Frank Lloyd’s blog

For those following this blog, it must be clear that one main theme has been the cultural maturity of Los Angeles.  When I take a look at my own writing, that theme seems to be consistent.  I recently came across this article (published February 4, 1983) from my days as a reporter for the Orange County Register.  It’s interesting to note that the Santa Monica Museum, our neighbor here at Bergamot Station, has recently received funding from the Getty Research Institute for a 2012 exhibition about Beatrice Wood.  The Getty announcement stated: “While Wood’s later ceramic works have been the subject of local exhibitions, the Santa Monica Museum of Art will now focus on her transition from Dadaism to Californian/Indian spiritualism and its impact on her artistic persona.”

CSF exhibits Beatrice Wood collection

Art Review:  Beatrice Wood exhibition, Main Art Gallery, Cal State Fullerton.
By Frank Lloyd

Contemporary art watchers will recognize the name of Beatrice Wood in association with the New York Dada movement. Followers of West Coast ceramics will know her as a seminal practitioner of the art of lusterware. And gallery spectators will sense in her work a woman with an intuitive use of color and form that is at once seductive and humorous, vivid and subtle.

The current exhibition of Beatrice Wood at Cal State Fullerton was organized in celebration of the artist’s 90th birthday. Throughout her long career, she has absorbed influences from diverse sources. The ideas of Marcel Duchamp, which radically challenged our perception of the art object, figured prominently in her early drawings and paintings. The teachings of theosophy, followed by many artists and writers in the early part of this century, have had a strong effect on her life. The West Coast crafts revival movement, with its recognition of carefully crafted ceramics as fine art, will be in evidence in this exhibition.

Wood began her artistic career by studying art in Paris in 1910. She was enrolled at the Academie Julien, which was, at that time, a famed liberal institution. Her interest in painting, however, soon gave way to her pursuit of an acting career. She attended the Academie Francaise, but her theatrical studies were cut short by the ravages of World War I. By 1916, she had moved to New York, where she began to build her career as an actress.

It was in New York that Wood met the two Frenchmen who were to change the course of her life: Henri-Pierre Roche and Marcel Duchamp. Wood had been visiting the French composer Edgar Varese in the hospital when she encountered them. She was immediately impressed by the intelligence and charm of Duchamp, and later became an intimate member of the Dada group. Under Duchamp’s direction, she resumed painting.

Wood’s entry to the Independent’s Exhibition of 1917 at the Grand Central Palace was received with scandalous attention. She had painted the nude torso of a young woman taking a bath. A piece of soap had been glued onto the canvas at a strategic location.

It was not until 1938 in Los Angeles that Wood became interested in ceramics. She had purchased a set of luster cups, but still needed a teapot. Since she was unable to find what she wanted, she decided to make it. She later studied with Glen Lukens at the University of Southern California. She also studied with Gertrud and Otto Natzler. She was an enthusiastic student, and had her first ceramics studio in North Hollywood.

In 1948, she moved to Ojai, where she built a studio and continued to develop her ceramics. She later moved to the Happy Valley Foundation, where she has been involved with the school of theosophy since 1946. The Foundation was established by Aldous Huxley, Krishnamurti and Annie Besant.

The development and refinement of Beatrice Wood’s mature work came in Ojai. The uncommon in-glaze luster technique is her contribution to contemporary ceramics. The rich, vivid and saturated colors are characterized by great depth and complexity. Her open and expressive handling of the medium marks her as a modern ceramist—but one that ties into an ancient tradition.

The banks of the Mississippi were populated with cyclists, runners and dog walkers when Adrian Saxe and I cruised along in July.  As others rode and ambled, we navigated by rented automobile. I wanted to see the museums, and had the Frederick Weisman Museum on my list.  It’s located on the campus of the University of Minnesota, and I found the best view from across the river.

