This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

A bill currently before the state Legislature would designate the Spiral Jetty as Utah's state work of art. The Jetty is a striking earthwork, constructed at considerable expense by a visionary, eccentric artist. A spiral of stone that reaches onto the bed of Great Salt Lake was created using heavy equipment according to New Jersey artist Robert Smithson's blueprint. It is an impressive sight, something few Utahns will experience due to its remoteness. Still, like the Sun Tunnels, and the Metaphor: Tree of Utah statue on the salt flats along I-80, it is a grand-scale piece of environmental art that cannot and should not be ignored.

But is it a fitting symbol for the state? Is the Spiral Jetty worthy of being named Utah's official work of art?

Some apparently think so. But there is another kind of art, an entire category of art, that is ubiquitous in the state and which clearly represents the essence of this grand region. I'm talking about the fantastic rock art that adorns the cliff faces, boulders and outcrops in every corner of our state, art in natural galleries created over thousands of years by artists who were native to this place, artists who created monuments not to their own egos, but to their cultures, creativity, vision and artistic skill.

The massive cliff faces, gently sloping wind-carved uplifts, tumbled boulders and slabs and exposures of fossilized sand dunes form the perfect canvases for millennia of artists, documentarians, shamans, painters and carvers. The mineral-stained cortex of stone monoliths and exposed bedrock is adorned with thousands upon thousands of images, abundantly evocative symbols and depictions of things and ideas, stories and sagas of rich significance to the ancient peoples, seemingly silent, yet which speak sometimes softly, sometimes sonorously, sometimes overwhelmingly to those who will look, see and listen.

Red and orange ghost-like figures with intricate interiors of white and black peer from the sheer cliff faces, representing some mythical world we cannot begin to comprehend. The images thrill us and remind us that we are mere latecomers, visitors to this anointed place. Elaborate abstracts intertwine with depictions that remind us of bighorn sheep, or snakes, or lizards, or humans, or birds, but what are they? We cannot know, as the stories, the sacred and profane cultural richness that gave rise to these images, are mostly gone, lost to the passage of time, or known only to native elders.

But the images draw us, they provoke us, frighten and thrill us, like any honest art will, as we need not understand it so much as allow ourselves to be touched by it, to feel the humanity of the artist, even an artist who lived long, long ago. Ancient cultures, through their creations reach out to us and move us, remind us of our shared humanity, cause us to marvel at the beauty and complexity of the world depicted so long ago.

And as we partake of the creations we stand, not in a gallery, but on the same sand, on the same stones where the artist stood so long ago, and we experience that person's presence in a way we cannot in a gallery, or by seeing pictures in a book.

Artistic creations are tattooed on the stone faces of our state — painted, pecked, carved, etched, scratched and rubbed — and they give us a direct connection to the humanity of those who created them, yet as a state we seem to regard them as less deserving of honor than the work of a well-to-do white artist. Of all the official symbols of Utah, a state that takes its name from the native Ute people who still call it home, not one recognizes our American Indian heritage. And that is a shame.

Can the bill be amended to proclaim Native American rock art as our official state works of art? Perhaps we can find some other way to honor the Spiral Jetty. Our state is known around the world for its incredible rock art. The time has come for Utahns to recognize it.

Kevin T. Jones is a writer and archaeological consultant. He was state archaeologist of Utah for 17 years. He lives in Salt Lake City.