1,800 Pieces

A few days ago, when I stopped by our local health clinic, I was stunned to see a flyer about an upcoming talk: "Collecting, Accumulating, Chronic Disorganization, and Hoarding." After the many dozens of responses to an earlier post on this topic (3 Feb), of course, I had to read further. I'd never heard of such a presentation in a medical venue. I'd never heard of such a presentation, period.

According to the notice, the guest speaker will address the fact that an estimated 4-6% of the general population experiences some level of disordered behavior called hoarding. Is this psych speak? Does that number apply to people who accumulate objects with which to create art? And does it include individuals like Rene di Rosa (1919-2010), who collected 1,800 pieces of eclectic artwork by 700 to 800 artists and displayed them in three galleries (including his former residence), across a sculpture meadow, and around a serene 35-acre lake, all set in a vineyard of 217 acres ?

35-acre lake at di Rosa

35-acre lake at di Rosa

Recently, I toured di Rosa with two old friends whom I've known since the end of the 1970s, when we all lived in Napa Valley. Located in the Carneros region of the valley, it is truly a lovely place to while away hours looking at a wild variety of art in a country environment, especially in spring weather. We enjoyed the opportunity to be outdoors, where sculptures punctuate the landscape in every direction. The first one appears at the end of the walkway that leads visitors from the parking lot to Gatehouse Gallery.

from parking lot to Gatehouse Gallery entrance at di Rosa

from parking lot to Gatehouse Gallery entrance at di Rosa

Seated Woman with Vase  (1998), by Viola Frey. Ceramic. Outside Gatehouse Gallery.

Seated Woman with Vase (1998), by Viola Frey. Ceramic. Outside Gatehouse Gallery.

Although there are also sculptures inside Gatehouse Gallery and the former home of Rene and Veronica di Rosa, most of the larger works are on the grounds; for example, on the road up to the house, alongside the lake, in the residence courtyard, and throughout the meadow beyond it. A jitney transports visitors from Gatehouse Gallery to the upper area.

Mississippi River II  (1966), by David Lynn. Cast aluminum on concrete piers.

Mississippi River II (1966), by David Lynn. Cast aluminum on concrete piers.

Converted from a winery, the former residence of Rene and Veronica di Rosa is a Napa County Landmark, 130 years old, .

Converted from a winery, the former residence of Rene and Veronica di Rosa is a Napa County Landmark, 130 years old, .

Reclining Nude #2 (1987), by Viola Frey. Ceramic. Residence Gallery courtyard.

Reclining Nude #2 (1987), by Viola Frey. Ceramic. Residence Gallery courtyard.

Viola de Lodi  (1988), by Robert Arneson. Ceramic. Residence Gallery courtyard.

Viola de Lodi (1988), by Robert Arneson. Ceramic. Residence Gallery courtyard.

From  Grandmother Series (California Dress),  1978, by Viola Frey. Ceramic. Residence Gallery courtyard.

From Grandmother Series (California Dress), 1978, by Viola Frey. Ceramic. Residence Gallery courtyard.

Matter Contemplates Spirit  (2001), by Stephen Kaltenbach. Ceramic. Residence Gallery courtyard.

Matter Contemplates Spirit (2001), by Stephen Kaltenbach. Ceramic. Residence Gallery courtyard.

Lynched Volkswagon  (1966). Rene di Rosa created this red car installation hanging from the boughs of a eucalyptus tree in back of the residence.

Lynched Volkswagon (1966). Rene di Rosa created this red car installation hanging from the boughs of a eucalyptus tree in back of the residence.

sculpture meadow and hills beyond the residence

sculpture meadow and hills beyond the residence

Looking through arch of one sculpture toward  For Veronica  (1987), by Mark di Suvero. Steel, paint. Created for Veronica di Rosa.

Looking through arch of one sculpture toward For Veronica (1987), by Mark di Suvero. Steel, paint. Created for Veronica di Rosa.

The above images just touch on how much is outside. Inside the house, I was overwhelmed by the amount of art that could be crammed--literally, from floor to ceiling--into one building.

kitchen wall of Residence Gallery

kitchen wall of Residence Gallery

All for Me  (1966), by Charlene Milgrim. Found objects. Residence Gallery.

All for Me (1966), by Charlene Milgrim. Found objects. Residence Gallery.

