Southern Architecture

Clinton Library, Little Rock, AR. all photos courtesy the author.

Kevin and I had some whiplash moments during our Southern tour. We left St. Louis and headed to Little Rock, Arkansas, to see the Clinton Library. A very chatty guard was pleased to tell us that, when in town, the Clintons stay on an apartment on top of this building. (See the slight roof-line on top?)

Should we know that? I asked him how they got up there--through the Library? Kevin said I shouldn't have asked so many questions. But what director wants a bunch of beefy Secret Security guys barging in at all hours of the day and night? I vote for an exterior elevator.

















Scale West Wing Office.

Best room in the library: this scale model of the President's office. Made me think of Martin Sheen.

For every grand building we saw there was a tenfold volume of buildings that speak of economic decay. For every suspicious thing I've heard or seen about the South, in television, print or the movies, we saw inspiring spaces. For every hardscrabble burg we passed through we saw signs of incredible strength and human glory.






















Central High, Little Rock.

What a grand building this is! I never saw the footage of the forced integration of American schools while in school in Canada so had no real idea of what the Little Rock 9 went through to get into this school. The National Parks Service building across the street had poignant, pointed footage on the racial divide that happened right there. The neighborhood around the school? Neglected, degraded. I wonder why?

















Beer Can House, Houston.

I talked my family into taking an eating break to go to the Beer Can House (oh, we did do things other than eat and watch movies!) This lovely piece of folk art is trapped between two hideous apartment complexes--who's got the worse view, hmmm? I love the quirky quality of this kind of endeavor, even if it implies the author loved his six pack, just like Hank Hill.






















Lower Ninth Ward homes.

While in New Orleans we went looking for the Brad Pitt-sponsored homes in the Lower Ninth Ward. Above, one of the houses that reinterprets the architectural vernacular of the region.

















Old Lower Ninth Ward home.

As charming and playful as the new homes are, the area is still strewn with these former residential spaces. I would say 70% of the area is empty. Who is helping here, and why does much of the rest of New Orleans look similarly like ruins?

















Downtown Jackson, Mississippi.

Never thought I'd be in Mississippi. The city fathers bulldozed their old downtown places just as efficiently as did towns across the country. This block cringes in the shadow of the larger corporate spaces around it--will these poor lost buildings be saved, or sacrificed, in this latest round of economic downturn? Hard not to think of the Great Depression, or even William Christenberry, when going through this area.

















Lorraine Motel, Memphis.

The National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis embraces the Lorraine Motel where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. When open, visitors can actually go into the rooms above, where King and his associates were staying. Across the street you can stand in the (assumed) location where the murderer stood.

It was haunting to be put in the place of the real protagonists in this pivotal moment of American history. What other artifacts could convey this trauma other than the real spaces where real bodies reside?

The second part of the museum, located on the "bad" (aka murderous) side of the street, explored the various controversies around the King assassination. Mafia, CIA, crackpots all are implicated. (I was shocked to learn that Ray, a Missouri State Penitentiary escapee, had fake Canadian passports to help him move around more easily. How could he NOT have had help?)

It was a very moving experience to see this museum and read a narrative that was bracing and pointed about the social issues swirling around at the time. Hard not to compare and contrast today's society with the issues King was fighting--entrenched poverty, class discrimination, etc... Moving and tough.

















Elvis basement.

What better to wash away Southern grit than with Southern flair? Elvis's home was not the McMansion I thought it would be. That his "man cave", above, was in the basement is astounding given Elvis's international reach. The large but, by today's standards, small crib is a testament to not over-spending--on your home, anyway!

Architecture is the thing that we all live in, whether we pay attention to it or not. Architecture is the first one up, the last one down in a good / bad economy. That these experiences were not a flush or over-bearing visual stimulation but rather sought-out experiences tells us about the lack of density in the South. Perhaps it's a good thing that these communities have not over-built--perhaps that temerity is what will save them.

Signs of LA

Oliver Michaels Museum Postcards, Shoshana Wayne Gallery, March 6 - April 3, 2010. All pictures are by the author.

I was in LA last weekend for some architecture business and had the chance to drive around the city and see some sights.

Some sights!

