Diana Greenwald

The god on the lawn in front of Lewisohn Hall is a drifter. Exactly 101 years ago, the Clark family (heirs to the Singer Sewing Company fortune) gave the three ton bronze The Great God Pan by American sculptor George Grey Barnard to Columbia.

The bronze Le Marteleur—or “The Hammerman,” as he is known to most Columbia students—was created by Belgian sculptor Constantin Meunier in the late 19th century. Before this figure stood in front of Mudd, it won an honorable mention at the 1886 Paris Salon for its beautiful examination of a humble mine worker. Despite its role as a portrayal of the poor, “The Hammerman” ended up in the Ivy League—a cradle of the American elite—just 20 years later.

Everyone at Columbia has played at least one of the roles in the following exchange:
Friend 1: “What did you do this weekend?”
Friend 2: “Went downtown.”
Friend 1: “Cool.”

There were ragged dishtowels, lemons, aquariums, Gatorade mix, daisies, a wine cooler, and a lot of plywood. This was While Enhancing a Diminishing Deep Down Thirst, the Juice Broke Loose, an installation by New York artist Phoebe Washburn at the 2008 Whitney Biennial.

It’s a tradition as old as the swim test—or at least as universal. Just as every Columbia student backstrokes, butterflies, or doggie-paddles his or her way across the pool, every Columbia student spins—or attempts to spin—Three-Way Piece: Points (1964-5). While the entire student body is familiar with this gigantic bronze on Revson Plaza, very few know what it actually is. The most pervasive theory is that “it’s a molar or a tooth,” said Alicia Samuel, CC ’11. This, however, is incorrect. The “tooth” is actually a purely abstract work by British sculptor Henry Moore.

Columbians have already gained insight into Iranian politics and society by coming within yards of President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad—so we might as well continue our investigation into a country that is the frequent subject of American political rhetoric.

“What is that?” students often ask as they walk across Revson Plaza—the brick-paved bridge over Amsterdam Ave.—and stare at the gigantic metal sculpture perched atop the Columbia Law School. Here is the definitive answer: Bellerophon Taming Pegasus (1964-76) by Lithuanian-born cubist sculptor Jacques Lipchitz (1891-1973).

The second my family and I emerged from the Mumbai airport at one o’clock in the morning, we were enveloped by the subcontinent.

We know Vincent van Gogh’s signature from the lower right-hand corner of his colorful and emotive oil paintings. It is thrilling to see the large underlined “Vincent” once again, but this time in a different context: at the bottom of a letter to a fellow painter.

Walking from the subway to the corner of East 60th Street and Central Park, I had high hopes for Obelisco Transportable, Mexican political cartoonist cum sculptor Damián Ortega’s 20-foot-tall obelisk on wheels.