Rene di Rosa's story is an interesting one. He was born and raised in Boston, graduated Yale University, worked for the San Francisco Chronicle, and tried his hand at the great American novel while living in Paris, then gave up urban environments for a rural life. Before California became world renowned for its wine, he bought 465 acres in 1960, planted grapes on 250 of them, and studied viticulture at the University of California, Davis. He went from befriending the avant-garde artists, writers, and musicians in San Francisco to also getting to know a group of counterculture artists at the newly founded art department of UC Davis. Many of them became lifelong friends. In the 1980s, he sold his winery to afford him the means with which to invest in creating an “art preserve” for the public. He invited artists to create new works on the property. In order to accommodate his ever-growing collection, di Rosa constructed buildings to house it. He opened the "art park" in 1997. Among the well-known artists are Robert Arneson, Joan Brown, Paul Kos, Manuel Neri, Viola Frey, Robert Hudson, Peter Voulkos, and William T. Wiley.

living room and mezzanine in Residence Gallery

living room and mezzanine in Residence Gallery

mezzanine in Residence Gallery

mezzanine in Residence Gallery

I have to admit that I was daunted by the sheer volume of art in the former residence of di Rosa and his wife Veronica, herself an artist. My head was aswirl as I looked around, up and down, in and out. I found it impossible to give so many pieces--their shapes, colors, styles, materials, textures, concepts--adequate attention. But, given enough time, anyone can learn a lot about what interested Northern California artists during the second half of the 20th century and the boundaries they trespassed, and be inspired by what they did on their own terms.

I can deeply appreciate what all that amassing of art meant for the particular coterie of artists from the 1950s on that di Rosa favored. His support of their experimentation, defiance of convention, and nose-thumbing at the so-called authorities of the art world nurtured their freedom in maintaining anti-commercial, even subversive, values. Today, re-purposing and assemblage are common. However, creating with found objects and non-traditional materials has not always been an acceptable art expression at galleries and museums. An iconoclast himself, di Rosa didn't care, for he wasn't an art snob. He wanted people to have their own experience, without any need for expertise in the field.

Gigolo  (1989),   by George Herms. Found objects. Gatehouse Gallery.

Gigolo (1989), by George Herms. Found objects. Gatehouse Gallery.

Untitled R  (1990), by George Herms. Assorted shoes, plywood, wire. Gatehouse Gallery.

Untitled R (1990), by George Herms. Assorted shoes, plywood, wire. Gatehouse Gallery.

E Flat  (1986), by Robert Hudson. Mixed media. Mezzanine of Residence Gallery.

E Flat (1986), by Robert Hudson. Mixed media. Mezzanine of Residence Gallery.

Nimbus  (2000), by David Ireland. Steel, concrete, gold leaf, wood panel. Gatehouse Gallery

Nimbus (2000), by David Ireland. Steel, concrete, gold leaf, wood panel. Gatehouse Gallery

Warren Walter, William  (1981), by Richard Shaw. Porcelain with decal overglaze. Gatehouse Gallery

Warren Walter, William (1981), by Richard Shaw. Porcelain with decal overglaze. Gatehouse Gallery

Eschewing the jitney, my friends and I walked along the lake to return to our cars. We marveled at what one person can accomplish because of a keen interest, commitment, and the resources and resourcefulness to realize a dream. His aesthetic preferences may not resonate with everyone, but di Rosa performed a great service. In spanning the art movements of the Bay Area, his 1800 pieces provide a tangible presence of Northern California's art history and an example of what hoarding art can achieve. He left a legacy to be admired and enjoyed in a natural setting.

Diretto di Passaggio   (Aqueduct)  (1990), by Veronica di Rosa. Steel, patina, rust. By the lake.

Diretto di Passaggio (Aqueduct) (1990), by Veronica di Rosa. Steel, patina, rust. By the lake.

Twist  (1990), by Archie Held. Steel.

Twist (1990), by Archie Held. Steel.

Questions & Comments:
Individually established art preserves and museums have been growing in number. In addition to di Rosa's, I've visited Oliver Ranch (Geyserville, CA) and The Clark (Williamstown, MA) in the U.S. and several in Japan and Korea. What places have you found? What were they like? What kind of art do they exhibit?

Seeing the kinds of materials and found objects used in the di Rosa collection, what inspires you in creating your own art? How can you put to good use your own kind of collection?

 

Memories and Art

We all have memories, lasting and fleeting. Over time, new ones appear while others gradually fade away; some become more vivid or change in tone and content. And then there are those memories that aren't really our own yet haunt us, memories of episodes that occurred many decades before we were born.

The arts have been and continue to be a particularly fertile ground where all kinds of memories, pleasant and unpleasant, have seeded new work. An exhibit in San Francisco is a particularly good example of this. From Generation to Generation: Inherited Memory and Contemporary Art is on view at the Contemporary Jewish Museum (CJM) until April 2. It brings attention to the stories that were lived by others but somehow turned into the artists' stories as well.

