ARTS CULTURE
A needlessly long and deep dive into the Rubber Duck
My feelings towards Florentijn Hofman’s Rubber Duck Project are complicated and intense. While most people consider the Rubber Duck to be an endearing piece of contemporary art that has been increasingly fading from cultural relevance, I have been singularly preoccupied with it for years. My obsession begins during a gen-ed course I took in my freshman year of college, where I was assigned to critique a public art piece. When the professor explained the specifics of the assignment, she emphasized how the students were not to write the critique on Hofman’s Rubber Duck. “You technically could… And many students over the past few years have attempted it too—,” she said “But I have yet to see one that is deserving of A+.”
Fueled only by the overconfidence of a college freshman, I decided to take up the challenge (Oh, the folly of man!). I received a B-minus and I deserved it. Even after days of slaving away at my computer, I still failed to capture the elusive essence of the Rubber Duck. Regardless of my failures, my fascination with the Rubber Duck persisted, and today, I’ve come to understand that its story is far more complex than its seemingly benign exterior suggests—it is a tale of savage murder, legal intimidation, and many many protests.
The Rubber Duck’s Reception… and MURDER
The Rubber Duck is an inflatable PVC public art installation created by the Dutch artist Florentijn Hofman in the shape of, as its name implies, the iconic yellow bath toy. Its size varies from 14 by 15 by 18 metres to 26 by 20 by 32 metres. Unveiled in Amsterdam in 2007, the bright yellow sculpture has been displayed in over 16 different countries. Hofman describes the Rubber Duck as transcending boundaries, stating that “it doesn’t discriminate and lacks any political implications. The amiable, floating Rubber Duck is […] gentle, approachable, and appropriate for all ages.”
The cheerful sculpture was celebrated for its playful charm, captivating audiences with its size and cute appearance. Its reception in Seoul was overwhelmingly positive, attracting over 5 million visitors to the Seokcheon Lake during the month it was installed in 2014. Yet, the Rubber Duck was not universally embraced as not everyone shared the same enthusiasm for this oversized inflatable artwork.
In 2009 Belgium, the Rubber Duck became the victim of a cold-blooded “murder.” In a bizarre act of vandalism, an unknown assassin stabbed the Rubber Duck 42 times with a knife. Whether it was an extreme case of cute aggression or the work of a Dexter-esque vigilante targeting kitschy rubber duckies, the motive behind the attack remains a mystery. What this proves, however, is that the Rubber Duck is a polarizing piece of art.
While some view the Rubber Duck as a harmless piece that brings simple joy through its bright yellow color and innocent exterior, others view it as an empty commercialized artwork that embodies the superficiality of modern consumer culture—a vapid spectacle. It is this divided reaction that led me down a rabbit hole of exploration into the lore of the Rubber Duck. After all, this strong, polarized response is itself evidence that the piece is of value.
What Value Does The Rubber Duck Offer?
Rubber Duck fails miserably as a public art piece. Public art, by definition, is art that is open to the public to enjoy. It extends beyond the sterile white backdrop of traditional “white-cube” galleries into outdoor spaces. A fundamental characteristic of public art is its accessibility. The public needs to encounter, engage and connect with art in their daily routines. In this sense, Rubber Duck is not truly accessible.
Although the Rubber Duck’s appearance in different locations give it the illusion of mobility—as if it floats around from one body of water to another, or at least that the same PVC casing is deflated and inflated again in a different city— do not be fooled. The Rubber Duck is notoriously remanufactured for every showing (I will not even get into the environmental ramifications of this, though I wonder—is there a graveyard of deflated rubber duckies in the Netherlands, or does it lie lifeless in the landfills of respective countries?). Accessibility is limited to cities that Hofman deems deserving of his artwork and those that can afford to manufacture a large-scale rubber duck—even then, they are only allowed to showcase the duck for a few weeks.
