Jason Edward Kaufman
Jason Edward Kaufman on Art and Culture

IN VIEW: Jason Edward Kaufman

LA MOCA’s Merchant of Bling

Director Jeffrey Deitch should disclose the contents of his private collection and his commercial ties to trustees.

Eli Broad and his wife Edye with MOCA director Jeffrey Deitch

We are on a highway to the bottom in America, and in the art world Jeffrey Deitch is leading the charge.

What’s wrong with America? Some say wealth-obsessed, youth-focused, trend-addled materialism and the corrupting influence of money. Yet, those are precisely the colors of the flag under which MOCA sails with Deitch at the helm. More should be demanded of our cultural institutions.

Much has been written about the state of MOCA, its stumbling exhibition program, and the forced resignation of its chief curator Paul Schimmel. But not enough investigative work has been done to determine how director Deitch’s commercial profile may be affecting his leadership of MOCA.

When he accepted the job at MOCA a couple of years ago Deitch said he would continue to sell artwork from his collection to meet financial obligations, at least until he assumed the directorship. More than one dealer has suggested that he continues to deal by proxy. When he was hired, MOCA leaders said the board weighed the conflict-of-interest problem and decided it was a matter of perception and of little concern. But the dealer’s every move should be parsed for its potential self-interest, the contents of his private collection disclosed, and his private art transactions reviewed by the entire board and independent auditors. Why not let the press have a look?

Making Deitch director was letting a fox into the hen house. After all, a museum’s exhibitions and acquisitions are supposed to represent the disinterested choices of experts. Special interests of trustees and patrons can impinge on the purity of a museum’s imprimatur, but having a major art collector and salesman deciding what MOCA exhibits and acquires is a direct conflict of interest that undermines the authority of the institution.  Only transparency can dispel the cloud.

When Deitch was installed the writing was on the wall: he would wait a decorous year or so, then lose Schimmel and bring in a curator or two as his pawns, putting on youth-focused exhibitions aimed at attracting young audiences through meretricious celebrity-focused publicity. The traditional audience would fade away, the youngsters would recognize MOCA’s pandering, and the institution would become an intellectually vacant party palace.

Deitch has always been more about money and bling than substance, and he is showing the same tendencies at MOCA that he did as a gallerist – placing a high premium on big, flashy, decorative and racy confections with a soupcon of counter-cultural political attitude. It’s no surprise that when Christie’s was shopping around the late Liz Taylor’s jewels, renting out department stores around the world, they found only one museum willing to present the selling show. Guess which one. He mounted a graffiti exhibit, co-curated with a commercial agent for the increasingly money-minded and professionalized cadre of “anti-establishment” street artists. Now Deitch has announced a disco show.

If Deitch is permitted to reign at MOCA, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and the Hammer will hold sway for the future of contemporary art in LA while MOCA becomes a low-brow cauldron of dissipation and hype. MOCA’s core trustees will feel the cheapening of their institution and Deitch, his authority flagging, will quietly resign to resume – or continue? – dealing and collecting.

It’s already begun. Seven of the 40 members of the board – including Jane Nathanson, Steven F. Roth, Gary Cypres and all four artist-members – have jumped ship. They don’t like the “populist” turn espoused by Deitch and by MOCA’s billionaire “life trustee” Eli Broad, the collector who singlehandedly bailed out MOCA from its financial mess with $30 million in gifts and pledges, and is seen as responsible for Deitch’s appointment. Nathanson, a major donor to LA museums, cited as a reason for her departure her lack of confidence in Deitch’s fundraising ability. He hasn’t been able to match the funds needed to draw down available increments from Broad’s pledge. The budget and staff have been sharply trimmed, but MOCA’s finances are not all that rosy.

“The celebrity-driven program that…Deitch promotes is not the answer,” said another four trustees in a letter to the LA Times responding to an op-ed by Broad. (They are Lenore S. Greenberg, Betye Burton, Audrey Irmas and Frederick M. Nicholas.) Artists Catherine Opie and Barbara Kruger said in their joint resignation letter that they are fed up with the art world’s focus on secondary-market sales, attendance figures, and profit-minded “philanthropy.” They want MOCA “to remain the globally respected institution it has become [and] continue its intellectually ambitious and visually compelling exhibition program.” LA artist Ed Ruscha sees the museum “on a course different than I imagined,” and John Baldessari says the disco show may be “a tipping point.”

These board defections represent a massive vote of no-confidence for Deitch and Broad’s policies, one that is causing a public relations crisis that is likely to mount. The museum’s reputation already has become inextricably tied to its embrace of the market through the selection of its director. The discussion has usurped attention from the art itself, turning the museum into an agar dish of art-world conflict of interest.

Deitch is a bellwether of an ill wind in the museum world and American culture generally. Recall that when Thomas Hoving led The Metropolitan Museum of Art in the 1970s his introduction of heavily marketed spectacular blockbuster exhibitions transformed museum culture from a fusty bastion of tweedy historians and connoisseurs into a vibrant destination for popular entertainment, with learning on the side. His successor, Philippe de Montebello, restored the balance, returning the values of scholarship and learning to the fore while preserving the feeling of broad accessibility introduced by Hoving. Deitch threatens to take MOCA down a reverse course, hurtling ever further toward dumbing down content, and with a new overlay of art market shenanigans lurking in the background.