"What Goes Without Saying" (2012), by Hank Willis Thomas. Wooden pillory and microphone.

"What Goes Without Saying" (2012), by Hank Willis Thomas. Wooden pillory and microphone.

CJM Assistant Curator Pierre-François Galpin and independent curator Lily Siegel have brought together the work of 24 artists who grapple with their past--secondhand rather than direct experiences. A widely diverse group, they question and reflect on ancestral and collective memory through sculpture, installations, fiber, photography, sound, video, and mixed media. While at least five artists focus on the Holocaust, others address the American War in Vietnam and Cambodia, the Turkish genocide of Armenians, the legacy of racial injustice in America, the Korean War, World War II in Okinawa and Greece, the Mexican Revolution, indigenous culture in Alaska, and more.

Kevlar Fighting Costumes (2015), by Nao Bustamente. An homage to the courageous women soldiers (soldaderas) who fought in the Mexico revolution (1910-20. Re-imagined traditional garments, only now with protection against bullets and knives.

Kevlar Fighting Costumes (2015), by Nao Bustamente. An homage to the courageous women soldiers (soldaderas) who fought in the Mexico revolution (1910-20. Re-imagined traditional garments, only now with protection against bullets and knives.

The exhibit is multi-layered, appealing to our senses and emotions, provoking not only thought but also compassion. It was originally inspired by Dr. Marianne Hirsch's research on what she calls "postmemory." Because there is so much to convey about this subject and about the individual artists themselves--how such memories affect them and how they work with them through their art--I can't begin to address this all here. Nor can I include photos of everything, especially because of the mirror effect of some pieces (basically, you'd see me taking a picture!). I'll introduce a few examples and, if you're interested, you can watch vimeos, skypes, panel presentations, and other communications from the artists on the CJM website. Given the enormous number of refugees in the world since the 20th century, this is an extremely compelling issue. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that there is a huge population suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome because of their own memories and those of generations before them.

From the series "Immortality: The Remnants of the Vietnam and American War,” by Binh Danh.

From the series "Immortality: The Remnants of the Vietnam and American War,” by Binh Danh.

Artist Binh Danh, who visited Vietnam for the first time since he left as a child on a refugee boat in the 1980s, was struck by how much the landscape has remembered the trauma of war. Growing up in the U.S., he saw photos of children with missing limbs because of bombings and Agent Orange. To capture those times and effects, Binh Danh uses the natural chlorophyll process. He produces a digital transparency, places it on top of a living leaf, sandwiches that between glass and a backing board, and then exposes it to the sun. Combining technology and nature in this way is new to me, so I was especially struck by how well it represents the poignant tragedy of war in Vietnam in the fragility of a leaf. As the leaves die, so will the pictures, though memories linger.

"Mother Load" (1996), by Yong Soon Min.

"Mother Load" (1996), by Yong Soon Min.

Yong Soon Min, born as the Korean War ended, immigrated to California when she was seven years old. She uses the Korean tradition of bojagi (patchwork) to create her installation representing different eras. She sewed together black and white photographs from the Japanese colonial period that she printed on fabric. She also stitched together color photographs to make a carrying cloth for a bundle. In addition, there is camouflage fabric representing the Korean War, her mother's red scarf, hanbok (traditional women's costume), and shoes. The artist cut some of these items in half to indicate that a part of oneself gets left behind in the native country while the other starts a new life elsewhere. "Mother Load" is about bearing the load of memories her mother transmitted.

"Mother Load" (1996), by Yong Soon Min.

"Mother Load" (1996), by Yong Soon Min.

If you've read the book or seen the movie, "The Garden of the Finzi-Continis," you'll recognize the name Eric Finzi and the objects in his aluminum and glass sculpture. He is a descendant of a family that witnessed the fascist takeover of Italy and that was deported to concentration camps in Germany. Strong memories related through stories told to us by others can become internalized and deeply entangled with our identity and place in the world. As Finzi says, "A story and family memory can assume as much importance as anything that has happened to you. The collective memory can be incredibly powerful." Perhaps this is so because memory is not necessarily voluntary nor dependent on historical facts, but can be a conglomeration of feelings and sensations.

"Tennicycle" (2014), by Eric Finzi.

"Tennicycle" (2014), by Eric Finzi.

