How the Running Fence tipped the political balance in Sonoma County
Given the traditional symbolism of fences with divisiveness, it should have come as no surprise that when an artist showed up in Petaluma in early 1974 with a proposed exhibit called the Running Fence, he would have his work cut out for him.
Bulgarian-born artist Christo asserted that his installation—a 18-foot high nylon fence stretching 24.5 miles across Sonoma and Marin counties from Highway 101 in Cotati to the Pacific Ocean in Bodega Bay—would foster a sense of “togetherness” by creating with a new, shared vision of the area’s rolling pastureland.
Instead, Christo’s proposal quickly became a lightning rod in a turf war between local environmentalists and outside developers that would impact the region for decades to come.
That, of course, is not the common story of how the Running Fence saga unfolds in documentaries and tributes to Christo, who died in 2020 at the age of 84. Those narratives commonly borrow from the storybook narrative of the hero’s journey, with Christo cast in a Sisyphean struggle against incredible opposition as he persistently pursues his artistic vision, the manifestation of which ultimately brings about the transformation of hearts and minds he sought, thanks to the mind-changing epiphany that only beauty can inspire.
One problem with this storyline is it buries the subversive manner with which Christo ultimately undermined the coalition of pro-development supporters who welcomed him to town, effectively tipping the political balance in favor of the environmentalists, who did not, in preserving the pastures he showcased in his exhibit.
Held aloft by steel poles and cables, the Running Fence exhibit opened for two weeks in September 1976to an estimated two million visitors. This brief exhibit however was preceded by four years of planning and drama, during which the proposal was subjected to 18 public hearings, three sessions in California superior courts, and a 465-page environmental impact report.
For much of that time, Christo and his exhibit partner and spouse Jeanne-Claude operated out of their headquarters at the Petaluma Inn, commuting back and forth from their home in New York City. As the legal battles dragged on, Christo made it clear didn’t consider the physical Running Fence itself to be the art of the exhibit, but rather the process of the fence coming into being.
“You are all part of my work,” Christo explained in his Bulgarian accent to supporters and distractors alike.
Yet, despite his pledge to foster a sense of togetherness with the project, his focus quickly turned to assembling a partisan coalition in helping to get it approved. Whether he went about it as the “arrogant, wheeler-dealer egomaniac” local artist Mary McChesney accused him of being, or merely a pragmatic opportunist, the coalition of developers, anti-tax proponents, and ranchers Christo assembled, was, like most coalitions, a mixed bag. The one thing uniting them was a common desire to eliminate government restrictions on land use, including restrictions on absurd art installations like the Running Fence, which none of them confessed to understanding.
The most enchanting part of project’s storybook narrative is the charm offensive Christo and Jeanne-Claude mounted over coffee and fresh-baked pie around the kitchen tables of local dairy ranchers upon whose land they wished to erect the fence.
In reality, the couple, with their foreign accents, New York avant-garde airs, and free-spirited hippie looks, were an oddball mismatch to the conservative, no-nonsense personalities of the ranchers and their wives, many of them direct descendants of Swiss-Italian, Danish, and German immigrants. They received a cold shoulder until a former sheep rancher and sheepdog trainer, Lester Bruhn, recognized in the couple’s harebrained scheme a money-making opportunity for cash-strapped ranchers.
With Bruhn opening doors, Christo and Jeanne-Claude made the opening pitch to 59 ranchers around their kitchen tables, followed up by a battery of nine lawyers who negotiated leases for the fence to run across their properties. The opening lease offer for a modest size ranch was $200 ($1,000 in today’s currency). Some ranchers held out for more, including one large ranch that received $5,500 ($28,000 in today’s currency). The ranchers were also promised the fence’s nylon curtains, posts, and cabling once the exhibit came down.
Christo and Jeanne-Claude employed a similar approach in gaining the support of the conservative Sonoma County Taxpayers Association. “They came to us, hat in hand, money in pocket,” said the group’s president Jim Groom. “We like that.”
The one constituency Christo and Jeanne-Claude did not seek to court were local artists. Instead, they snubbed them. In turn, many artists condemned the Running Fence as a silly gimmick and a form of “fascist art,” seeking to dominate the landscape instead of complement it.
“We later realized,” said Jeanne-Claude, “the local artists saw us as an invasion of their turf.”
The dustup over artistic integrity may have also been part of the Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s strategy, as it allowed them to shift the media’s focus from the relatively tedious machinations of negotiating land use policy, to a theatrical sideshow over the nature of public art itself.
