My condensed milk can fence shortly after installation
A couple of years ago, I went asearchin' the flickr site looking for Einar's Dixon Diaries page. Because I wasn't sure at the time what the name of his photostream actually was, I kinda took the long way around. I eventually found it, but before I did, I found this image of my fence, taken by a gentleman who lives in Bombay, India. Some of the commentary is hilarious. I especially like the, "But the smell must be awful when it rains :-) ".
huh?
Anyway, the fence is always a conversation piece... especially during the studio tour. I feel like I should put a tip jar out there for all the photographers aiming their lenses at it. Often, visitors to the studio seem more fascinated by the fence than the art on the wall. (Sometimes the tin ceiling gets more raves than anything!) While I like to call it the "Fence of constant maintenance", passersby and locals alike seem to have a great reverence for it and so it seems appropriate to put a little something about the fence here on the Dallies.
Where did you get the idea?
This is probably the most common question I hear and I wish I could remember exactly when the idea materialized, but I don't think there was an exact moment. It was an evolution of ideas that finally led to the design as it is now. Of course I'd spent a good deal of time out past the cemeteries here in Dixon and the sea of rust was (and still is) a source of amazement and inspiration. Even though it's garbage, it has a certain beauty to it as it has merged with the cholla and prickly pear, and it has an interesting anthropological element as well. After spending an afternoon kicking around back there, I thought... gee, somebody could make something with all these cans. I should have known then that it would be me.
I'd seen a Japanese film whose title I can not recall now, but there was something about the architecture of the roofs that sparked a notion for a tin can assemblage, and the assemblage morphed into the wall. At one point the fence design actually had cans sitting end to end mimicking bamboo as a crown for all the panels. That little crown may yet happen, but after I realized how long the project was going to take, I decided to pare down my ambitions.
10,000 cans
Each 4x8 panel is comprised of about 440 cans, and there's 19 full panels and three 1/2 panels, so that makes a little over 9000 cans, but while collecting cans, my mantra was, if in doubt (about its usability) take it home. So I'm certain that I picked up at least 10,000 cans, and eventually threw away the ones too brittle or too crushed to be usable. 95% of the fence is comprised of condensed milk cans.... more available (or cheaper) than fresh milk I guess... and the cone tops, I had always assumed were an automotive product, but one day I picked up one with a faint bit of printing on it, and the words were unmistakeable... BEER.
After prohibition and up until the mid-fifties, cone top beer cans had their heyday. Walter's is one variety that I found back there that was probably as local as commercial beer got around here as it was brewed in Pueblo Colorado.
The Pueblo based brewery had gone through many changes since Martin Walter had, in a sense, inherited all the tradition and experience of previous Pueblo brewers. He began the company in 1898, on the heels of the Spanish American War. The company faced several small recessions during its existence of three quarters of a century. The closing of the plant during Prohibition (both state and federal) was after 1915. The demand for the golden brew during World War I obviously had to be met elsewhere. But, as the Prairie Chronicler suggests, Pueblo apparently was not too bothered by Prohibition.
Like so many parts of society elsewhere, local citizens imbibed possibly more than before. A mixture called "Wort" - a non-alcoholic brew - was produced by other breweries. A bartender could easily be persuaded to add a bit of grain alcohol, which "put beer drinkers back in business".
Goetz Country Club beer was another popular cone top variety that found its way to the Dixon arroyos. If you're interested in such things, more info can be found here, and here.
Once, I found a milk can nestled snugly inside another can. When I pulled it out, the paper label was still partially intact. I promptly scanned it and then watched it disintegrate into powder in a matter of months. Here's the scan:
Partially preserved PET evaporated milk label
The Lighthouses
Originally, I fitted the 4 ends of the fence with solar lights, but the intense sun and weather eventually rendered the little collectors useless. Someday, I'll figure out a more hardy solution to keep those things shining at night.... maybe around the time I finally figure out how to keep the panels from falling apart. The cans were initially held together with regular Liquid Nails. Within a very short period of time, however it became obvious that this was not the right material. It became very brittle and lost its adhesive power very quickly. I tried silicone, but that wasn't much better. Someone once suggested butyl and someone else suggested a sort of rubber that's used to install car windshields. Since I've started backing the panels with chicken wire (which prevents them from flexing too much in the wind), they've held together with the all-weather contractor grade Liquid Nails fairly well. Snowplows and flying bottles not withstanding....
All these stories in a bunch of tin cans. I'd like to do some research about the whole concept of condensed milk... I guess I'll save it for another post... or maybe you've already heard that one...
A pile of condensed milk cans before assembling into fence panels
Embudo, New Mexico (Digital image courtesy of the Getty's Open Content Program.)