Loli Kantor, a photographer based in Fort Worth, Texas, was born in France and grew up in a Holocaust survivor community in Israel. Bernice Eisenstein, a mixed-media artist based in Toronto, also was raised among survivors. On the other hand, Lisa Kokin is not a child of survivors, yet watching film footage of Holocaust victims as a child in Long Island, New York, traumatized her as though she, too, could experience the horrors. She has spent a great deal of her artistic career confronting the fears that were embedded by what people she never knew had endured. "Inventory," her mixed-media gut installation on two walls, is composed of more than 1,000 scraps of cloth and paper, earrings, buttons, and other small found items that comprise the lives of such individuals. Kokin created it after visiting the Buchenwald concentration camp, where she saw piles of humble objects left behind by those who were killed. She says that her artwork is a way to process information. Though it doesn't entirely eradicate the terror, it does help. She believes it's her responsibility as an artist to address past events of import so that future generations can place them in an appropriate context. All of these artists are using their work to oppose the unfortunate tendency toward cultural amnesia.

"Inventory" (1997), by Lisa Kokin.

"Inventory" (1997), by Lisa Kokin.

Detail of "Inventory" (1997), by Lisa Kokin.

Detail of "Inventory" (1997), by Lisa Kokin.

Although raised on the outskirts of Buenos Aires, Silvina Der-Meguerditchian had four grandparents who were Armenian refugees. When her uncle approached her with her grandmother's suitcase and said he'd throw it out if she didn't take it, she found a treasure trove of documents and photographs. She knew this was her connection to the many people who were part of her heritage, people spread far out from their homeland. She decided to knit them all together by crocheting the photographs with wool to create the "carpets" she calls "Family I and Family II." They're a reconstruction of something old and something new, a way to recover a sense of belonging that she felt had been taken away from her.

"Family I and Family II," by Silvina Der-Meguerditchian.

"Family I and Family II," by Silvina Der-Meguerditchian.

Detail of "Family I and Family II," by Silvina Der-Meguerditchian.

Detail of "Family I and Family II," by Silvina Der-Meguerditchian.

My final images are of a rug cooperatively woven of 2,000 silk ties in the village of Kalavryta, Greece. Foutini Gouseti, born in Athens but now based in Rotterdam, heard a story from an old man who was only a boy during World War II. In 1943, the entire male population over the age of 14 was executed and the town destroyed by the Nazis. Only women and children survived in ruins, partly through international relief efforts. The boy was sent to pick up and bring home what was designated for them. When his mother opened the big package, rather than badly needed food and clothing, she found 2,000 silk ties. For the boy, this was a happy memory because of the many bright colors during such a dark time. For the mother, it was not the hoped-for relief. Not knowing what else to do with the ties, she wove a traditional kourelou carpet. The old man remembers that they were starving and freezing, but they could walk and sit on silk. Gouseti's Kalavryta 2012 is a contemporary recreation of the one that was made from the strange gift of ties.

"Kalavryta 2012," by Fotini Gouseti.

"Kalavryta 2012," by Fotini Gouseti.

Detail of "Kalavryta 2012," by Fotini Gouseti.

Detail of "Kalavryta 2012," by Fotini Gouseti.

While the exhibit title refers to a phrase found in word and song in Jewish practice: l’dor vador—the call to pass tradition from one generation to another--the exhibit itself embraces many historical events of different cultures. Who could have anticipated that this phrase would eventually take the form of passing on memories from generations that actually experienced dreadful events?

Questions and Comments:
What memories have you inherited about experiences that are not your own? Have you incorporated them in your artwork and, if so, how?

French writer Marcel Proust (1871-1922) is famous for pointing out how our senses trigger memories. Dipping a madeleine into a cup of tea--the smells wafting into his nostrils--unleashed a flood of memories that became his 7-part novel, À la recherche du temps perdu(Remembrance of Things Past). Has something similar happened to you? Did you turn those memories into some form of art?

*Note: To view the conversation that was started on the former Weebly site of this blog and add your comment, click here or to start a new conversation, click "Comment" below.

What's It Made Of?

In my last post, I said I'd continue with "What's universal?" next time, but I'm going to interject something different between the two parts because of a small exhibit I just saw at the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco. In some ways, it recalls contemporary Japanese basketry shows that I have viewed in the last few years. [See images in 11/8/2014 post.] The baskets were, in no way, functional but purely sculptural.

"The Sculptural Turn: Contemporary Japanese Ceramics" focuses on a generation of Japanese potters following World War II. They moved from functional forms such as vases and tea-ware to sculptural ceramics as well as from apprenticeships to university studies. They are clearly engaged in a conversation with art movements since the second half of the 20th century. This group also includes the first Japanese women to distinguish themselves in what has been a historically male field. These clay artists have gone beyond tradition and convention by innovating works in exciting, often organic, shapes and textures while still employing time-hallowed materials and techniques with great finesse.