Oliver Michaels's show at Shoshana Wayne made me and deep peep Laura Esposito laugh out loud (how often does that happen in a gallery in a good way?) Michaels animates postcards of classic objects from museums around the globe, and creates situation comedies that are ominous or ruinous, political or sentimental. He plays off of the political contexts of these sculptures and replaces them with mostly specious pop culture overtones. What a great critique of our formal fetishization of historical objects.

















Laura E. inside Bengston's recreation (although that furniture is new).

Bill Al Bengston's show A Re-Creation of the Ferus Space (Not Exactly but Close to Scale) and other work at Samuel Freeman Gallery (the old Patty Faure space in Bergamot station) brought back my years spent at the Newport Harbor Art Museum [NHAM]. Bengston's iconic chevrons and hearts, and a surprising graphic painting of an i, were a great surprise. Even though I'm not a huge fan of Bengston's work, that he is re-placing himself within the Ferus canon is interesting, and that the gallery allowed him to burn candles under those works is astonishing. Is this reification or R.I.P? Given how LA's art world is so well-known now, who can blame Bengston for wanting a bigger slice of the historical pie?






















Noted LA-based video artist Diana Thater had a beautiful installation Between Science and Magic at the Santa Monica Museum of Art. Thater films magician Greg Wilson pulling a rabbit out of a hat, over and over again and from many different angles. The film you see here was then screened at the Los Angeles Theatre, a lavish memorial to the importance film has had for the arts and for Los Angeles. Film, and now video, truly pull tricks out of nowhere (I'm thinking Rocky and Bullwinkle though!) A lovely work.

















Then off to Redondo Beach and a Sunday morning walk in Palos Verdes where we saw the "other" LA freeway in action!

















I spent four years at the NHAM thinking about the history of the visual arts in California. What was always clear to me--having moved to LA from NY--was that the many great schools, artists who stayed and plenty of intellectual room has given rise to one of the best artist communities on earth. LA has a unique combination of factors that mostly have nothing to do with the cliches of sand, swim and surf.

Every smaller city in America needs to find their own unique combination--what will ours in STL be?

Great Architecture into Great Museum Part III

This is the final in a three-part series by architect Eddie Jones on the topic we’ve been debating for years: Has there ever been a museum with the courage and sophistication to combine both “great architecture” and “great museum”?

Eddie Jones:
In Fort Worth, Texas, you will find THE museum. There is a large, tree shaded, grass covered park. Crossing the park—soft steps, birds singing—you approach a gravel court, passing under a tree canopy and find a composition of sixteen large concrete vaults.

















image courtesy the blogger

This is the Kimbell Art Museum, designed in 1972 by Louis Kahn. The Kimbell is considered the touchstone of art museums by which all others, new and old, are measured. The architecture is simple, repetitive, functional and most importantly, beautiful. People will go see the Kimbell regardless of the collection. No one can attend an exhibition and ignore the building. Generally everyone of any age, income, or education level will leave knowing they have had an unforgettable experience. The curators are happy, fundraisers never break a sweat, Fort Worth and Texas covet the bragging rights. Believe me, there is not an architect alive who would not honor this building.

Fortunately there are other excellent examples of architecture daring to be great, yet not at the expense of art exhibition. Many of the best museums are from the hand of Renzo Piano--The Menil Collection and Twombly Gallery, Houston (Texas again!); the Nasher Sculpture Center, Dallas; and the Chicago Art Institute expansion.

Typically a new museum is commissioned by a municipality, foundation, institution or private patron. Apparently, there exists a misconception one has to make one of only two choices: between iconic, knock-your-socks-off architecture, or a program which recedes so the art projects. Frankly I am all for diversity! America is defined by diversity and we can never have too many museums, and we are in no danger of too much architecture. So bring it on!

Perhaps the rarity of another Kimbell makes the accomplishment that much more valuable. However, the aspiration remains the worthiest of goals, one to which I am intellectually aligned.

Marilu response:
Eddie raises some really important issues for me. What is the niche, core business of a museum in today's multi-media world? How do museums become as dynamic and interactive as the other entertainment options available to us today? How do new theories in visual literacy help our field understand our changing role within our communities?

