In November 2020, state biologists surveying wild bighorn
sheep by helicopter in San Juan County, Utah, noticed
something odd in a remote sandstone canyon: a triangular
metal pillar about ten feet tall.
They later visited the curiosity on foot and took photos, soon spawning international headlines and internet buzz. Comparisons to the obelisk in the science fiction classic 2001: A Space Odyssey inevitably arose, along with suggestions (most surely satirical) that it was the work of aliens. Internet sleuths comparing archive satellite images discovered that it had been placed there some time in late 2016 and had not been noticed.
Ten days after it was first discovered—and after a stream of curiosity seekers made pilgrimages there—it was gone. Several men arrived under cover of darkness to dismantle and remove the piece, which was revealed to have been hollow and constructed of plywood. They later stated that it had been removed to protect the fragile local ecosystem from gawkers. The work was at first attributed by some to artist John McCracken (who died in 2011), though upon closer inspection doubts arose. As of this writing, the creator has not been definitively established, but whoever he/she/they are, they started quite a stir.
Within a month, dozens of these structures (colloquially referred to as “monoliths”) appeared at different places around the world, seemingly every few days, including at Britain’s Isle of Wight; Romania; San Luis Obispo, California; Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania; near the Joshua Tree National Park; Spain; Switzerland; Belgium; Paraguay; Germany; and other countries.
Though it may not be obvious at first glance, many parallels to the crop circle phenomenon are apparent. In both cases, you have anonymous artists creating public art. While there are countless theories about the origin of crop circles, the only proven cause is humans. Just like the monolith installations, crop circles appear overnight—or at least when no one is watching—and like the monoliths, crop circles are a form of public art, like pieces by Banksy or another graffiti artist. And, of course, both were attributed to extraterrestrial intelligence.
There’s a strong copycat effect as well. Soon after the first crop circles began appearing in the 1970s in the English countryside, they garnered much attention and publicity, which in turn spawned more people who said, “Hey, those are really cool. I’ll bet some friends and I could do that”—and sure enough they could (and did). The skill involved in both types of art varies of course by the artist, but the basic forms of crop circles (circles and rectangles) aren’t difficult to create (see “Legend of the Mowing Devil,” SI, November/December 2020).
Several of these mystery monoliths (such as those in Pittsburgh) were later revealed to be part of a publicity or marketing stunt; this too has a precedence in crop circles. Several prominent crop circles were later revealed to have been commissioned for marketing campaigns, including a mysterious 310-foot-diameter design that appeared in California in 2013, created for computer graphics company Nvidia.
Just as it is a mistake to assume that all crop circles were created by the same person or team, the same is true of the monoliths. Indeed, several of the monolith makers were identified. In early December 2020, four artists and fabricators came forward and acknowledged that a stainless steel monolith that appeared atop California’s Pine Mountain was their work, intended as “a piece of guerrilla art.” It’s likely that in the coming months more creators will come forward or be revealed.
Both crop circles and these mystery monoliths are intended to create delight, intrigue, controversy, and attention. And the basic reason for both is the same: Why does anyone create art? L’art pour l’art. Call the monoliths what you like: fad, hoax, stunt, copycat, prank, art. Perhaps their most important function was diversion for a public weary of pandemic deaths and political division.