Furthermore, the artwork inherently fails at being site-specific, a key component of a good public art piece. Site-specific artworks synergize with their surroundings, creating a dialogue between the physical object, time, the space it occupies, and the audience it engages. Beyond the obvious reference to a bath toy in a body of water, what connection does Rubber Duck establish with its locale? Its place in Asia is confusing at best, given how most Asian countries (barring Japan) rely on showers rather than baths, making the cultural reference of a bathtub toy somewhat lost in translation. It feels to me like a misplaced spectacle only concerned with viral appeal rather than creating a lasting impact on the communities it visits. Bloomberg reporter Kriston Capps holds that Rubber Duck “sends an infantilizing message about the role of public art in cities.”
The Duck REEKS of Controversy
I cautiously assert that good public art is neither subversive nor overly political: it should enhance public spaces without provoking strong reactions. The irony is that because public art requires the use of public funds to procure and maintain, most public art is political and subject to controversy. The Rubber Duck is no exception.
The rubber duck stirred up much controversy in 2013 when the Pittsburgh public found out it cost the city 20,000 USD to invite the enormous yellow duckie to town, and once again in 2017 when the Ontario government spent up to 150,000 CAD to rent, ship, mount, and upkeep the duck. One Rick Nicholas from Canada complained about the waste of taxpayer dollars, calling the situation an “absolute cluster duck,” and Pittsburgh Dad on Twitter cried that with the duck’s exorbitant cost, it “better be able to fill potholes.”
Adding fuel to the fire, both cities faced controversies surrounding the “intellectual rights” to Hofman’s Rubber Duck: the city of Toronto, for displaying a counterfeit Rubber Duck, and Pittsburgh, for when a local business owner started selling unlicensed rubber duck merch. You see, the Pittsburgh Cultural Trust had already been selling duck merchandise when this local business owner emerged with rivaling rubber duck T-shirts. Naturally, they sent a cease-and-desist letter to the business owner, sending a stern message against “any duck shirts at all.”
This isn’t the first time Hofman has complained about the unlicensed use of his rubber duck. The artist was reportedly upset by the emergence of unlicensed duck-themed transit cards and counterfeit souvenirs in Taiwan, and refused to attend the opening ceremony of the duck. In another instance, the artist went as far to condemn China for their counterfeit giant duckie in an interview with the Wall Street Journal, stating, “if I was a Chinese person, I would revolt. [...] This kills society, this kind of behavior.” Like this, Hofman holds that he only agrees to display his artwork in cities that “obey [his] rules.”
Though he would never admit it himself, Hofman is a man of many contradictions. While he claims to be a “supporter of public art in public spaces,” he withholds the public’s access to it, explaining in the same breath that he is “not a big believer in art is forever.” He criticizes the cities that dare to capitalize on the duck, while he himself maintains an unrelenting grip on licensing and merchandising for the Rubber Duck. He hates those who copy his designs, while his own design is a copy of the rubber duckie made by Tolo Toys. While I do not mean to diminish the importance of an artist’s rights to their intellectual property, I must ask: does the design and concept of the Rubber Duck have enough originality to justify such strict control?
Reclaiming the Rubber Duck
Hofman has always sought to maintain meticulous command over every aspect of the Rubber Duck, from its access to interpretation. He insists on the Rubber Duck’s singular meaning…or rather, an intentional lack thereof. The duck stands for nothing, and it is through this emptiness that it, ironically, becomes a blank canvas for whatever message the public assigns to it.
Leave it to online users to blur the lines between ownership and appropriation, transforming the inflatable icon into a vehicle for various forms of commentary. The Rubber Duck dominated virtual spaces in the early-to-mid 2010s and quickly became a target for ‘memeification.’ In 2013, an image was uploaded to a Chinese social media platform where the iconic ‘Tank Man’ photo from the Tiananmen Square protests was altered to feature a column of Rubber Ducks—instead of tanks—in front of a lone protester. Online users subjected the friendly and apolitical Rubber Duck into doing political work. Users were briefly able to share the image, bypassing online censorship restrictions, until officials got involved. It’s only somewhat hilarious (and mostly disquieting) that the government felt the need to ban the term “big yellow duck.”