Yet, while Christo commonly referred to the Running Fence as “public art,” technically there was nothing public about it. Mounted on private land, it’s $3 million price tag ($13.5 million in today’s currency) was money Christo raised through the sale of his art works, not public monies. Despite Christo’s claims of everyone being part of the aesthetic process, no members of the public were formally involved in its physical creation or procurement, nor were any government-appointed public art commissions engaged in its review and approval.
Like a visiting carnival, the only official review of the Running Fence’s installation by the public or public agencies was restricted to its land use.
Concurrent with Christo’s four-year campaign to secure land use approval, the city of Petaluma was enmeshed in a legal battle of its own, fighting outside developers over limiting the city’s growth to 500 new houses per year. The developers maintained that imposing such a restriction was an infringement of the right of people to live where they wanted.
In February 1976, just two months before Christo received the final go-ahead from Sonoma County for his installation, Petaluma was granted a landmark decision when the U.S. Supreme Court rejected reviewing a lower appellate court ruling that upheld the city’s growth limits. The ruling had national consequences, and made Petaluma the darling of the slow growth movement.
By that time, savvy housing developers had already shifted their focus to subdividing the unregulated rural countryside surrounding Petaluma. One of their most contentious proposals was a 994-unit housing development slated for the Watson Ranch, a 1,000-area property north of town on Pepper Road between Stony Point and Mecham roads. The ranch sat just a mile south of Cotati’s Meacham Hill where Christo intended to launch his Running Fence installation from.
Like many local ranchers, John Watson was a second-generation dairyman, his family having leased the one-time Mecham family ranch since 1926, before purchasing it in 1965. Five years later, faced with rising property taxes, Watson sold a majority interest in the property to developers from Palo Alto.
It wasn’t Watson’s only option. Thanks to the Williamson Act, a California land conservation bill passed in 1965, ranchers could reduce their taxes by legally restricting their land to agricultural or open space use. Some, like Watson, were reluctant to do so given the instability of the local dairy industry, which, by the early 1970s, was facing the perfect storm in terms of financial sustainability.
In addition to being financially squeezed by rising feed prices while the state kept a lid on milk prices, national milk consumption was declining due to new dietary concerns about cholesterol. At the same time, dairy competition was increasing due to large factory farms in California’s central valley, where feed was cheaper and property taxes lower. To make matters worse, a historic two-year drought hit the area in the mid-1970s, forcing many ranchers to pay for trucking in water for their cows, each of whom drank an average of 50 gallons a day.
The largest existential threat facing dairymen however was California’s new waste treatment regulations.
Most local dairies were situated near streams into which they washed the waste from their milking operations. With the rise of the environmental movement in the late 1960s, new regulations were adopted to stop dairy waste from polluting waterways. Ranchers were given until 1977 to install closed waste disposal systems and open-stall barns. The cost of doing so ranged between $100,000 for a medium-sized dairy to $300,000 for a large dairy ($500,000 to $1,500,00 in today’s currency).
For many ranchers, the waste regulations were the final nail in the coffin. Beginning in the early 1970s, “dairy for sale” became a sign of the times in Sonoma and Marin counties. Larger dairies resorted to swallowing up their smaller neighbors in an effort to remain competitive with the larger farms in the central valley. For some ranchers, the only viable alternative was the choice Watson made to subdivide the ranch with outside developers.
Between World War II and the early 1970s, Petaluma’s population surged from 8,000 to 30,000 residents, as the area became an attractive bedroom community for commuters working in San Francisco, a forty-five minute drive away.
To keep up with developer demand, the city was forced to periodically annex surrounding farmland. With new subdivisions butting up against farmland, ranchers became besieged with complaints from new suburban residents of the smells, flies, and noise coming from the ranches. In addition to the increased scrutiny of county health inspectors, ranchers were adversely impacted by rising property tax assessments as their land value substantially increased when a subdivision moved in next door.
The opposition to the encroaching housing developments in the rural area was led in part by Dr. Bill Kortum, a Petaluma rancher and large animal veterinarian. elected to the Sonoma County Board of Supervisors in 1974 on a platform of growth control and agricultural preservation, Kortum fought to prevent wall-to-wall subdivisions stretching across his district in Southern Sonoma County by creating greenbelt zones between the incorporated cities.
In 1975, his proposal became part of a new interim general plan to manage growth that the board began developing. The planning process would ultimately take three years to complete. In the meantime, Kortum and the board’s other environmentalist, Chuck Hinkle, requested a moratorium on new property lot divisions. Developers immediately went on the offensive, working behind the scenes to launch a recall campaign against Kortum and Hinkle.