One of the things that I found fascinating about the works in "The Sculptural Turn" is that they don't appear to be made of clay. Each one I gazed at reminded me of some other material. For example, up close, the piece above, "Untitled" (2009) by Ogawa Machiko, looks like meringue. It is actually stoneware and porcelain with pooling glass. In the exhibit catalogue, she explains, "It is my passion for the earth that drives my continual search for the essential in art. The vessel form, with both interior and exterior space, enables me to best pursue this quest--it is not about making vases. Rather, I am inspired by the concept of emptiness within the whole."

When I looked at "Moment in White C" (2012) by Fujino Sachiko, I immediately thought of strips of felt. Yet it, too, is stoneware, with a matte glaze. Not surprising is the fact that this artist worked as a fashion designer and fabric dyer in Kyoto before she studied with pioneering female ceramicist Tsuboi Asuka in the 1980s. 

The third one could be petrified wood covered in fungus. "Untitled" (2012) by Futamura Yoshimi is a combination of stoneware and porcelain. She blends the two to achieve the collapsed rugged form.

In the fourth image, the upper piece struck me as rusted metal and the lower piece as coral, but again they're not. "Mindscape" or "Kei" (2014) by Mihara Ken is multi-fired stoneware. The artist considers it his job "to help the clay express its beauty. Clay leads, and my hands follow. I do not know what shape my work work is going to end up even while I am making it...Once in the fire, the piece is no longer mine--it has its own life and resolution."
"Tentacles Sea Flower" (2013) by Katsumata Chieko is chamotte-encrusted stoneware with glaze.

Another organic shape is "Quiet Submersion" or "Shizukani Shizumu" (2014) by Hattori Makiko. It is made of porcelain but, rather than being smooth, it has a delicate almost barnacle-like texture. She has said of her work that she would be happy if viewers were drawn into it because of the visual and tactile impact of the surface before seeking an explanation of what she has created. She also explains that her process is incessantlyrepetitive, but she doesn't tire of "this Zen-like operation." Instead, she confronts it "with a very relaxed transcendent state of mind." The smaller work above "Quiet Submersion" is "Plant Growth" (2015) by Fujikasa Satoko, stoneware with matte glaze.

The exhibit contains more pieces from the Kempner and Stein Collection, but the images here should give you an idea of some of the thrilling leaps Japanese ceramicists have made. If you're in the Bay Area, go have a look for yourself. I'm not a potter but, as a textile artist, I can't help but appreciate the textural qualities I saw and be inspired.

Questions and Comments:
As an artist in one medium, what other mediums do you find inspiring?
In your own artwork, how do the materials you work with give the impression of being something else?

*Note: To view the conversation that was started on the former Weebly site of this blog and add your comment, click here or to start a new conversation, click "Comment" below.

The Museum as Art Itself #2

Last year, I was so enamored with the Miho Museum in Japan that I posted about my general experience rather than about the particular art pieces inside it. This year, I found myself responding to Museum SAN (Space Art Nature) in South Korea in a similar way. In both cases, as well as when I visited the island of Naoshima in Japan's Seto Inland Sea (2012), it is all about the environment and how the architect worked with the site to create art that, in turn, houses art.

Museum SAN is located in a beautiful natural setting that is regularly transformed by the four seasons. The closest city is Wonju, Gangwon Province, approximately 87 miles east of Seoul. Oak Valley, a golf resort, is the backdrop in this view from the rear of the building dedicated to space-light installations by American artist James Turrell. Opened to the public only three years ago, the museum complex was designed by Tadao Ando, a Japanese master of minimalist architecture and "critical regionalism." He says of this project:

I always wished to create a place that could provide the 'energy for life'— nourishment for the mind that will last even when one becomes a hundred years old, restoring the energy to children to run and shout for joy in nature, who had lost their vitality overstressed by the cramming educational regime. Therefore I did not want to build an ordinary museum that is like a silent box, and this site was a perfect spot for realizing my plan.

Although not far from Seoul, getting to Oak Valley was not a simple hop, skip, and a jump except by car. In fact, I wanted to go there during my trip to Korea last year, but couldn't work out the logistics. Thanks to a friend living there, it was an easy and lovely outing this year.

Getting to the ultimate view in the photo above entailed a process of moving along walkways and through gardens from the minute we arrived.

After paying the entry fees, we followed the signs to visit each part of the museum complex, such as the sculpture garden, where we walked around to view the different sculptures, surprisingly all by Western artists.

"Temple" (1990), by Anthony Caro.

"Temple" (1990), by Anthony Caro.

"Realization of a Dream" (1994), by Mark di Suvero.

"Realization of a Dream" (1994), by Mark di Suvero.

"Untitled" (1995), by Joel Shapiro.