It’s phenomenal that Minneapolis has cultural buildings by so many world-class architects. In contrast to the sleek blue work of Jean Nouvel at the Guthrie, the Weisman is a curvaceous, complex and undulating grouping of forms. It is strikingly different when viewed from the river or from the street level.  One can enter the museum from the underground parking garage—and the pedestrian experience is complex as well.  Frank Gehry’s use of exposed structure is evident throughout.  I found an unusual and delightful feature: a room that contained the drawings, models and design process for the building.

So how is it that the citizens and philanthropists of Minneapolis have made possible such visible, prominent and striking architectural landmarks?  Whatever the many reasons, it’s an impressive group of buildings. Saxe and I had been informed upon arrival that “In Minnesota there are only two seasons: Winter and Construction.”  The short season for building only makes the architecture more of an impressive accomplishment for the city.

An artist can transform our vision.  It’s something we’ve all experienced, following a great exhibit. We walk out of the show and into the street; our visual perception has been changed, or our normal mindset has been subverted.  That’s what I like about art.

Sometimes, the artist’s work is so elemental, so…essential and minimal, that we see it everywhere.  Such is the case with Larry Bell.  After all, Bell’s true medium is reflected light.  He’s also concerned with the right angle, and defies anyone to deny its importance in the built environment.

Soon after I selected and installed our first Larry Bell show in 2006, I was sitting at a small dining table, and gazing at the array of water and wine glasses.  The vessels were illuminated by a raking late afternoon light from a Venice window.  I saw how the light had penetrated the rich amber of the wine, and cast that pale color across the tablecloth.  I saw how the reflection of one glass was captured on the surface of another.  And, I saw my own reflection in the water glass. I had to thank Larry for that moment of presence and immediacy.

It never goes away.  There are always moments to pause and see the reflected light in our everyday environment.  If I am driving at night on a rainy street, the tail lights and streetlamps are a woozy reflection on the pavement.  If I happen to glance at the wall in the gallery, I might catch a reflection of light from a car windshield, through our front doors, and onto the entry wall.  Bell has often addressed these qualities of light in his work with glass—or his “Vapor Drawings”.

Or, I might be in Minneapolis, taking a tour of art museums.  I happened to glance at the intriguing surface of the Jacques Herzog and Pierre de Meuron addition to the Walker Center.  I was scanning the raised surface of the perforated metal panels on the exterior.  There, amid the grid of the architects’ materials, was the outline of an early Larry Bell shape: the rectangle with corners sliced off—Bell’s precursor to the Cubes.

Last week I hopped on an early morning Amtrak train from Penn Station to the 30^th Street Station in Philadelphia. The short trip on the Northeast Regional is common for commuters, but unusual for me.  I was in New York on business, and I had reserved a full day for art viewing in Philadelphia.  My day-long plan included a timed-entry ticket to the Cézanne and Beyond exhibit, a tour of the collections in the Philadelphia Museum, and a visit to the Institute of Contemporary Art.

I arrived in plenty of time for Cézanne and Beyond, a show that made me believe again in painting, museums, and exhibitions.  It’s worth every inconvenient wait, and it’s worth every moment when your view gets blocked—that’s the way it is with blockbuster shows.  This brilliant exhibit juxtaposes and connects the painters that follow Cézanne’s pivotal move into the flattening of space, the structure of painting, and repeated study of subject matter. I was blown away by room after room, but especially struck by the last sequence.  Ellsworth Kelly, Piet Mondrian, and Jasper Johns followed the shifting density and light of Cézanne’s painting of a large pine.  It was a stunning juxtaposition—simply categorized as “Trees”.

I thought about writing more about the Cézanne and Beyond show, but wound up becoming overwhelmed by the crowd and the chattering acoustiguides. As I’ve noted before, I like my museum experience to be a bit sparer. So it was best for me to retreat through the other galleries—with superb collections but without so many people.

I wandered upstairs to find the Art of Japanese Craft exhibition, a delightful collection that is the gift of connoisseur Frederick McBrien III.  It is in 3 galleries, just off the large skylight indoor garden area that contains the Japanese teahouse. How wonderful to come to a quiet area within the building, and what a great location for the show. This is a sensitively assembled collection of a true connoisseur, our gallery friend and patron, Fred. The wide range of works extends from a waterfall ink drawing on silk scroll to exquisite lacquered containers, as well as contemporary ceramics.

