Lake Jean, or the dry lakebed by Jean, Nevada, is a vast expanse of flat, cracked earth about twenty-minutes south of Las Vegas by automobile. The lake is adjacent to the Nevada Nuclear Test Site. A bowl in the midst of a small range of mountains, the lake still seems to retain the ghost of its past. Standing in the middle of the lakebed, it is possible to imagine yourself standing at the bottom of a shallow prehistoric sea.
We approach:
Photo: Johanna Skibsrud
Noise
At first—as at the very beginning of the earth, and (as we can only imagine) the end—there is nothing but noise. Whirs and growls, explosions and drones. Noises near and far blend and settle over the land, like fallout dust, or snow. A whole atmosphere of noise. The air is charged with it, and yet—nothing echoes. The mountains in the distance are too far away to return the sound. Everything occurs just once, then dissipates in air.
Movement:
We see tracks and marks that lead into the lake and into the noise. The dust rises in a steady stream: who or what has passed here? —is passing?
Photo: Johanna Skibsrud
Machines:
Machines live here.
Trucks arrive off the dirt road that cuts from Highway 15. They unload: dirt bikes, remote-controlled airplanes, four-wheelers, dune buggies. A helicopter overhead cuts through the sky. Machines loop in great desert fractals—spitting dust behind them as they pass. Round and round they go.
Sometimes they circle near. They stare at us standing there vehicle-less in the middle of the lake. They let out a whoop and a holler, or rev their engines so that they bark and pop. Who are you? they wonder.
Photo: Johanna Skibsrud
We wonder: who are you?
Culture:
A culture of loosely affiliated groups, each with strong ties to a separate corner of the lake, has grown up here. We cannot be certain what their relations or alliances are. They do not seem to overstep their respective territorial boundaries. We can only imagine that, if they did, instant conflict would result.
A large clan to the south drives in circles. A smaller band to the north races to one corner of the lake, then turns around and races back in the other direction. Orbits and speeds morph and change. It is impossible to know where this culture has come from, or where it is going—if it is going anywhere at all.
Photo: Johanna Skibsrud
Photo: Johanna Skibsrud
Art:
It would not surprise us if it is not. Here the world has already ended. In the spring of 1962, the artist Jean Tinguely staged his piece, “Study for the End of the World” in the middle of the lake. After only a few false starts, Tinguely’s world (assembled of trash gathered from city dumps and a few homemade bombs) successfully exploded.
Of that world now there is only the slightest trace.
Photo: Johanna Skibsrud
Meanwhile:
Operation Dominic would soon be in full swing. There would be bombs detonated over Johnston Island, Christmas Island, and the open Pacific Ocean. These full-scale nuclear testing operations would continue well into the fall—ending only after the Cuban Missile Crisis in October, 1962.
Photo: Johanna Skibsrud
Meanwhile:
Back in Las Vegas, tourists sip Atomic cocktails and reminisce about the last time (1957) they watched the nuclear explosions over Yucca Flats from their hotel rooftops. Afterward—they say—the pink dust settled gently on their skin. Everything glowed.
Writing:
The inhabitants’ only form of writing is their obsessive marking of the flat plane of the lake. Whether these are merely decorative or contain as-yet-undeciphered codes is still up for debate. Like a giant writing pad, the lake records the swirling figures of energies long past in decaying layers of encrusted mud.
What history after history is here?
We go in search of signs.
Photo: Johanna Skibsrud