In Brazil 2016, the familiar rubber duck emerged once again as a symbol of resistance. This version bore striking similarities with Hofman’s Rubber Duck—in its tall stature and bright yellow color. But instead of large beady eyes, it had crosses for eyes, and on its chest, the message: “Chega de pagar o pato.” This Portuguese slogan roughly translates to “We won't pay for the duck any more” or “We won’t pay for what is not our fault any more.” The giant duck was commissioned by Brazilian industrial group, FIESP, to use in protest against government corruption and economic policies.
Hofman’s team responded to this use of the Rubber Duck by saying that they “made a very unwise decision” and that he thought it was an “illegal use of the exact design and therefore copyright infringement.” The São Paulo factory that produced the duck for the protest was the same one commissioned to manufacture Hofman’s Rubber Duck during his visit to Brazil in 2008. Hofman stated that the new duck was merely “propaganda [that] misuse[s] the work which really looks similar to my work, and don’t bring the same story as I planned with my work since 2007.”
This raises the question: what gives Hofman the authority to dictate what the Rubber Duck symbolizes? His insistence on relegating it to a docile, apolitical yellow duck reminds me of the high pedestal J.K. Rowling stands on as the self-acclaimed sole creator of the Harry Potter canon. It seems to me that the more one looks into the Rubber Duck’s evolving symbolism in public discourse, the more apparent it becomes that Hofman’s rigid control limits the artwork’s potential.
The Rubber Duck’s story is far from over. It reappears with renewed significance in Thailand, where its symbolism evolves dramatically in response to political unrest. In Thailand, during the 2020 protests against the monarchy, the inflatable Rubber Duck took on a new role as a practical tool. Protesters used inflatable rubber duck pool toys as shields against tear gas and water cannons, turning the once-innocuous duck into a resilient protector. Images of these tattered ducks, bearing the marks of conflict, served as powerful symbols of resistance. Rubber Duck transformed from a passive art piece to an active symbol of courage and solidarity.
The Rubber Duck’s journey is a testament to the unpredictable power of art to transcend its creator’s intentions. What began as a seemingly innocuous yellow inflatable has evolved into a symbol of resilience and defiance, morphed by the hands of the public to represent much more than Hofman ever envisioned. From its role in thwarting censorship in China to its practical use as a shield in Thailand’s protests, the Rubber Duck has defied its initial apolitical facade to become a beacon of resistance. While Hofman may cling to his vision of a harmless, docile duck, the world has redefined it as a fighter, embodying the very spirit of struggle and solidarity.
Fueled only by the overconfidence of a college freshman, I decided to take up the challenge (Oh, the folly of man!). I received a B-minus and I deserved it. Even after days of slaving away at my computer, I still failed to capture the elusive essence of the Rubber Duck. Regardless of my failures, my fascination with the Rubber Duck persisted, and today, I’ve come to understand that its story is far more complex than its seemingly benign exterior suggests—it is a tale of savage murder, legal intimidation, and many many protests.
The Rubber Duck’s Reception… and MURDER
The Rubber Duck is an inflatable PVC public art installation created by the Dutch artist Florentijn Hofman in the shape of, as its name implies, the iconic yellow bath toy. Its size varies from 14 by 15 by 18 metres to 26 by 20 by 32 metres. Unveiled in Amsterdam in 2007, the bright yellow sculpture has been displayed in over 16 different countries. Hofman describes the Rubber Duck as transcending boundaries, stating that “it doesn’t discriminate and lacks any political implications. The amiable, floating Rubber Duck is […] gentle, approachable, and appropriate for all ages.”
The cheerful sculpture was celebrated for its playful charm, captivating audiences with its size and cute appearance. Its reception in Seoul was overwhelmingly positive, attracting over 5 million visitors to the Seokcheon Lake during the month it was installed in 2014. Yet, the Rubber Duck was not universally embraced as not everyone shared the same enthusiasm for this oversized inflatable artwork.
In 2009 Belgium, the Rubber Duck became the victim of a cold-blooded “murder.” In a bizarre act of vandalism, an unknown assassin stabbed the Rubber Duck 42 times with a knife. Whether it was an extreme case of cute aggression or the work of a Dexter-esque vigilante targeting kitschy rubber duckies, the motive behind the attack remains a mystery. What this proves, however, is that the Rubber Duck is a polarizing piece of art.