When I visit museums I have many experiences, intellectual, physical, emotional, aural. How does the space embrace or reject me; what decisions have they made to foreground free, public access versus an immediate jump into the business end of the place, the galleries? How do all the art forms work together, or are traditional material separations kept in order? The answer depends on the type of museum you have, but often, non-aesthetic concerns swamp the delicate nature of space and art so that both seem compromised.

I was at the Kimbell in the spring for my first visit. After everything I had hear and read about the building I was somewhat disappointed--I've been trained to want bigger and better, shame on me!

While it was clear the space was elegant and well calibrated, I found the spaces overhung and ticky-tackied up with temporary panels holding one work each. I was thrilled to see the "new" Michelangelo panel, and loved the "for adults only" section of the "Love in the Renaissance" show (I had never heard of a birth tray before). Overall, however, the museum building should work on concert with the art works contained therein, and even the Kimbell felt pressed upon to give the appropriate honor to its objects. Even a glorious building can fail if its primary function--to celebrate and frame art--is overwhelmed by other issues.

This, ultimately, is the crux of my point with Eddie--the museum building still must serve its intended purpose, or it might just as well be a hotel or supermarket. While the other museums he mentioned have many great works of art and real iconic presence, they seem beholden to the Kahn.

Which museums, then, DO I like, for their chaos or control, their illumination or their modesty?

The Beyeler Foundation in Basel. The Museum of Contemporary Art, Detroit. The Louvre, Paris. The Coptic Museum, Cairo. The Broad Foundation, Santa Monica. A fancy one in Seoul whose name I can't remember, and I imagine the new contemporary space in Beirut is crisp in its elegant simplicity. Each is what it truly is, a product of its place and time.

Compare and Contrast: Museum vs. Casino

both images copyright: Potawatomi Bingo Casino

The post by Eddie Jones has brought to mind a conversation I've been having with architect Will Bruder, who, in addition to creating glorious, green buildings around the region and the globe, studied sculpture at UW-Milwaukee. Will and I have talked about the impact of buildings on a city's pride of place, and the intriguing comparison between the aesthetics, ethics and economics of the Milwaukee Art Museum and the Potawatomi Nation's Bingo Casino.

Briefly: The Milwaukee Art Museum's delicate Santiago Calatrava addition budget started at $35 million and ended up at $120 million (they added the brise soleil, parking lot and formal gardens). It took years to pay off the debt, there's been great turnover in staff, and in the meantime, caused great financial stress on other non-profit organizations in the city, whose own donations dropped as a result.

While everyone might agree that the building has become the spectacular icon as intended, the "Bilbao" effect (iconic building drives economic prosperity in the region) came to life in the U.S.

But some larger questions remain: what is happening inside the building, is the space used effectively enough, has this landed spacecraft had a ripple effect in the arts community, etc...

By contrast, when the Potawatomi Nation was allowed to build a casino in the Menomonee river valley, a former industrial site used by tanneries in the 19th and 20th centuries, there was a sense that the tribe was getting bum land. People fought against the Casino in downtown Milwaukee, couched in anti-gambling rhetoric but often with a soupcon of something else. An article in the local weekly paper had an interesting observation: We have taken from the Native Americans what is most important to them--their land--and they are taking away from us what is most important to us--our money. The history of treatment of Native tribes in the state became an issue in this building.

Once the Casino was up--$120 million of their own money--the city realized how in-fill in the valley would connect the disconnected parts of the commercial corridor of the city. All of a sudden, former Wisconsin Governor Tommy Thompson wanted to up the taxes on the casino, beyond what had been negotiated before and with other Casinos. When in-coming Governor Jim Doyle, however, was willing to renew, and renegotiate, the Tribe's compact on the land, the Potawatomi announced they would double the space of the casino, another cool $120 million from their own coffers. The Tribe handled their own resources and has played a leading role in the revitalization of the entire area.

What struck me in this story was the similar budgets between the high-end, arch modernist building of the Calatrava addition and the for-profit, low-end, also modernist block of the Casino.

Is MAM suffering an "edifice" complex (I used this phrase well before the book came out): gorgeous exterior, empty interior? (In my medieval art history class they called this the butter tax, and affected buildings such as Notre Dame--the wealthy would give for above-ground building, not for substructure construction, which is why the church has had foundation problems). Despite a constant stream of good shows, the program has never been able to get out from under the shadow of the shell. Should architecture dominate what art museums do?