The nature-based imagery of Japanese craft of the Meiji period (and beyond) is strongly represented in this collection.  The emphasis on the revival of Japanese craft shows in the delicate woodcarving and extraordinary inlaid lacquer ware.  More recent porcelain vessels evoke nature through shape and process, and present new reflections of the craft.

There is a wonderful description and video of the tea ceremony just outside the special exhibit, which tells the function and purpose of the tea ceremony. Since is it based in the deliberate observation of detail and the contemplation of nature, the tea ceremony celebrates the imperfections and processes of nature. The Way of Tea teaches appreciation of fleeting moments; concentration on the sounds and the movements teaches attention to detail.  I had found a respite from the urban environment and the crowds.

A lengthy, lively and powerful review by Roberta Smith was published in today’s New York Times. As I read it, I vowed to attend the exhibit, “Dirt on Delight: Impulses That Form Clay.” (Ms. Smith calls it “close to groundbreaking.”)   It’s amazing to read a respected authority’s enthusiastic view of the show, to be sure, and to be dazzled by a veteran wordsmith’s prose.  But what I like about the review is something more: it contains some of the strongest statements on record about the viability of the medium of ceramics. Here are just a couple of choice quotes from the review, titled “Crucible of Creativity, Stoking Earth Into Art.”:

“It reminds us that the art form incorporates quite a bit of painting and sculpture, thank you, and has one of the richest histories of any medium on the planet. Ceramics also plays well with all kinds of artistic ideas and needs no propping up by supposedly serious fine art…“

And

” It can’t be said enough that the art-craft divide is a bogus concept regularly obliterated by the undeniable originality of individuals who may call themselves artists, designers or artisans. But this timely, satisfying show proves it once more. It also suggests that while ceramics is just another art medium, there is no art medium quite like ceramics.”

A strong and positive review in the New York Times is a good time for a gallerist to point to his own artists, or “toot your own horn.”  (Out of 22 artists in the exhibition, we have presented the work of 8: Viola Frey, Ron Nagle, George Ohr, Ken Price, Adrian Saxe, Peter Voulkos, Beatrice Wood, and Betty Woodman).  I can’t resist the opportunity to quote what Ms. Smith wrote about Adrian Saxe:

“Mr. Price’s and Ms. Butterly’s work can have the exquisiteness of fine jewelry, as can Adrian Saxe’s high-style amalgams. His commanding “Sweet Dreams” is a vaguely Chinese-influenced lidded jar with ormolu handles and a rock-crystal finial that, in a kind of scholar’s-rock touch, sits on what appears to be a large, multitiered fungus.”

For anyone who has been following contemporary art, the crisis at the Museum of Contemporary Art was a compelling story.  I tracked the unfolding events during the late fall and early winter of 2008, by staying tuned to the excellent coverage in the Los Angeles Times, their site Culture Monster, and the constant commentary provided by many blogs. I posted some of my reactions with links here and here.

Always at the forefront of the story was Tyler Green’s Modern Art Notes, and yesterday he provided something of great interest again: an interview with Paul Schimmel, Chief Curator at MOCA. It’s a welcome look from a curatorial vantage point, following the huge administrative and funding changes. In late January, I was invited to a community meeting at MOCA, to hear and understand the transition, with new CEO Charles Young. I want to see MOCA succeed.

I am looking forward to part two of this interview with Paul Schimmel. Just as I believe in listening to the words of the artist, I think there is no substitute for hearing directly from the curators. I went to LACMA last Saturday for the curator’s walk-through with Stephanie Barron of her Two Germanys show. There is no substitute for a tour of an exhibit with the principal curator. Art lovers should take advantage of any opportunity to hear things directly from a major curator.