While some view the Rubber Duck as a harmless piece that brings simple joy through its bright yellow color and innocent exterior, others view it as an empty commercialized artwork that embodies the superficiality of modern consumer culture—a vapid spectacle. It is this divided reaction that led me down a rabbit hole of exploration into the lore of the Rubber Duck. After all, this strong, polarized response is itself evidence that the piece is of value.
What Value Does The Rubber Duck Offer?
Rubber Duck fails miserably as a public art piece. Public art, by definition, is art that is open to the public to enjoy. It extends beyond the sterile white backdrop of traditional “white-cube” galleries into outdoor spaces. A fundamental characteristic of public art is its accessibility. The public needs to encounter, engage and connect with art in their daily routines. In this sense, Rubber Duck is not truly accessible.
Although the Rubber Duck’s appearance in different locations give it the illusion of mobility—as if it floats around from one body of water to another, or at least that the same PVC casing is deflated and inflated again in a different city— do not be fooled. The Rubber Duck is notoriously remanufactured for every showing (I will not even get into the environmental ramifications of this, though I wonder—is there a graveyard of deflated rubber duckies in the Netherlands, or does it lie lifeless in the landfills of respective countries?). Accessibility is limited to cities that Hofman deems deserving of his artwork and those that can afford to manufacture a large-scale rubber duck—even then, they are only allowed to showcase the duck for a few weeks.
Furthermore, the artwork inherently fails at being site-specific, a key component of a good public art piece. Site-specific artworks synergize with their surroundings, creating a dialogue between the physical object, time, the space it occupies, and the audience it engages. Beyond the obvious reference to a bath toy in a body of water, what connection does Rubber Duck establish with its locale? Its place in Asia is confusing at best, given how most Asian countries (barring Japan) rely on showers rather than baths, making the cultural reference of a bathtub toy somewhat lost in translation. It feels to me like a misplaced spectacle only concerned with viral appeal rather than creating a lasting impact on the communities it visits. Bloomberg reporter Kriston Capps holds that Rubber Duck “sends an infantilizing message about the role of public art in cities.”
The Duck REEKS of Controversy
I cautiously assert that good public art is neither subversive nor overly political: it should enhance public spaces without provoking strong reactions. The irony is that because public art requires the use of public funds to procure and maintain, most public art is political and subject to controversy. The Rubber Duck is no exception.
The rubber duck stirred up much controversy in 2013 when the Pittsburgh public found out it cost the city 20,000 USD to invite the enormous yellow duckie to town, and once again in 2017 when the Ontario government spent up to 150,000 CAD to rent, ship, mount, and upkeep the duck. One Rick Nicholas from Canada complained about the waste of taxpayer dollars, calling the situation an “absolute cluster duck,” and Pittsburgh Dad on Twitter cried that with the duck’s exorbitant cost, it “better be able to fill potholes.”
Adding fuel to the fire, both cities faced controversies surrounding the “intellectual rights” to Hofman’s Rubber Duck: the city of Toronto, for displaying a counterfeit Rubber Duck, and Pittsburgh, for when a local business owner started selling unlicensed rubber duck merch. You see, the Pittsburgh Cultural Trust had already been selling duck merchandise when this local business owner emerged with rivaling rubber duck T-shirts. Naturally, they sent a cease-and-desist letter to the business owner, sending a stern message against “any duck shirts at all.”
This isn’t the first time Hofman has complained about the unlicensed use of his rubber duck. The artist was reportedly upset by the emergence of unlicensed duck-themed transit cards and counterfeit souvenirs in Taiwan, and refused to attend the opening ceremony of the duck. In another instance, the artist went as far to condemn China for their counterfeit giant duckie in an interview with the Wall Street Journal, stating, “if I was a Chinese person, I would revolt. [...] This kills society, this kind of behavior.” Like this, Hofman holds that he only agrees to display his artwork in cities that “obey [his] rules.”