"Untitled" (1995), by Joel Shapiro.

We emerged from the garden and onto the path leading to the museum building.

Sculpture by Mark Di Suvero.

Sculpture by Mark Di Suvero.

As we walked along, we passed a woodland and got a glimpse of what was ahead of us.

Around the walls and on the way to the museum's entrance, we came across the introduction of water as an essential element in the overall design.

"Archway" (1998), by Alexander Liberman.

"Archway" (1998), by Alexander Liberman.

I was especially attracted to the entryway because of the constantly changing secondary abstract art created in the "infinity" pools filled with pebbles. Depending on where the light is casting shadows, the images provide inspiration for one's own artwork. The formation of interesting shapes and angles is a factor throughout the complex.

Once inside, there are more visual treats in the rectangular, triangular, and round spaces.

Through horizontal slits in the walls, you can barely glimpse the Triangular Court, with a water sculpture by Eric Orr set amidst rocks that moved with each step we took. Inside, the lines of the concrete planes shifted according to position.

A romantic spot viewed from an opening.

Inside the building, there is an exhibit of modern Korean paintings as well as the Hansol Paper Gallery, which recounts the history of paper and displays traditional Korean paper products (case for thread, brush stand, chamber pot, clothes wardrobe, and more) and book covers. Each section is worth its own post. Here are only two examples of what's in the paper exhibition, which was almost without any light, I suppose in order to preserve the objects.

Paper sewing box.

Paper sewing box.

Chamber pot made of paper.

Chamber pot made of paper.

Kyŏngju: royal tombs of the Silla. Photo by Janet Wishnetsky/Comstock, Inc. Source: www.britannica.com

Kyŏngju: royal tombs of the Silla. Photo by Janet Wishnetsky/Comstock, Inc. Source: www.britannica.com

Next, we leave the museum building and enter the Stone Garden, en route to James Turrell's installations. This area was inspired by the royal tombs of the Silla and Unified Silla Kingdom (1st c. BCE - 10th c. CE).

"Couple on Two Benches" (1985), by George Segal.

"Couple on Two Benches" (1985), by George Segal.

More sculptures set in the stone garden amidst trees turning color.

"Willy" (1962), by Tony Smith.

"Willy" (1962), by Tony Smith.

"Undetermined Line" (1992), by Bernar Venet.

"Undetermined Line" (1992), by Bernar Venet.

You might wonder why I'm including the following signs rather than images of Turrell's work. No photography is allowed inside, only outside. I'm not sure why except that being in these installations is a multi-sensory experience that can't be captured by a picture alone. Sometimes the effect was so disorienting that I felt dizzy. There were even minders to make sure we didn't drop off an edge that appeared to be the floor meeting a wall, but wasn't. In fact, despite all the photos in this post, it is undeniable that being somewhere--walking, hearing, seeing, smelling, feeling--can't be replaced by photos. But if you can't get there, I hope that these give a sense of what a wonderful place Museum SAN is to visit.

Questions & Comments:
What places of art have you found noteworthy?
What about them made you consider them exceptional--the architecture, natural environment, sensibility in weaving together different elements?

*Note: To view the conversation that was started on the former Weebly site of this blog and add your comment, click here or to start a new conversation, click "Comment" below.

Exploring the New SF MOMA

Last Sunday, I finally had an opportunity to visit the newly expanded and greatly transformed Museum of Modern Art in San Francisco (SF MOMA). Given what I discussed in my July 6th post about how much we can/cannot take in during a museum visit, I kept in mind what several readers and I agreed on: If you eat from the whole smörgåsbord, count on getting indigestion! With seven floors devoted to art, the museum has enough to keep you there for days. I limited myself and felt joyful when I walked out, eager to explore other galleries next time. I'm keen on discovering places and art I haven't seen yet.

Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco, CA. Photo by Henrik Kam. Source: https://www.sfmoma.org/

Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco, CA. Photo by Henrik Kam. Source: https://www.sfmoma.org/

I love the "new" museum. It is not only more spacious (the galleries alone have gone from 70,000 to 170,00 sq. ft), but also filled with more natural light along with views of the neighborhood. Terraces now invite you to walk outside among sculptures with a garden wall as backdrop. I appreciated being able to get fresh air in the presence of real plants and Alexander Calder's work. Whereas the "old" museum felt closed in, the latest incarnation feels open.