Tonight I walked with Craig Kauffman through the snow-covered streets of Zürich’s old town, a picturesque Swiss city of small shops, cozy cafes, libraries and restaurants. We were invited to a party, and Craig and I were the only people from L.A.

We’ve just attended the opening for an exhibition at the Kunsthaus Zürich. Actually, there were three shows assembled into one. Joined together, the “Hot Spots” meta-exhibition provides a look at three centers of art during the period of 1956 to 1969.  Each city-center comes off as a harbinger of global contemporary art, rather than a regional phenomenon. It is generally accepted that early 20th century advances in painting and other arts were centered in Paris, followed by the dominance of New York in the post-World War II era. However, in this exhibition, none of the cities are named New York or Paris. It is also generally accepted that we have been (for the past decade or so) in an era of global exchange of artistic ideas, hastened by the proliferation of art fairs, the rise of emerging economies, and the rapid dissemination of digital information and images.  It takes a European institution to have this curatorial vision—of the precursors to our current art world, and how they came to emerge outside of the dominant centers. Or, perhaps in takes two museums—the Kunsthaus Zürich is the host for the shows that were organized by Stockholm’s Moderna Museet.

Los Angeles’ emergence as a world center for contemporary art was paralleled by developments on other continents. Strong movements in art, music, architecture and design in such cities as Rio de Janeiro, Milan and Turin marked the period following World War II. The heat of artistic activity can create new territory—hot spots—and the curators document that. What I sensed, a cross-pollination of international avant-garde, is evident in the selection and the presentation. It was amazing to see the concurrent global movements, such as geometric abstraction, the use of industrial materials, and the appropriation of popular culture.

Italian painters Lucio Fontana and Piero Manzoni are exemplary members of the Milan group that developed a monochromatic, minimal painting style. Within the decade of 1958 to 1968, other experimentations with shaped canvases and spatial concepts broke with the legacy of Italian art. In Turin, the Arte Povera artists used natural and artificial materials to characterize their works.

Brazilian design was created during this same time, and it featured a concise formal invention and an emphasis on construction. Leadership came from figures like Oscar Niemeyer. Rio de Janeiro’s experimental atmosphere gave the world new music and architecture, under the names of New Concretism, Bossa Nova, and Cinema Novo.

Los Angeles’ incredibly fertile period is represented in architecture, assemblage, painting, photography and sculpture. This is the fourth time that Craig Kauffman has been represented in shows about the formative years of Los Angeles. First, there was the Sunshine and Noir exhibit at the Louisiana Museum in Denmark, which covered the years 1960-1997. Next was the Pompidou’s Los Angeles 1955-1985: Birth of an Artistic Captial. Last year’s Time and Place: Los Angeles was organized by the Moderna Museet and is one part of this three-segment show. On the way back to our hotel, Kauffman and I wondered aloud: Perhaps it is the perspective of time that gives clarity to the view. Forty to fifty years later, we can see the emergent global contemporary art world.

What makes an ideal museum experience? Perhaps the first thing I think of is the collection. Increasingly, as contemporary architects have designed museums, I have become more conscious of the effective presentation of art. I am more aware of the way that I move through a space, of the color and composition of the walls and floors. I am especially attuned to the use of natural light. I continue to seek that solitary and serene moment when a painting’s presence comes strikingly alive. For me, that ideal has been realized. It is the Fondation Beyeler.

I am in Zürich to attend the opening of an exhibition tomorrow. With a free day to explore, I chose to take an hour’s train ride to Basel today.  A well traveled route for the sophisticated art traveler, but a first trek for me, this was a day trip worthy of an expedition. From the moment I stepped through the red stone walls, into the idyllic nineteenth century landscape garden, I was entranced by the scale and proportion of the building. With restraint and respect for the vistas and setting, Renzo Piano designed the Fondation Beyeler, which houses a superb permanent collection of about 200 works. The museum also presents curated exhibits.