Though he would never admit it himself, Hofman is a man of many contradictions. While he claims to be a “supporter of public art in public spaces,” he withholds the public’s access to it, explaining in the same breath that he is “not a big believer in art is forever.” He criticizes the cities that dare to capitalize on the duck, while he himself maintains an unrelenting grip on licensing and merchandising for the Rubber Duck. He hates those who copy his designs, while his own design is a copy of the rubber duckie made by Tolo Toys. While I do not mean to diminish the importance of an artist’s rights to their intellectual property, I must ask: does the design and concept of the Rubber Duck have enough originality to justify such strict control?
Reclaiming the Rubber Duck
Hofman has always sought to maintain meticulous command over every aspect of the Rubber Duck, from its access to interpretation. He insists on the Rubber Duck’s singular meaning…or rather, an intentional lack thereof. The duck stands for nothing, and it is through this emptiness that it, ironically, becomes a blank canvas for whatever message the public assigns to it.
Leave it to online users to blur the lines between ownership and appropriation, transforming the inflatable icon into a vehicle for various forms of commentary. The Rubber Duck dominated virtual spaces in the early-to-mid 2010s and quickly became a target for ‘memeification.’ In 2013, an image was uploaded to a Chinese social media platform where the iconic ‘Tank Man’ photo from the Tiananmen Square protests was altered to feature a column of Rubber Ducks—instead of tanks—in front of a lone protester. Online users subjected the friendly and apolitical Rubber Duck into doing political work. Users were briefly able to share the image, bypassing online censorship restrictions, until officials got involved. It’s only somewhat hilarious (and mostly disquieting) that the government felt the need to ban the term “big yellow duck.”
In Brazil 2016, the familiar rubber duck emerged once again as a symbol of resistance. This version bore striking similarities with Hofman’s Rubber Duck—in its tall stature and bright yellow color. But instead of large beady eyes, it had crosses for eyes, and on its chest, the message: “Chega de pagar o pato.” This Portuguese slogan roughly translates to “We won't pay for the duck any more” or “We won’t pay for what is not our fault any more.” The giant duck was commissioned by Brazilian industrial group, FIESP, to use in protest against government corruption and economic policies.
Hofman’s team responded to this use of the Rubber Duck by saying that they “made a very unwise decision” and that he thought it was an “illegal use of the exact design and therefore copyright infringement.” The São Paulo factory that produced the duck for the protest was the same one commissioned to manufacture Hofman’s Rubber Duck during his visit to Brazil in 2008. Hofman stated that the new duck was merely “propaganda [that] misuse[s] the work which really looks similar to my work, and don’t bring the same story as I planned with my work since 2007.”
This raises the question: what gives Hofman the authority to dictate what the Rubber Duck symbolizes? His insistence on relegating it to a docile, apolitical yellow duck reminds me of the high pedestal J.K. Rowling stands on as the self-acclaimed sole creator of the Harry Potter canon. It seems to me that the more one looks into the Rubber Duck’s evolving symbolism in public discourse, the more apparent it becomes that Hofman’s rigid control limits the artwork’s potential.
The Rubber Duck’s story is far from over. It reappears with renewed significance in Thailand, where its symbolism evolves dramatically in response to political unrest. In Thailand, during the 2020 protests against the monarchy, the inflatable Rubber Duck took on a new role as a practical tool. Protesters used inflatable rubber duck pool toys as shields against tear gas and water cannons, turning the once-innocuous duck into a resilient protector. Images of these tattered ducks, bearing the marks of conflict, served as powerful symbols of resistance. Rubber Duck transformed from a passive art piece to an active symbol of courage and solidarity.
The Rubber Duck’s journey is a testament to the unpredictable power of art to transcend its creator’s intentions. What began as a seemingly innocuous yellow inflatable has evolved into a symbol of resilience and defiance, morphed by the hands of the public to represent much more than Hofman ever envisioned. From its role in thwarting censorship in China to its practical use as a shield in Thailand’s protests, the Rubber Duck has defied its initial apolitical facade to become a beacon of resistance. While Hofman may cling to his vision of a harmless, docile duck, the world has redefined it as a fighter, embodying the very spirit of struggle and solidarity.
