and distorted by an overall symbolic form. This kind of building-becoming-sculpture we call the “duck…”

Dedicated in 1886 and funded by international subscription, the Statue of Liberty is the duck of this paradigm. Having its hollowed interior, structure, vertical transportation, and observation decks shrouded by the copper drapes of its dress, this monument projects these ideals as described by UNESCO: “liberty, peace, human rights, abolition of slavery, democracy, and opportunity. Sited at the entrance to the New York Harbor to welcome sea-borne immigrants from all over the world from the late 19th through the mid-20th centuries, the Statue of Liberty has endured by continuing to serve as a symbol for the goals of freedom and self-determination. 

But endurance takes time. Initially, its meaning was communicated through a series of both classical and literal references: Libertas, the Roman goddess of liberty; the light of the torch in her right hand; a direct reference to the date of the Declaration of Independence in her left hand; broken shackles at her feet; all forming a three-dimensional allegory for our country’s promise. These methods of symbolic expression demonstrate the artistic connection between the United States and the classical legacy of Europe at the time, a connection reinforced by its funding on both continents, and its fabrication, where the statue was designed and made by artisans in France, then disassembled and shipped to be reassembled on a podium designed and built by Americans. Any doubt in this monument’s original aspiration is erased by that erudite prose The New Colossus cast on a bronze plaque and mounted inside the main entry. Even in today’s world of clicks, where such classical references and plaques can seem no longer relevant as they are blurred over by image, the Statue of Liberty remains an intentional monument, an aspiration embodied in a truly colossal image of hope.

2. Where systems of space and structure are directly at the service of program, and ornament is applied independently of them. This we call the “decorated shed.”

Born through private financing, first as “HOLLYWOODLAND” in 1923 and then later rebirthed as “HOLLYWOOD” in 1949, the Hollywood Sign is the decorated shed of this paradigm—except there is no shed but a city, and perhaps a world, on which it is propped upon. Its exposed structure supports an aspirational word, an ornament that represents the opportunity to reinvent oneself to gain that most fleeting of achievements: fame. Sited on a hillside overlooking Los Angeles, this flat sign forms the city’s brand and announces the industry whose machinations have amplified this hope for stardom to millions around the world and to the many who arrive daily. The sign’s power lies in its invitation for one to project onto it one’s own dreams of being discovered. That is its program.

But it was not always this way. First conceived as an 18-month advertisement for a hillside housing development, the sign stood as such for over two decades before it fell into disrepair and was refurbished, the “LAND” being removed in the process. The Hollywood Sign is part of the advertising legacy of roadside billboard signs that expanded with the advent of the Model T in the early part of the 20th century, and the interstate highway expansion a half-century later, an appropriate communication product for a car-centric country, and one that had begun to form its own identity, further away from Europe. Thus, this monument was originally built by a sign company, not artisans, and its original purpose was commercial, not aspirational. It endured and adapted because its life coincided with the rise of American cinema in Los Angeles and the Golden Age of Hollywood, and it evolved to symbolize the city’s mythology. The Hollywood Sign is an unintentional monument, an image of expanding aspirations, its own life mirroring the very myth it represents, rags to stardom, enticing others to dream the same.

In comparison, both monuments reflect the forms of their respective cities, growth models that are the logical extension of aggregated individual opportunity. The Statue of Liberty is 305 feet tall from ground to top of torch, a vertical monument for a city of ever higher towers, their assemblage forming a skyline of constant change, the result of high density on limited land. The Hollywood Sign is barely 50 feet tall but longer than a city block, a horizontal monument for a city of expansive sprawl, its multiple satellites merging to weave a tapestry of ceaseless extension, the result of high density on seemingly unlimited land. Set against such dynamic urban backdrops, both monuments serve as abbreviated statements of purpose, as hood ornaments for their respective cities and perhaps indicators for the evolution of the American ideal. 

Created as a deliberate statement about the aspiration of freedom for all, especially for the underserved (“Give me your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…”), the Statue of Liberty’s message may now have evolved and become muddled amid our present-day politics. What was once a symbol of welcoming immigrants has now been seemingly superseded by debates on whether a wall is now the appropriate response to immigration. Freedom does not come without conflict, and it can be argued that much of our culture wars surround weighted questions: What exactly are the appropriate constraints on freedom? Whose freedom are we referring to? And what’s the price for it? The Statue of Liberty may have always been a distortion of America’s promise, but that is the nature of aspirations; their purity is what makes them potent. This is why the Statue of Liberty remains powerful, however embattled its message might be. Why it still serves as a reminder of an aspiration worth striving for, a challenge that is still incumbent upon us as U.S. citizens to meet.

The Hollywood Sign suffers from no such distortion—at least not yet, perhaps a benefit of its not having been born with a declared aspiration, but merely as an advertisement that, over time, has become a reflection of its audience’s individual desires, a gatherer of all the dreams foisted upon it fused into a collective hope for fame. This is a consequential monument whose seduction lies in its ability to mean much more than just the word it spells out—the ultimate Postmodern trick. In our global times characterized by a constant dissemination of curated images, internet influencers, hyperbole, and spectacles to get noticed, what could be a more appropriate symbol for America’s aspirations today? What could be a more appropriate image of what American politics have become? This may not be what we want, but this may well be what we have, and the Hollywood Sign also resonates that conflict.

Perhaps our aspiration for freedom has been superseded by our appetite for attention, for is not individual recognition a logical extension of individual freedom? But should it be when we haven’t yet fulfilled our promise of freedom for all? Maybe becoming famous seems more achievable than improving freedoms, which relies on building consensus, and thus has diverted our energies to more individual and thus, as a country, fractured pursuits? Can the two conditions peacefully coexist, if not propel ourselves to a more perfect union? What does it mean, what does this tell us about ourselves, when one of our presidential candidates continues to be challenged, and convicted, in court while his star continues to reside on the Hollywood Walk of Fame? What do these two monuments tell us about the evolution of our civic space when the Statue of Liberty is maintained by our National Park Service and is part of the public domain, while the Hollywood Sign is maintained by a team of volunteers of a nonprofit trust overseen by the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce, which owns and manages certain trademark rights for its commercial use? 

These two monuments prompt such larger questions, questions I know I will be thinking about before casting my vote later this year. It may seem a stretch that a duck and a decorated shed could generate such inquiry into the state of our country’s promise, but this paradigm, this most American of architectural paradigms, seems to capture our country’s inherent tensions. Together, the Statue of Liberty and the Hollywood Sign illustrate the evolution of our democracy. In doing so, they don’t just embody our aspirations, they frame them, however uneasily.

Featured image of the Hollywood Sign via Griffith Observatory. The Statue of Liberty photo via Wikipedia.