I was fortunate to see two such exhibits today, both superb. The first featured artists’ visions of Venice—from Canaletto and Turner to Monet.  Painters have been intrigued by the way that light plays on the surface of the water in Venice for centuries, and this show assembles works from private collections as well as museums. Especially stunning were Turner’s works and small but striking, immediately rendered paintings by Sargent.  The ideal setting was the building itself, proving that the proportion of the galleries, the sequencing of the rooms, and the occasional open landscape vista are the work of a brilliant architect.

Another show, Visual Encounters: Africa, Oceania and Modern Art, turned the tables on the oft-told story of modern art.  We are all familiar with the role that Primitive and African art played in the development of European Modernism. This show does not repeat that lesson, but rather demonstrates the sheer power, and visual presence of, large and highly powerful groups of sculpture from Mali, Nigeria, and other areas. Just a few highly select early 20^th century works by Picasso, Giacometti, Rousseau, Brancusi and others are juxtaposed in a stunning way.

I reluctantly left the exhibit, stepped into the light snowfall, and had a delightful lunch at the nearby Berower Villa. I was still savoring the view of the Renzo Piano building with its light-suffusing roof.

Peter Shire’s work is laced with color; bright hues and bold contrasts are essential elements in all of his sculpture. I’ve noted before that Peter’s large-scale sculptures are currently on view in West Hollywood. But they can also be seen in Elysian Park, and his work is prominent in the collection of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. Today’s LACMA blog, Unframed, has a wonderful post about Shire’s work.

Jayme Odgers, a fellow artist and designer, thinks that the Shire’s experiences in Italy had a dramatic effect on the sculpture and the color. He says, “My sense is his contact with Sottsass Associati broke Peter wide open. As we know, Americans tend to have a more restrictive attitude toward artists/designers while the Europeans have an expansive viewpoint. European artists/designers are ‘allowed’ to paint, sculpt, design showrooms, furniture, fabrics, wall coverings, work in glassware, or whatever they deem necessary to fulfill their creative wishes. Once Peter got involved with Ettore Sottsass, Aldo Cibic, Marco Zanini and their peers he embraced their expansive viewpoint and enlarged his worldview exponentially to include sculpture, furniture and beyond.”

My own perception of the color includes the key that the peach is Peter’s favorite fruit. On the peach, yellow transitions to a rosy red, with the leaves as a green accent. We had a conversation about color:

Frank: Where does the color come from?

Peter: People always say, oh, you live in a Mexican neighborhood; the sort of Caribbean colors, Mexican colors, and that’s always served well for press purposes, and sounds good.

Frank: Is there another story?

Peter: My Dad was trained as an artist, and actually graduated as an illustrator. He was a natural illustrator, a natural draftsman. He graduated in 1932 from Pratt. My Dad went to art school, and he studied a thing called the Munsell color wheel, and he had all these diagrams. He was a very academic guy, a very diligent guy. And so when they painted our house, he and the architect selected the colors, and actually most of the colors, these really outré colors, came, first, there. And they built a modernist house, redwood with turquoise trim. The kitchen was grey, whitish chartreuse, salmon on the cabinets-on the lowers-a pea-green counter, Formica counter, and it sort of went off that way, with these other colors. My room was salmon, and my brother’s was a sort of Cerulean blue. And I think the redwood and the turquoise with the chartreuse thrown into the kitchen, the rest of it was wood, and the floors were asphalt and a kind of maroon.

Los Angeles Times, article, November 2007
Los Angeles Times, photo gallery, November 2007

Yesterday’s shocking announcement by Brandeis University to sell the collection and close the Rose Art Museum has generated a storm of blogs and articles. I try to write responsibly about things that I know. So, as dismayed and bewildered as I might be about the news, I am just going to point readers in the direction of the stories–from the first article in the Boston Globe to the most respected blogs and journals on line. I feel sure that this issue will generate a huge, continued reaction throughout the art world and the halls of higher education. I haven’t previously posted an aggregate list about a news item, but here’s my first.  I’ll follow the story through these sources and others:

Boston Globe

Modern Arts Notes

Culture Girl

Los Angeles Times

Time magazine

New York Times