The Potawatomi Bingo Casino, on the other hand, has lots of content--gambling, restaurants, entertainment, and has continued as a hot bed of economic activity and tax dollars for the state.

Ultimately, what is intriguing in this building comparison is the schism that exists in public dialogue about the role buildings play in our image of self and community, and how people with different concerns and goals try to control that image. We, as citizens, typically have little to say in what is built in the environment, but we have a lot to gain or lose if we aren't more vocal in issues concerning our urban environment.

Great Architecture into Great Museum

As part of my on-going series where I invite friends to write about contemporary art, I have invited architect Eddie Jones to finally put into writing the discussion we’ve had over the years regarding museums we like / don’t like, and why Frank Lloyd Wright made it tough for curators to work with spaces (this, you must understand, is blasphemy here in Phoenix.)

This is the first in a three-part series “Has there ever been a museum with the courage and sophistication to combine both “great architecture” and “great museum”?” completed by Eddie on a flight between New York and Charlotte on August 5, 2009. To his notes I will append a few thoughts.

Eddie Jones is the founding principle of Jones Studio, Inc., and together with his rakish brother Neal Jones and a staff of smart, funny architects and designers, have created elegant, soaring public and private buildings.

I did a project, one of my favorite ever, with Jones Studio at SMoCA, several years ago. When Jones Studio came to visit SMoCA for a site visit I remember saying to them that we'd love to do a show with them but I disliked architecture shows, they are rather dull, and a museum needs to be about life.

The entire studio moved into the gallery and worked for four months, during which time they engaged with the deliberate, and hapless, audiences who wandered in. I've never seen a museum space so energized and vibrant, and together we tried to understand what this experience meant for museum practice as it intersects with architectural practice.

This series is a result of our talking about what we like about museums, and whose fault is it if they don't work.

















image copyright: http://museumarchitecture.org

Eddie Jones:

“Architecture, of all the arts, is the one which acts the most slowly, but the most surely, on the soul.” – Ernest Dimnet, The Art of Thinking

Yes, my art buddies, architecture is art. In fact, only when a building achieves the elusive quality of art can it be described as architecture. If I really want to piss you off, I can argue it is the most difficult of art forms because it necessarily involves the responsibility of human habitation and, as it has been said, “Architects have to leave their work out in the rain!”

Therefore, I find the programmatic intersection of art and architecture, i.e. the art museum, to be a fascinating challenge and an opportunity to explore the relationship of museum visitor, curator, artist and architect.

The Guggenheim Museum is currently celebrating its 50th anniversary, appropriately with a Frank Lloyd Wright exhibition of drawings and models. Much has been written about the extraordinary original drawings and the buildings, which changed the course of American architectural history.

The Guggenheim, like it or not, remains a remarkable and unique way to experience a one-of-a-kind art museum. Study the circulation diagram: few remember Wright’s intention to take people to the top level, allowing a slow, thoughtful decent along the famous spiraling ramp. As of this writing, it was only a few hours ago I spent the morning reveling in the drawings and exhilarating space of Guggenheim.

However, the curating was weak and uninspired. For example, upon entering the rotunda, people were immediately directed “up” the ramp opposite to the architect’s intention.

Hence a dilemma: are curators unable or unwilling to cope with a unique exhibition space OR are architects making the art secondary to a dominant form?

I believe Wright sincerely aspired to connect the act of viewing art with the form of the space to the point that the physical form was a direct result of the exhibition experience. Not only was the circulation augmenting and simplifying movement, it was balanced with a central day-lit point of reference, allowing visitors to see where they had been and where they were going. The display walls were tilted outward and lit from above, not unlike the painter’s easel.

Marilu's counterpoint:
I didn't see the Wright show at the Guggenheim, but like architects, some curators get it, some don't. I am often shocked at curator colleagues who think two-dimensionally about space, where objects are little toys moved around inside a maquette of the space, not taking into account the other elements that come into play between works and between work and audience.

