My Love-Hate Relationship with the Hirshhorn

Long-time readers of this blog will know that I have issues with the Hirshhorn, the Smithsonian's museum dedicated to modern art.  From its ugly design (I call it the concrete doughnut) to its permanent collection of what my niece calls "silly art," my love-hate relationship with the Hirshhorn is light on the love and heavy on the hate.

An exception to my eye-rolling is the Hirshhorn's two series of videos.  They have one called Directions and one called Black Box.  I don't know the difference between them or how videos are chosen for one series or another, but I'm rarely disappointed with what I see.  The videos are weird, no question, but they are also intriguing or funny or thought-provoking in some way.

Recently, I've been to the Hirshhorn to see three things; two videos and one exhibit.  You can guess my thoughts on these, but I'm setting them down online anyway.

Gravity's Edge is the name of the exhibit I went to see.  It's on the lower level, so happily not one of the Bataan Death March shows you get on the second floor.  Despite the wall notes, I was unable to determine what this show had to do either with gravity or edges.  In fact, the wall notes were so confusing, I think I knew less once I'd finished reading them than I did to start.

The example you see above is by Lynda Benglis, and it's called "Corner Piece."  I would have called it "Spilled Paint," but that's just me.  There are some nice colors in some of this show's offerings, but I can't say they're really worth a trip to the Hirshhorn.

Verdict: You can safely skip this; there's nothing here that I'd run back to see.

On the other hand, there is something worth seeing on the Hirshhorn's lower level.  The latest installment in the Directions series is by Jeremy Deller and it's called "English Magic."  It's billed as being a commentary on quirky Englishness, and since Englishness is pretty quirky, there's plenty to comment on.  The background is a steel orchestra providing music, but the scene morphs to birds of prey, cars being crushed by huge machines (whose movements mimic those of the birds), an inflatable Stonehenge and a parade.

Verdict: It's bizarre, but it's fun.  Come for the music, stay for the inflatable Stonehenge - why don't I have one of those in my back yard...

As Monty Python used to say, "and now for something completely different."  "Los Encargados" which translates to "Those in Charge" is by Santiago Sierra and Jorge Galindo.  It's the latest in the Black Box series.  It's a video of several black Mercedes-Benz automobiles making their way down a busy street in Madrid.  Atop each car is a gigantic portrait of one of Spain's leaders.  Did I mention the portraits are upside-down?  I also noticed that the lettering in the shop windows you see as the cars pass is in mirror image.  Sometimes the video turns upside-down itself, so the portraits appear right-side up.  The music for this is a Polish workers' anthem from the early 1900s - frankly, it sounded like the theme song for the Politburo.

Verdict: Okay, it's odd, but it's clearly making a point.  I think if I knew more about recent Spanish political history, I would have gotten more out of it.  Still, it's worth a look.

Making Marks: Prints from Crow's Shadow Press

Where: National Museum of the American Indian

When: through May 2014

The exact closing date for this show is not listed on the Smithsonian website, although I seem to recall seeing May 26 as the last day somewhere.  You've got some time to wander over to that side of the Mall, in any event.

Crow's Shadow Press is located in Oregon and provides an artistic home for both Native and non-Native contemporary artists.  Founded in 1992, its purpose is to provide opportunities for Native Americans through artistic development.  It provides spaces to teach, create and show art; the classes are on a wide variety of topics, not just print-making (copyright is among the offerings).

Although I'm just not a fan of prints generally, the works of James Lavadour did hold my interest.  The work shown in this display is of places he visited on camping trips with his family when he was a child.  All of the land has now been clear-cut; it's as if this part of his past has simply been erased.  As he says, "the places that I remember do not exist anymore."  I suppose all of us could make this same comment, as nothing remains static.  There's a certain poignancy to this idea that has remained with me since I saw the show.  It's so easy to take our regular haunts for granted, but they can be "paved over" at any time.  Best to appreciate them now.

