M
aya Lin’s design for the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
(FIG. 36-62) is, like Minimalist sculptures (FIGS. 36-15and
36-16), an unadorned geometric form. Yet the monument, despite
its serene simplicity, actively engages viewers in a psychological dia-
logue, rather than standing mute. This dialogue gives visitors the
opportunity to explore their feelings about the Vietnam War and
perhaps arrive at some sense of closure.
The history of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial provides dramatic
testimony to this monument’s power. In 1981 a jury of architects,
sculptors, and landscape architects selected Lin’s design in a blind
competition for a memorial to be placed in Constitution Gardens in
Washington, D.C. Conceivably, the jury not only found her design
compelling but also thought its simplicity would be the least likely to
provoke controversy. But when the jury made its selection public,
heated debate ensued. Even the wall’s color came under attack. One
veteran charged that black is “the universal color of shame, sorrow and
degradation in all races, all societies worldwide.”* But the sharpest
protests concerned the form and siting of the monument. Because of
the stark contrast between the massive white memorials (the Wash-
ington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial) bracketing Lin’s
sunken wall, some people saw her Minimalist design as minimizing
the Vietnam War and, by extension, the efforts of those who fought in
the conflict. Lin herself, however, described the wall as follows:
The Vietnam Veterans Memorial is not an object inserted into the
earth but a work formed from the act of cutting open the earth
and polishing the earth’s surface—dematerializing the stone to pure
surface, creating an interface between the world of the light and the
quieter world beyond the names.†Due to the vocal opposition, a compromise was necessary to en-
sure the memorial’s completion. The Commission of Fine Arts, the
federal group overseeing the project, commissioned an additional
memorial from artist Frederick Hart (1943–1999) in 1983. This larger-
than-life-size realistic bronze sculpture of three soldiers, armed and
in uniform, now stands approximately 120 feet from Lin’s wall. Sev-
eral years later, a group of nurses, organized as the Vietnam Women’s
Memorial Project, gained approval for a sculpture honoring women’s
service in the Vietnam War. The seven-foot-tall bronze statue by
Glenna Goodacre (b. 1939) depicts three female figures, one cradling
a wounded soldier in her arms. Unveiled in 1993, the work occupies a
site about 300 feet south of the Lin memorial.
Whether celebrated or condemned, the Vietnam Veterans Memo-
rial generates dramatic responses. Commonly, visitors react very emo-
tionally, even those who know none of the soldiers named on the
monument. The polished granite surface prompts individual soul-
searching—viewers see themselves reflected among the names. Many
visitors leave mementos at the foot of the wall in memory of loved
ones they lost in the Vietnam War or make rubbings from the incised
names. Arguably, much of this memorial’s power derives from its
Minimalist simplicity. Like Minimalist sculpture, it does not dictate
response and therefore successfully encourages personal exploration.* Elizabeth Hess, “A Tale of Two Memorials,”Art in America 71, no. 4 (April 1983),
122.
†Excerpt from an unpublished 1995 lecture, quoted in Kristine Stiles and Peter
Selz,Theories and Documents of Contemporary Art: A Sourcebook of Artists’ Writings
(Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1996), 525.Maya Lin’s Vietnam Veterans Memorial
ART AND SOCIETY36-62Maya Ying Lin,Vietnam Veterans Memorial (looking southwest), Washington, D.C., 1981–1983.
Like Minimalist sculpture, Lin’s memorial to the veterans of Vietnam is a simple geometric form. Its inscribed polished walls actively engage the
viewer in a psychological dialogue about the war.
Architecture and Site-Specific Art 1007