When I moved to New York in the 1980s I visited the Guggenheim and went up to the top and worked my way down, as Wright intended. I felt a little nauseous the whole way, as if I was being sucked into a giant drain. One of my first internships was for Tom Messer, where I did some office work for the reinstallation of the Guggenheim's Justin K. Thannhauser Collection. The space was cramped and dingy, but that is being corrected now.

What we need to consider with the Guggenheim, however, is that Wright was first contacted about the commission in 1943 and the building completed in 1959. The world--and the art world--changed totally in that time, and despite its modern feel, the museum has limitations a Beaux Art classic like the Met does not have. (And no way he could have predicted Museum's extreme fascination with the new).

Still, I always have the feeling while in the museum that Wright preferred small, obedient art works, nothing fussy, nothing dramatic--no scratchy detritus from World War II, no Abstract Expressionism, no Bay Area Funk--just the jewel-like objects in the Guggenheim's vaults.

Frank Lloyd Wright was the first starchitect, the one whose overarching design sensibility freed architects to dominate the discourse about art--a domination many museum curators have to deal with every day.

Favorite Estonian installation

installation of works by Villu Jaanisoo at KUMU Art Museum, Tallinn, Estonia (photo MK)

While fumbling about the lovely but disorienting spaces at the KUMU Art Museum, I found this room.

The artist, the beloved Estonian modern master Villu Jaanisoo, created these busts between the 1920s and 1950s. While the variety of materials and size shifts created a nice coloristic effect, it was the installation itself that really wowed me.

The curator used the tall walls and narrowing, triangular pinch of the gallery to create a dynamic, purposeful installation. That the artist's work from different decades of real vs. historical figures was intermixed reflects how we live our lives--time is jumbled about, eras are unfairly compared, fictional characters play as large a role in our world view as do real people. It is not just the past that affects our present but the future taints our lives today as well.

I don't read Estonian so I can only guess at the notes on the works, and how this artist represents and preserves the Estonian character, but this installation shows that, when curators read space correctly and respond physically to three-dimensional space, their work adds to the conceptual meaning of an art work.

Museum architecture--Lobby

top: © Steven Holl, Nelson Atkins Museum, Kansas City, 2007 (ramp to board room)
middle: Steven Holl's KIASMA Museum of Contemporary Art, Helsinki (photo MK)
bottom: KUMU Art Museum, Estonia, Tallinn (photo MK)

This post follows up on the question I've been asking museum curators--what museums do you like--and conversations with architect friends--what function is the museum building intended to have?

Today's post by Tyler Green concerning the renovations taking at the National Gallery of Art's East Building raises similar questions. The NGA's lobby was never meant to be for art, but rather, as a gathering and orientation space for visitors afraid of museums (this is another topic altogether). That Green suggests that the NGA's new space by I.M. Pei, opened 1978, is modeled on hotel lobby architecture is a snippy quip--and it feels completely justified. The galleries are a jumble, hoping to suggest the diversity and conflict represented by contemporary art itself. So here's the schism: lobby vs. exhibition space--what should an architect prioritize? What do museums prioritize?

Can contemporary architects create a unique museum identity through the lobby? This issue came to mind during my recent trip to Helsinki for the IKT conference. I had the chance to finally see the Museum of Contemporary Art KIASMA, the break-out Steven Holl building of 1998 sited at a central plaza in downtown Helsinki. The soaring lobby entrance was very welcoming for my group, but the experience of the galleries was confusing--the ramps seemed to take you away from the exhibition spaces, rather than connect them. (No wonder the general public is afraid of museums!)

It was surprising to then experience the lobby at the KUMU Art Museum, in Tallinn, Estonia, which holds the largest collection of Estonian art in the world (and, according to the website, the Estonian character is protected there). The building, by Finnish architect Pekka Vapaavuori, is half-buried into the hill to not compete with the palace nearby. While the logic of this is understandable, the resemblance to the Holl KIASMA lobby was beyond astonishing. And this building, too, had the disorienting effect of jumbled, disconnected exhibition spaces--with one exception (stay tuned).

Both these museums bring me to Holl's 2007 Bloch building addition to the Nelson Atkins Museum in Kansas City. Holl's lobby is webbed with a complex pattern of curving ramps found at KIASMA, with one problem: no-one gathers there!

