On an August day in 2014, a 20-foot-long structure of hand-broken stone was erected in Durango at the busy intersection of U.S. highways 160 and 550. Intended to be an innocuous piece of artwork for public enjoyment and pondering, the Arc of History built to memorialize Mesa Verde and Southwest Colorado history accrued a personal antiquity of its own and initiated a community narrative that continues unfolding to this day.

As this conversation rooted in the intentions and merits of art has waged, and often raged, the artist whose hands created the sculpture has remained largely in the shadows.

Today, the artist, Tom Holmes, is preparing for the coming season as winter descends upon his Pennsylvania home. Seasons for him are imperative to his work, because the elemental materials he uses depend on them.

“I work based on the weather,” Holmes said, hesitant to be interviewed for this story because of Durango’s mixed reception of the Arc. He would allow to be interviewed only via email.

“The temperature determines outdoor work and material constraints. I create and photograph ice work and paintings in the winter. I collect materials in the spring. Wood from the river, stone from the field, steel from the scrap yard. I fabricate all summer and install pieces. The fall begins the wind down and collective recognition that time is fleeting. All debts to the year’s sustenance are paid,” he wrote in an email.

The artist said the creative spark had already been kindled by the time his father, a woodworker, accidentally ran over a 4-year-old Holmes’ fingers with a belt sander. Holmes still recalls the smell of pine, smoke, tar and paint while watching his father at work.

“I can’t remember a time I was not indulging my creativity,” he wrote.

The appreciation for natural materials followed Holmes to adulthood, and in stone, ice, wood and metal, he found a canvas. Also a musician, Holmes toured the world in a symphony orchestra as a teenager and studied theory and composition at the Crane School of Music. A tireless artist, Holmes said he works every day.

“There is no separation between who I am and what I make or do,” he wrote.

The Arc, which is a recurring shape in Holmes’ catalogue, was the product of nine days of on-site, nonstop labor for 12 to 14 hours each day.

Upon its installation, many locals balked, often pointing to the $28,000 price tag on the sculpture. Then on Halloween 2014, someone hailed the night of mischief by topping the Arc with an elaborate dinosaur head; Durangoans drove past the intersection Nov. 1 to see the Arc transformed into a leering carnivorous T-rex. Anonymous Durangoans continued to reinvent the Arc with nests placed beneath the sculpture, subsequent hatchlings and a vibrant Chinese dragon head.

But the playful interaction took a destructive turn last summer, when vandal(s) broke multiple stones off the Arc. Durango Police Lt. Ray Shupe said authorities still have no leads on the perpetrator(s), who would face criminal mischief charges if caught.

“It’s felony-level with the amount of damage done to it,” he said.

Assistant to the City Manager Sherri Dugdale, who sits on the Durango Public Art Commission, said drivers passing the sculpture for a fleeting second probably think there’s little damage done. But probably “90 to 95 percent” of the stones are vandalized, she said.

Asked if he sees a difference between the “additions” to the Arc and breaking the stones, Holmes said both are vandalism and in due time, nature would have evolved the sculpture far better than Durango could have.

“Maybe the people in Durango who so love using a sculpture to express their seasonal and cultural festivities should get together and create their own,” he wrote. “One they fund and own collectively. Then they could dress it up as seen fit for any occasion. A community endeavor to explore this specific artistic desire might be a more productive alternative than dancing between the lines of the law ... and dishonoring yourselves damaging mine.”

Holmes is slated to restore the sculpture next year when the winter thaws. In the meantime, Durango might reflect on the Arc’s present condition:

“I’m glad the people of Durango will have as long to view and comprehend the damaged Arc as they did the sculpture as it was initially presented,” Holmes wrote.

The Arc, he said, was constructed as a testament to Colorado’s landscape and ancestry. With that, Holmes offered a piece of his music entitled “Last Tango in Durango,” as a final adieu to the Southwest Colorado city.

When measuring his artistic success, Holmes asks himself if he is making a living as such. After that, the question is about the art. “Is it good, intuitive, insightful?” Holmes wrote. “Is it speaking to people, functioning properly in a social context? Does it alter people’s lives and perspectives as the Arc of History surely has? The fact that the Arc was destroyed criminally confirms its ability to function as a living cultural icon. As much as it is receding into time itself, it holds a place in the quantum vacuum. Pulsating, whispering, communicating, settling in for the long haul as anger and tempers fade. The stones themselves will speak forever, plangent as they wash up on the beach as sand.”

Not even the toughest Arc critic can deny the public interest incited by the sculpture, nor its indirect role in funneling money to the local arts community – the dinosaur head was auctioned for $5,000, which went to the Durango Arts Center.

Some abhor the Arc of History, christening it a “rock banana” or “rock kebob.” City officials appreciate the historic significance the artist applied to the piece. Others took a liking to it only when local color was administered. But what the sculpture did not inspire in its onlookers was insouciance.

Perhaps it has done its job.

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