As a proxy attack dog, they enlisted Jim Groom, president of the Sonoma County Taxpayers Association. A Rohnert Park developer and former Santa Rosa city councilman, Groom had invested heavily in coastal lands for subdivision following the Sea Ranch housing development in the 1960s, which stretched along ten miles of Sonoma County’s coastline. In 1972, before Groom could begin his own coastal housing development, voters approved a ballot initiative Kortum had helped to launch, establishing a California Coastal Commission to reign in coastal developments. The new initiative left Groom’s investment under water.
In retaliation, Groom crafted the recall against Kortum and Hinkle ostensibly as a protest of the Board of Supervisors’ decision in 1975 to increase property taxes. He enlisted the support of local ranchers, pointing out to them that Kortum’s proposed greenbelt zones would not only diminish their land value, but also eliminate their retirement or rainy-day options of selling their land to developers.
While Groom’s contentious recall campaign was underway, Christo appeared before the Board of Supervisors for approval of the Running Fence exhibit. Kortum was the only board member to vote against it.
As it turned out, most of the 59 ranchers who signed leases for Christo’s installation had also previously agreed to restrict their land to agricultural use or open space in exchange for lower taxes under the Williamson Act. Like other environmentalists, Kortum was concerned that, in approving Christo’s project, the county would be potentially opening the door to more exclusions to the Williamson Act in the farmlands, such as commercial billboards, outdoor concert arenas, carnivals, and motorcycle raceways.
Pro-growth supervisors on the board dismissed Kortum’s concern. One member pointed out that a fence, “running or not,” was technically agricultural by nature.
In April 1976, Christo and Jeanne-Claude broke ground for their installation on Bruhn’s Valley Ford property. A month later, Kortum and Hinkle were recalled in a special election engineered by Groom. In August, developers of the Watson Ranch’s 994-unit subdivision on Pepper Road, apparently hoping for a quick approval given the recent recall of Kortum and Hinkle, presented their plans to the Sonoma County Planning Commission.
On September 8th, Christo and Jeanne-Claude opened their two-week exhibit of the Running Fence by unfurling the nylon panels on the same day with one final, dramatic twist.
A few months before the opening, the Coastal Commission rescinded its approval the fence’s final 1,000 yards that were slated to run across protected coastal land into the Pacific Ocean. That particular patch of land at Bodega Bay belonged to developers who originally purchased it for a subdivision, only to be thwarted by creation of the Coastal Commission. Christo’s lawyers appealed the decision, and a new hearing was negotiated for September 23rd, a day after the Running Fence exhibit was scheduled to come down.
Christo didn’t wait for the near hearing, but instead defiantly extended his fence the final 1,000 yards into the sea.
Alfred Frankenstein, a prominent San Francisco art critic, who had watched Christo work patiently and diligently over the years to secure the necessary approvals, called his “illegal leap” into the ocean not only a violation of the law, but a violation of the spirit of the artwork. Christo disagreed.
“Illegality is essential to [the] American system, don’t you see?” he told the New Yorker’s Calvin Tomkins. “I completely work within [the] American system by being illegal, like everyone else—if there is no illegal part, the project is less reflective of the system. It’s the subversive character of the system that makes it so exciting to live here.”
The day after Christo’s opening, 700 developers, anti-tax proponents, and regional Republican leaders gathered at Santa Rosa’s Veterans Memorial Building to honor Groom as citizen of the year for his leadership in the recall campaign of Kortum and Hinkle. A telegram of appreciation for his good work was read to the assembly from U.S. President Gerald Ford.
For the next two weeks, the Running Fence turned the Sonoma-Marin dairylands into the world’s largest museum, drawing large, appreciative crowds. The installation was far more beautiful than anyone anticipated, even Christo himself, who dubbed it “a ribbon of light” as he watched its billowing nylon panels move with the wind. For many local viewers, it helped them to see the landscape they were so familiar with in an entirely new way.
Christo didn’t wait for the near hearing, but instead defiantly extended his fence the final 1,000 yards into the sea.
Alfred Frankenstein, a prominent San Francisco art critic, who had watched Christo work patiently and diligently over the years to secure the necessary approvals, called his “illegal leap” into the ocean not only a violation of the law, but a violation of the spirit of the artwork. Christo disagreed.
“Illegality is essential to [the] American system, don’t you see?” he told the New Yorker’s Calvin Tomkins. “I completely work within [the] American system by being illegal, like everyone else—if there is no illegal part, the project is less reflective of the system. It’s the subversive character of the system that makes it so exciting to live here.”