Verdict: If you like prints, this is a nice small show, easily managed in a lunch hour.

Camilla's Purse

Where: American History Museum

When: through May 4, 2014

This week, I had an experience at a museum exhibit that I have never had before.  I went to see this show, thinking it would be very interesting (which it is), but never suspecting that I would know personally one of the people featured in it.

Camilla Gottlieb was a Jewish woman living with her husband and daughter in Vienna when the Nazis invaded, and her life was completely upended.  Although her daughter (who was a young adult at the time) was able to escape to the United States, Camilla and her husband were shut out by American immigration quotas.  Forced to remain in Austria, they were sent to Theresienstadt, a camp in Czechoslovakia used as a sort of way station before prisoners were sent on to camps where they would most likely be killed.  Camilla's husband died of a lung infection in the camp, but she survived, and remained at Theresienstadt, due in part to the help of a relative and her own skills as a seamstress.

After the war, Camilla faced years of work in order to move to the United States to join her daughter, son-in-law and their sons, but she managed to do it.  After her death, her family found a purse and satchel she had used to store important documents from her life before the war and from her struggle to escape Europe during and after the conflict.  Viewed together, they constitute a history of this part of the American experience.  She was one woman, not a famous person, but an ordinary woman, who persevered in the face of horrible conditions to reunite with her family.  This display is a testament to her strength and resilience in the face of obstacles that, happily, most of us will never have to endure.

In addition to the purse and the documents, there is also a video display, featuring the person who translated the documents from German to English, and one of Camilla's grandsons, who discovered the purse when cleaning out the family home.  Imagine my surprise to discover that the grandson is someone who works in my office!  Never before have I been to an exhibit and had a personal connection to it.

Verdict: This is a wonderful exhibit; it's in the Small Documents Gallery, so it works very well for a lunchtime visit.  The story is one of perseverance - a reminder that we all have reserves of strength to get us through the darkest moments.

In Focus: Ara Guler's Anatolia

Where: Sackler Gallery

When: through May 14, 2014

I mentioned in my last post that you could see the Rina Banerjee piece on your way to see something else at the Sackler.  This is the show I was on my way to see today.

It's a collection of photographs by Ara Guler, a photographer (still alive and now in his 80s) who took pictures of Turkey in the 1950s and 1960s.  He thinks of himself as a photojournalist, not as an artist, but the art world thinks differently.  His work has been the subject of several museum displays and large coffee table books.

This display was set up by undergraduates at Johns Hopkins, which apparently has a program in museum studies (oh, if I had it to do over again...).  The students were able to choose the photographs to include and write the wall notes (never knew that was the name for those - glad to know that now).  It's a great opportunity for someone looking to break into the field of museum work, which I can only imagine must be a terribly competitive field.

The photographs are interesting, although perhaps I would have found them more so, if I knew more about Turkish history.  What they did remind me of was the Charles Marville exhibit at the National Gallery.  Both of them were documenting a way of life that was passing due to modernization.  Guler also did portraits of famous people - shades of Yousuf Karsh!

Many of the photographs were of buildings falling into ruin.  I was reminded of the poem Ozymandias; everything falls into oblivion eventually, no matter how powerful.

Verdict: Worth a look.  It's only two rooms, so it doesn't take long.  Note that it's in the exhibit space by the museum store, so it's convenient for last-minute holiday shopping!

Sylvan Sounds: Freer, Dewing, and Japan

Where: Freer Gallery of Art

When: through May 18, 2014

"For those who have the power to see beauty, all works of art go together, whatever their period."  - Charles Lang Freer

Or, as a friend of mine put it when discussing furniture, "good goes with good."

Freer liked to combine Asian and American art; the painted screens and hanging scrolls he purchased were meant to complement his collection of Whistler and Dewing paintings.  The courtesans of the floating world were similar to Dewing's American models.