Maquette for "Trois Disques" (Three Disks), formerly "Man" (1967), by Alexander Calder. Pat and Bill Wilson Sculpture Terrace, floor 3, Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Maquette for "Trois Disques" (Three Disks), formerly "Man" (1967), by Alexander Calder.
Pat and Bill Wilson Sculpture Terrace, floor 3, Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

The Living Wall is a wonderful addition for its greenery, its environmental consciousness, and its connection to art. The largest of its kind in the United States (almost 30 feet high and 150 feet wide), it was designed by Habitat Horticulture. The approximately 20,000 plants of 37 different species (40 percent of which are native to the state and the San Francisco Bay Area) are irrigated by a recycled water system. And the wall is stabilized by felt made from recycled water bottles and polyester. Visitors were lining up in front of it to take photos of each other.

"Big Crinkly" (1969), by Alexander Calder. Pat and Bill Wilson Sculpture Terrace, floor 3, Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

"Big Crinkly" (1969), by Alexander Calder. Pat and Bill Wilson Sculpture Terrace, floor 3,
Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

The galleries have everything, even items that some might not consider art at first glance (even at second and third glances!). No matter, for wherever I walk, whether inside or outside, what I see first are shapes, forms, and flow lines. I saw lots of them and, of course, color, as I went from room to room or out to a terrace. I was surprised by artwork I don't remember viewing at SF MOMA prior to the expansion, perhaps because they couldn't be accommodated in the old setting or because they're recent additions.

"In Winter Burrows" (1985), by Martin Puryear. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

"In Winter Burrows" (1985), by Martin Puryear.
Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

"Two Plus Seven" (2004) by Martin Puryear. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

"Two Plus Seven" (2004) by Martin Puryear.
Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Richard Serra's "Sequence" is particularly striking in size, shape, and texture (waterproof steel). Raised in San Francisco, as a teenager, Serra worked in steel mills in the East Bay. I stepped around and through "Sequence" as though I were traversing a canyon. Serra has said, "I found very important the idea of the body passing through space, and the body's movement not being predicated totally on image or sight or optical awareness, but on physical awareness in relation to space, place, time, movement."

The sheer vastness of the two torqued ellipses connected by an S-shape is awesome. I learned that Serra and a German steel fabrication plant have collaborated for nearly twenty years to develop both the machinery and manufacturing areas that are capable of creating such large-scale complex forms. "Sequence" was the first artwork to be set in SF MOMA's new building; then exterior walls were erected around it.

"Sequence" (2006), by Richard Serra. Floor 1, Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

"Sequence" (2006), by Richard Serra. Floor 1, Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

"Sequence" (2006), by Richard Serra. Floor 1, Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

"Sequence" (2006), by Richard Serra. Floor 1, Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

My immediate impression of Ellsworth Kelly's "Spectrum Colors Arranged by Chance" was to wonder whether he'd been inspired by scrap quilts. The title card explains that, when he found a bunch of colorful gummed paper squares, he turned them into a series of gridded collages by randomly selecting the colors. One of them became the basis for the oil painting below. According to the museum's description, chance techniques kept Kelly "from following any conscious or subconscious guidelines for balance in these compositions. The unexpected color juxtapositions break down any clear distinction between figure and ground, a disruption that Kelly found fruitful and would soon make a central concern of his work." His intention was for viewers not to analyze or interpret his work but to experience its structure, color, and surrounding space instinctively, physically.

"Spectrum Colors Arranged by Chance" (1951-1953), by Ellsworth Kelly. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

"Spectrum Colors Arranged by Chance" (1951-1953), by Ellsworth Kelly. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Detail of "Spectrum Colors Arranged by Chance" (1951-1953), by Ellsworth Kelly, Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Detail of "Spectrum Colors Arranged by Chance" (1951-1953), by Ellsworth Kelly,
Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Accustomed to Kelly's rectangular or square colorful paintings, I wasn't aware that he was one of the first artists to create irregularly shaped canvases, some of which I saw at SF MOMA.

Ellsworth Kelly Gallery, Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Ellsworth Kelly Gallery, Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Quite a few of Gerhard Richter's paintings remind me of lovely fiber art that has been dyed, painted, and otherwise manipulated in interesting ways. When I came upon "Geäst" (Branches), I overheard two women on a bench discussing what they imagined could be reflections in a forest stream or pond.

"Geäst" (Branches), by Gerhard Richter, 1988. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

"Geäst" (Branches), by Gerhard Richter, 1988. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Detail of "Geäst" (Branches), by Gerhard Richter, 1988. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Detail of "Geäst" (Branches), by Gerhard Richter, 1988. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Although I'm not much inclined toward figurative art, "Walking Man #2" by Nathan Oliveira made me pause because of its intense texturing and mood. Questions arose in my mind about what's possibly going on with this man: Where was he walking? What was he feeling? The landscape seems so stark, the emotions dark. Along with Richard Diebenkorn and others, Oliveira was part of the development of the Bay Area Figurative style.