The day after Christo’s opening, 700 developers, anti-tax proponents, and regional Republican leaders gathered at Santa Rosa’s Veterans Memorial Building to honor Groom as citizen of the year for his leadership in the recall campaign of Kortum and Hinkle. A telegram of appreciation for his good work was read to the assembly from U.S. President Gerald Ford.
For the next two weeks, the Running Fence turned the Sonoma-Marin dairylands into the world’s largest museum, drawing large, appreciative crowds. The installation was far more beautiful than anyone anticipated, even Christo himself, who dubbed it “a ribbon of light” as he watched its billowing nylon panels move with the wind. For many local viewers, it helped them to see the landscape they were so familiar with in an entirely new way.
On May 31, 2020, the Santa Rosa Press Democrat ran a headline that most likely would have pleased Christo’s subversive character. It read, “Famed environmental artist behind the Running Fence dies at 84.
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Thanks to Katie Watts for her editing assistance.
SOURCES:
Artforum: Colby Chamberlain, “The Politics of Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s Running Fence,” April 2017.
Coastwalk California: “Bill Kortum—His Story,” December, 2014, https://coastwalk.org/bill-kortum-his-story/
Los Angeles Times: “Petaluma is Doing ‘Just Fine’ After 17 Years of Controls,” April 11, 1988.
Eric Stanley, “Christo: Legacy Remembered,” Museum of Sonoma County, June 9, 2020. https://museumsc.org/christo-legacy-remembered/
New York Times: “Christo, Artist Known for Massive, Fleeting Displays, Dies,” May 31, 2020.
The New Yorker: Calvin Tompkins, “Onward and Upward with the Arts: Running Fence,” March 28, 1977.
Petaluma Argus-Courier: “Christo’s Fence Now Under Construction,” May 4, 1976; “Planners: House Report Had Holes,” August 25, 1976; “Late Housing Report Draws Criticism,” August 18, 1976; “Petaluma Farms Draws Criticism at Hearing,” September 3, 1976; “Fence Triggers Debate,” September 11, 1976; “Opposition Defeats Subdivision,” September 17, 1976; “Fence Artist is Gone,” September 30, 1976; “Open Space, Park EDP Changes Studied,” July 13, 1978; “Watson Ranch Remains Open Land Under Trust,” December 10, 1979; “Environmental Icon’s Legacy Remembered,” December 25, 2014.
San Francisco Examiner, “Good for Business, But is it Art?” September 9, 1976.
San Rafael Daily Independent Journal: “Christo’s Fence Granted Sonoma Board’s Approval,” May 19, 1975.
Santa Rosa Press Democrat: “Supervisors Clear Christo’s Fence,” March 19, 1975; “Christo’s Fence Clears Coast Committee,” April 25, 1975; “Groom, SCTA Supported,” September 17, 1975; “Kortum Vows to Defeat Recall,” December 17, 1975; “Second District,” May 26, 1976; “Kortum: An Opportunist’s Copout,” June 2, 1976; “Christo’s $2 Million Fence Almost Reader for Sept. 8 Hanging,” August 30, 1976; “Christo’s Fence Takes Illegal Dip,” September 8, 1976; Gaye LeBaron column, September 12, 1976; “Ford Praises Groom as Citizen of Year,” September 12, 1976; “Delong Bitter Blast at General Plan, Kahn,” January 11, 1978; “Jim Groom Still Packs a Mean Punch,” June 23, 1993; “Christo, Famed Environmental Artist Behind ‘Running Fence’ in Sonoma and Marin counties, Dies at 84,” (pick up from Washington Post), May 31, 2020.
Smithsonian magazine: “Q&A: Christo and Jeanne-Claude,” December, 2008; “Christo’s California Dreamin’,” June 2010.
Sonoma Magazine: Glen Martin, “Christo’s Running Fence: Photos, Stories, and Memories,” June, 2020.
Sonoma West Times and News: “Running Fence Has its Problems,” July 26, 1976; “Artists Speak from Both Sides of the Fence,” July 26, 1976; “Recall Elections, New Faces Were Part of the County’s First General Plan Debates,” August 15, 2007.
Caitlin O’Hara, “The Journey to the Running Fence,” UC Press Blog, https://www.ucpress.edu/blog/9847/the-journey-to-running-fence/
Brian Doherty, et al, Remembering the Running Fence (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010).
Anne Schuhart, “Keeping Dairy Waste Under Control,” Soil Conservation, Volume 43; Volumes 1977-1978 (Information Division, Soil Conservation Service, 1977), pp. 15-17.
Running Fence, film documentary by Albert Maysles, David Maysles, and Charlotte Zwerin, 1977.