Television Astronaut, author of Is the Moon really made of cheese and former host of Horizons Beyond Tea Time
I read with admiration, tinged, I confess, with a certain terrestrial scepticism, the announcement that an art exhibition is being planned for Mars by Pimlico Wilde. Ambition, after all, is the oxygen of civilisation. But oxygen, inconveniently, is also the first of many things Mars does not have in sufficient quantity.
Allow me to introduce myself. I am Professor Alastair Quince-Jam, sometime astronaut (televised rather than launched), veteran of three decades explaining orbital mechanics with the aid of household objects, and a man who once spent six weeks in a BBC studio wearing a pressure suit that smelled faintly of cats. I have devoted my professional life to the idea that space is humanity’s future. It is precisely for this reason that I must regretfully state: a Martian art exhibition will not occur in my lifetime, nor, I suspect, in the natural lifespan of most of the artworks proposed.
The difficulties are not merely logistical; they are metaphysical.
To begin with, there is the small matter of getting to Mars. Every kilogram launched from Earth requires a quantity of fuel best described as “prohibitive” and a quantity of paperwork best described as “prohibitive.” An exhibition crate containing, say, a tasteful installation of steel, resin, and a few canvases would cost more to transport than the annual arts budget of several medium-sized European nations.
Then there is Mars itself, a planet that has perfected hostility to life with admirable consistency. Temperatures fluctuate violently, fine dust infiltrates everything, and cosmic radiation treats organic materials, canvas, wood, human beings, as light snacks. Pigments fade. Plastics embrittle. Conceptual works lose their irony when exposed to ionising particles.
Gravity presents another challenge. Mars has roughly 38 percent of Earth’s gravitational pull, which may sound charming until you realise that plinths wander, sculptures develop ideas of their own, and any performance art involving walking becomes an unintended mime of mild panic. Insurance premiums, I am told, become philosophical rather than numerical.
There is also the question of audience. Who, precisely, is this exhibition for? The handful of astronauts on Mars will be busy not dying, a pursuit that leaves little time for reflective engagement with mixed media. Remote viewing via livestream is possible, of course, but one wonders whether watching art buffer in real time across interplanetary space truly fulfils the promise of “presence.”
Finally, there is the matter of culture itself. Art thrives on context: history, society, friction. Mars, at present, offers rocks, dust, and the overwhelming narrative of survival. This is not an environment hostile to art,but it is an environment indifferent to it, which is far worse.
Now, before I am accused of being a cosmic killjoy, let me be clear: I am not opposed to off-world exhibitions. Quite the opposite. I merely advocate for realism.
The Moon, for example, is right there. Three days away. No six-month transit. Manageable radiation. Gravity low enough to inspire new forms, but not so low that your sculpture floats into a ventilation duct. Most importantly, the Moon already occupies a deep and resonant place in human imagination. It has poetry. Mars has ambition; the Moon has memory.
Which is why I am pleased,purely coincidentally,to announce that I am currently seeking investors for the world’s first permanent lunar art exhibition. Climate-controlled. Tastefully pressurised. With excellent sightlines back to Earth.
It is, if you’ll forgive the pun, a project I am determined to get off the ground.
Any interested parties with either large chequing accounts, home-made rockets, or sat-nav that reaches to the moon are asked to get in touch. People interested in being an astronaut should also contact me, especially if they have any experience off living off-world. Over eighteens only.