I found Dewing's works, of which the above is quite typical, a bit too pre-Raphaelite for my taste.  Any of the women appearing in his art could model for the character of Marianne in Sense and Sensibility.  Perhaps all the green backgrounds reminded me of the paintings in the National Gallery show earlier this year.

What I found most interesting about this one-room show is that I was able to find out a bit more about Freer himself.  Grateful as I am to him for his generous gift of art and money that's given me so many happy hours, I like to know a bit more about him: why he chose the things he did.  In the same way that he traveled in order to escape "the harness of business," he wanted art to be soothing, to transport him away from his daily cares.  Although I appreciate art's ability to speak truth to power and questions society's assumptions, I also like paintings that take me to a more relaxing and quiet place.

Verdict: A lovely small show, with both American and Asian art.

Damage Control: Art and Destruction since 1950

Where: Hirshhorn Museum & Sculpture Garden

When: through May 26, 2014

I'm not sure that I've ever been quite so far ahead in seeing exhibits as I am right now.  This show doesn't close until next May, but I've already crossed it off my list.  I'm trying to see everything I can, before the government shuts down again in January.  I know that's not certain to occur, and some Congressional leaders are insisting it won't, but my source for House gossip tells me it will happen, so I'm taking no chances.

Ironic that I'd be off to the Hirshhorn on the week of Thanksgiving as, when I think of the museums for which I am thankful, the Hirshhorn does not spring to mind.  It's so ugly and uninviting on the outside and so full of nonsense on the inside.  Long-time readers must surely have wearied of my rants on this subject, but that's how we roll here at "Luncheon of the Museum Goer."  Hirshhorn = ick.

To be fair, I have seen some interesting things over the years at my least favorite Smithsonian museum.  The "Black Box" series is always worth a trip (who could forget "Floating McDonalds" or the video of the flamingos with the gunshots in the background?), and I enjoyed the Ai Weiwei show as well.

This exhibit, however, does not fall into that small category of "good things at the concrete donut."  It's on the 2nd floor, so it's one of their Bataan Death March shows - you just keep walking and walking through room after room, thinking, "when will this be over?"  The theme is destruction, and so we get lots of damaged goods - a smashed grand piano greets you in the first room.

As if an endless line of examples of broken objects isn't enough, we also have a letter (not damaged in any way that I could see) from Yves Klein (NOT my favorite artist) making an exciting offer to the President of the International Conference called "Blue Explosions."  He tells this body that he will undertake to paint all bombs blue, so that they will be recognizable when they go off.  If it were anyone else, I could appreciate the attempt to make countries or other groups accountable for their use of weapons of mass destruction, but it's Yves Klein, so my eyeballs just rolled back into my head.  Apparently there is nothing he won't do to call more attention to himself.

One item I at first thought was a jar of moldy cookies (check the back of the fridge for art!!), but turned out to be the cremated remains of an artist's work.  He just burned up everything he'd done over the course of several years and exhibited that.  That was followed by an erased de Kooning drawing by Robert Rauschenberg.  I could erase countless drawings; does that make me an artist?

Not content merely to exhibit static works, the Hirshhorn has kindly set up numerous videos for your delectation.  One features Yoko One having people in an audience come up to the stage and cut off her clothes.  I feel like Cindy Lou Who from "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" asking "Why Santy Claus Why?"  At least the Yoko Ono video was quiet.  The others were all loud, and I do mean LOUD.  I felt sorry for the guards who have to listen to this cacophony all day long.  I think the destruction must be to their hearing, or their sanity.  I saw one family watching a video of someone dragging an amplified guitar behind a truck (such a racket as you cannot imagine).  The mother turned to the father and said, "But what's the point of it?"  Good question, I thought to myself.  One  might ask that of the show as a whole.

I made more notes, and I could write up even more about this show, but really, why?  You get the picture.  I'll close by saying my favorite piece was one by David Ireland that I saw at the very end of the show - it's of the Hirshhorn on fire.

Verdict: Feel free to just walk on by this exhibit.  There's plenty of other things to occupy your time at the holiday season.