During my two visits (hi mom!) I noticed that people are still drawn either into the original Beaux Arts building or they scuttle quickly through the Holl lobby towards the light at the end of the tunnel, where the galleries are. The space feels antiseptic. One ramp leads to a board room only--and given the volume of space above, this might be the most expensive board room funders have ever paid for. The galleries are much more logical, but it feels like the staff is still trying to fit too many square pictures into this curved space.

No doubt that museums are in crisis, competing with all the other options in an entertainment landscape. If hotels are more legible than museums, you can understand why Pei designed the NGA lobby the way he did. If the arcing lobbies of the Holl and Vapaavuori buildings seek a zen-like feel, does that undermine the excitement the museum wants the visitor to feel? Do we judge the success of a museum by its lobby now? What happens to the spaces for art in new museums?

Let's hear what museums you like!

Museum architecture

Copyright © 2004 Scottsdale Cultural Council - Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art


I just returned from the latest IKT conference in Helsinki / Tallinn, where I met new colleagues, saw some new spaces and posed some new questions about museum spaces.

I've had a lot of conversations with colleagues on the difficulties encountered when dealing with architect-designed spaces that just refuse the art. An architect colleague recently said to me that it's really the curator's fault--when new curatorial teams come on board to a museum, they want to change up the use of space, thereby rendering the space difficult. How to address this issue?

What museums do curators really love? I've had discussions with several architect colleagues in Phoenix--Will Bruder, Eddie Jones, Maria & Matt Salenger, John Meunier--to discuss the function of museum buildings. When talking about the Santiago Calatrava addition to the Milwaukee Art Museum, (hint to MAM--you should play up the building on your website, you're internationally known for it!) for instance, Eddie Jones has stated that the museum was designed to be an icon, first and foremost, and by golly, he's right, Calatrava did his job.

But is it a functional space to display art work? The lobby is loud, they carved a two-dimensional space out of a lovely volume, the articulated ribs on the side are tough for art (and you risk bonking your head!) How do these public spaces function, and for whom?

The picture above is of the Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art, where I spent four years curating exhibitions inside the Will Bruder-designed space. While Bruder followed the proportions of the former $2 movie theater, the space was rich, generous and giving--lots of things can be achieved in the various galleries, all different sizes. Not too much architecture, but enough personality to create an elegant dance. I will add this space to my "buildings I like" list.

Barrel vaults in America

from the top:
Kimbell Art Museum, Louis I. Kahn, 1972
Modern Art Museum Ft. Worth, Tadao Ando, 2002
Nasher Sculpture Garden, Renzo Piano, 2003
outside Dallas Art Museum

Just returned from my trip to Dallas to see Mike and a lot of great art. The Kimbell lived up to its reputation of being a sublime space with many priceless art works, gems from the Renaissance that have landed in the New World as emissaries of beauty and ideals. The most memorable work, however, was a print in the "Art & Love in Renaissance Italy," organized by the Met. The piece was in a small gallery marked with warning signs and depicted a fantastical mythical parade leading an enormous (10 - 12" long!) p**** on a platter towards its gigantic female counterpart. Creepy and funny at the same time.

Next we visited the Modern Art Museum Ft. Worth, whose proportions felt more corporate than sublime, but whose interior galleries, interpenetrated by walls of glass and pools of water, were an elegant counterpart to the lovely, spare installations. (A note: there were a lot of women artists working in the 20th century, it would be nice to see them represented in higher percentages in the collection.)

Sunday morning, Texas, Easter weekend--museums are open, malls are not. The Nasher Sculpture Center was another lovely jewel, and finding the Gaugin sculpture and Brancusi's "The Kiss" in the galleries were my miracles for the day. The Dallas Art Museum's floor plan was confusing, but I loved the juxtaposition of the Mark di Suvero and walking Anubis out front.

At the end of the weekend I felt the presence of Louis Kahn's barrel vaults imposed a subtle, rhythmic order (rippling between the Kimbell, MAMFW and the Nasher), imposing a sense of the chaotic lack of urban planning that rules in Texas. The Kimbell and Nasher buildings and collections almost redeem the state after the last eight years of federal chaos.