Not long ago, I was invited to write a introduction for Zornitsa Krachmarova’s book Transformations: The Hidden Art of Christo and Jeanne-Claude. I began reading it with some skepticism—what more could possibly be said about the art of these two? However, the author has found an interesting approach—she presents ten of their major projects through the eyes of people who were involved in different ways. From these conversations, two things stand out. First, all participants claim that this experience has given them exceptional confidence in their personal lives. Second, they highlight the satisfaction of teamwork, where Christo and Jeanne-Claude fostered wonderful relationships with everyone, leaving behind unforgettable memories. Krachmarova’s book has a major contribution—it reveals the human side of the two artists, which is usually shrouded in legend and speculation.
There are probably no other artists who have met so many people over the years with a single goal—to realize their projects. Christo and Jeanne-Claude always emphasized that their work was not just the final realized product, but the entire journey from the inception of an idea, through the thousands of obstacles, to its completion. Communication with a wide variety of people—politicians, ecologists, landowners, critics, engineers, workers, and others—is a fundamental element of this journey. The energy from these interactions becomes part of the whole and affects the final result. In fact, Christo and Jeanne-Claude are among the greatest promoters of contemporary art. Due to the way their works function, they have given hundreds of lectures over the years—not just defending their own ideas, but also advocating for the meaning and ideals of contemporary art as a whole.
The thousands of encounters with different people have strongly influenced their art. Often, these have been tough battles, with unpleasant moments and refusals, but communication has always remained an essential part of their projects. Over time, their works have become more open to human presence and increasingly engage with the public.
If we go back to the beginning, one project inevitably comes to mind—Wall of Oil Barrels – The Iron Curtain (1961-62) on Rue Visconti in Paris. This is their only explicitly political project, directly linked to the events of the time and the Cold War. Although it was realized in an urban environment, right in the heart of the city, it physically blocked and divided space, stopping the natural flow of movement. Its symbolism coincided with the realities of the era. Some of their later urban interventions from the late 1960s—such as the wrapped Kunsthalle in Bern, the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago, the medieval tower in Spoleto, and the wrapped monuments of Victor Emmanuel and Leonardo in Milan—also seem to create a sense of isolation. These objects were hidden from view, enclosed in their own significance, impervious to external gazes, interventions, and interpretations. Each one, in a sense, disappeared from the city’s map, prompting locals and visitors to wonder: What is it like to live without them? or What used to be there? These questions placed the audience in the role of passive observers of a process beyond their control—one tied to time and memory. This concept applies to the duo’s most famous projects as well, such as The Wrapped Pont Neuf and The Wrapped Reichstag.
Their first large-scale non-urban project—Wrapped Coast in Australia (1968-69)—had a similar character. The site was wild and remote, the climate harsh, the terrain challenging. The management of Prince Henry Hospital, which owned this section of the coast and had to approve the project, demonstrated remarkable courage and vision. At that time, in the late 1960s, they accepted a project that was risky both aesthetically and technologically. Despite lasting for ten weeks, Wrapped Coast was difficult to visit in person. Most people could only experience it through the sketches and photographs. The same was true for projects like Running Fence (1972-76), Ocean Front (1974), Surrounded Islands (1980-83), and The Umbrellas (1984-91). Each had varying degrees of accessibility—some could only be fully appreciated from the air, while others allowed viewers to approach certain elements, but not seeing the whole. Thus, the most complete experience often remained in the drawings and photographs.
At the same time, Christo and Jeanne-Claude began experimenting with projects that directly engaged the viewer—such as wrapped floors and staircases. Alongside the exterior wrapping of the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago (1968-69), they also wrapped the galleries and staircases inside. The spaces were transformed into cozy, welcoming places, softened by the fabric’s folds. Visitors became part of the work itself, as they literally stepped onto the artwork. This marked the first direct physical engagement of the audience with their art. The work functioned differently when it was empty, in contrast to when people moved across it, their presence becoming an integral part of the piece.
In 1977-78, Christo and Jeanne-Claude realized Wrapped Walkways in a park in Kansas City, Missouri. Nearly 4.5 km of pathways were covered with a saffron-colored fabric. According to their official website, they were inspired by visits to Burma, Thailand, Cambodia, and Japan, where they were struck by the ceremonial use of gardens and the deep cultural respect for the surfaces people walk on. This alone speaks to their evolving focus on direct interaction between people and nature, and how art can intervene in these ancient relationships.
A major milestone in the socialization of their art came with The Gates (2005) in Central Park, New York. A total of 7,503 gates were installed along 37 km of park pathways, each suspending a free-flowing saffron-colored fabric. As with their previous works, this intervention did not disrupt the park’s daily life but rather added something new to its routine rhythm. Visitors moved close to individual segments of the project but could not perceive the entire work at once. Yet, this was their most socially engaging project to date—the culmination of their process of integrating their art with the public.
The Floating Piers combined the strengths of their most successful works. Visitors could see the entire installation from a higher vantage point on the surrounding hills or become part of it by stepping directly onto its surface. Christo encouraged people to walk barefoot. Few followed this advice, and they missed out. His request was not about preserving the fabric but about creating a more direct connection. Feeling the warmth of the sunlit fabric and the subtle undulations of its folds added a tactile dimension to the experience, making it more immersive.
Many aspects of Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s work were designed to make people feel part of the event—whether as buyers of original sketches who simultaneously own a piece of art and help fund the larger projects, or as visitors who take away an emotional and physical memory, along with a piece of fabric freely distributed at The Floating Piers.
From beginning to end, The Floating Piers was a massive social project involving engineers, designers, divers, workers, fabric and rope manufacturers, a vast logistical team, PR specialists, gallerists, photographers, politicians, local communities, and visitors. Its scale went beyond typical expectations. No matter the critiques, the fact remains—one and a half million people made the journey specifically to see and experience The Floating Piers.