"Walking Man #2" (1959), by Nathan Oliveira. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

"Walking Man #2" (1959), by Nathan Oliveira. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Detail of "Walking Man #2" (1959), by Nathan Oliveira. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Detail of "Walking Man #2" (1959), by Nathan Oliveira. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

One of the things that amazes me about abstract art is how much non-literal work can convey something we know and feel in our environment. To create the rhythm and surf-like pattern of "Three Pointed Waterfall," Pat Steir smeared and hurled white paint onto a black-washed canvas. Because I wasn't familiar with her work, I did a bit of reasearch and learned that John Cage and Agnes Martin were long-time mentors in her ongoing search for the essence of painting. Cage taught her the importance of egoless “non-doing” and the role of chance. Martin conveyed how an artist invests his/her spirit into a work. So Steir poured the paint, let it flow downward along its own unpredictable path, keeping herself out of it by allowing gravity, time, and the environment to decide the result. A blending of Buddhism and Taoism?

"Three Pointed Waterfall" (1990), by Pat Steir. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

"Three Pointed Waterfall" (1990), by Pat Steir. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Detail of "Three Pointed Waterfall" (1990), by Pat Steir. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Detail of "Three Pointed Waterfall" (1990), by Pat Steir. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

I remember an exhibit of Ruth Asawa's work at SF MOMA years ago. of which I have the catalogue. I was glad to see some of her delicate yet strong fiber art is still there.The shadows they cast are like a secondary intangible work.

"Untitled" (S.114, ca. 1958), by Ruth Asawa. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

"Untitled" (S.114, ca. 1958), by Ruth Asawa. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Detail of "Untitled" (S.114, ca. 1958), by Ruth Asawa. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Detail of "Untitled" (S.114, ca. 1958), by Ruth Asawa. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

I enjoyed coming across more fiber art after a sea of paintings, drawings, and metal or wood sculptures. The textile collage below, with brass, thread, and wood, is by Romanian artist Greta Bræsecu. On the title card, I read that it is "the capstone" to a series of abstract compositions which she produced over a period of six years, in which the Greek myth of priestess-sorceress Medea "becomes a metaphor of creation through defiance and subversive transformation." An fascinating point about Bræsecu's life is that she did not leave communist Romania while other intellectuals were fleeing. She managed to express radical ideas by using handcraft-like techniques and simple gestures that avoided scrutiny for ideological content. Who knows, maybe the apparatchiks figured that a woman working with cloth was more domestic than political!

"Metabola" (1981), by Greta Bræsecu. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

"Metabola" (1981), by Greta Bræsecu. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Detail of "Metabola" (1981), by Greta Bræsecu. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Detail of "Metabola" (1981), by Greta Bræsecu. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Because male artists and white artists still predominate, I noted when a work belonged to a woman or a person of color. Sadly, I didn't find equality, though Diane Arbus has a room devoted to her photography and Agnes Martin has a small alcove of paintings. There are large canvases by Joan Mitchell and Lee Krasner and a self-portrait of Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera by Kahlo. Perhaps the floors I've not yet visited will reveal more art by Asian, Hispanic, African, and African-American artists.

Detail of "Harm's Way" (1987) by Joan Mitchell. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Detail of "Harm's Way" (1987) by Joan Mitchell. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

"Harm's Way" (1987), by Joan Mitchell. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

"Harm's Way" (1987), by Joan Mitchell. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

On the other hand, I was glad to notice that at SF MOMA fiber art is integrated into various areas according to artistic movements or periods rather than segregated from the so-called fine arts. This makes me hopeful for textile art in general, especially because the fifth floor, which I didn't reach, has a major fiber piece. Claudy Jongstra of the Netherlands was commissioned to create a site-specific mural installation in a transitional space between the white-walled galleries and the outdoor rooftop garden. On a lower floor, I watched a video interview with her about the entire process involved--from tending a flock of Europe's oldest breed of sheep (Drenthe Heath) for their high-quality wool through natural plant dyeing and felting. I look forward to seeing the finished product on my next visit.

SF MOMA's holdings are greater than 33,000 works of art and design. All I could and wanted to do was focus on a few galleries on a few floors. Although I have lots more photos to share, I'll end here with arguably the most unexpected experience. Opening the door into the Ladies' Room reminded me of stepping into a color-filled James Turrell elevator at another museum. Every inch of SF MOMA is dedicated to art in one way or another!

Ladies' Room at the Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Ladies' Room at the Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco.

Questions & Comments:
Even if you're not a fan of modern art, what can you cite as interesting, intriguing, or challenging about it?
If you are a lover of modern art, what about it floats your boat?

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