Will the industry and its watchdogs step in to right itself? The Association of Art Museum Directors has not warned MOCA that having a director with a large personal collection of the same category of art that the institution shows and buys is a conflict of interest for both the director and the museum – one made all the less acceptable by the possibility that the director is selling during his tenure. How can Deitch separate himself from the market? And how can MOCA hope to present itself as disinterested from the financial concerns of its leader? (The scenario calls to mind former Vice President Dick Cheney who upon assuming office put his Haliburton shares under a blind trust – he would not manage the money during his tenure – then presided over an administration that greenlighted bid-free multi-billion-dollar contracts for his company in the Middle East wars he helped orchestrate.)

Here’s a question: which MOCA trustees have also been Deitch clients? Does any have outstanding obligations to him, or vice versa? Broad, MOCA’s most powerful supporter, is one of Deitch’s clients. As MOCA’s life trustee and provider of financial life support, Broad was instrumental in shepherding Deitch into the directorship. What has Deitch sold to Broad and are their accounts settled? Will Broad be acquiring works from Deitch’s holdings to fill out the Broad museum going up across Grand Avenue from MOCA? Both men are collectors, friends and promoters of Jeff Koons. If MOCA exhibits Koons would it not appear that Deitch, the leader of the nonprofit, was using his post to reinforce the value of sales he had made to MOCA’s funder Broad?

Nonprofit laws forbid behavior by an institution that might be construed as benefiting trustees. Museums and other charities enjoy tax exemption because they serve the public good and not individuals. If MOCA exhibits works or artists that Deitch has sold to MOCA trustees, or that he has in his private collection, that could threaten the nonprofit’s tax-exempt status, or at least cause the California State Attorney General, whose office oversees charities in the state, to investigate the nature of MOCA’s activities to insure that conflicts of interest are properly resolved and that trustees of MOCA are not illicitly profiting from the nonprofit’s activities.

Who is hurt by all this winking collusion? Wealthy collectors are happy to have their property touted in a museum. The dealer/director is happy to wield the power to do so. Maybe the beneficiaries of backroom deals will feel obliged to donate art or money to the museum. MOCA could balance its books, hire more staff, acquire more art, maybe increase salaries, fix up its building, possibly expand and put its closeted collection on view. They could even lower the price of admission. But what is a good metric for nonprofit success? Certainly not to enrich private stakeholders. Even attendance is not a good measure. Give away booze and show porn or pop stars and you’ll get a big audience. Obviously that’s not the primary goal.

The Museum of Contemporary Art exists to educate, edify, illuminate, inspire and to provide aesthetic enjoyment. It exists to collect, preserve, exhibit and interpret those objects that disinterested experts deem most exemplary. It should provide a chronicle of changing modes of visual expression and historical context for the art of our time. We don’t need more entertainment palaces filled with kitsch and empty of intelligence.

Deitch is taking MOCA for a stroll down the wrong path. He should step down now before the institution loses its way.

Jason Edward Kaufman

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Cai Guo-Qiang Lights up L.A. in Search of Aliens

Cai Guo-Qiang (Photo by Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2012)

Cai Guo-Qiang in his New York studio. (Photo by Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2012)

Cai Guo-Qiang, the Chinese-born artist known for orchestrating pyrotechnic spectacles, is in Los Angeles this week to create three gigantic “gunpowder drawings” before a live audience.

Cai Guo-Qiang

Cai Guo-Qiang preparing gunpowder drawing at Grucci Fireworks on Long Island in 2005. (Photo by Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2012)

Having attended a number of Cai’s gunpowder-drawing events I can attest to the excitement that they generate. It’s not what one might feel watching Rubens paint an oil sketch. It’s more the thrill of setting off a cherry bomb under a tin can. He sprinkles gunpowder onto paper or canvas, covers the composition with cardboard to contain the combustion, then lights the fuse and steps back. A fizzing, sputtering eruption rolls down the length of the drawing, smoke fills the air, and assistants race in to tamp down flames. The burnt image miraculously is revealed.

Cai Guo-Qiang

The gunpowder is ignited. (Photo by Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2012)

The trio of new works will be part of “Cai Guo-Qiang: Sky Ladder,” his first West Coast exhibition, on view at the Museum of Contemporary Art’s Geffen Contemporary from April 8-July 30. To launch the show Cai plans one of his celebrated aerial fireworks displays. The MOCA “explosion event” will light up the Geffen on April 7. (See renderings below.) MOCA director Jeffrey Deitch approached Cai because he thought his work would complement the concurrent “Ends of the Earth” exhibition (April 8-July 30) about land art before 1974. Cai says his work will provide an “interesting contrast” with the land art.

In the decade since I’ve known him, Cai, 54, has had a retrospective at the Guggenheim Museum in New York, Bilbao and the National Museum of China, he curated the first Chinese pavilion at the Venice Biennial, and designed an explosion event for the opening ceremonies at the Beijing Olympics in 2008. Fame hasn’t spoiled him. Tall and trim with dark gray hair crowning the peak of his otherwise shaved head, he remains a genial and unpretentious man, humble about his accomplishments and eager to engage in conversation (in our case mainly through a translator).

Mysticism and Extraterrestrials

In case you were wondering, there is method to Cai’s pyromaniac madness. The drawings and explosions always relate to a theme, though the theme itself at MOCA is somewhat mad: the “Sky Ladder” show is about aliens – not the ones from other countries but from outer space. Leitmotifs include spaceships and so-called “crop circles,” those partially explained patterns impressed into cultivated fields whose configurations, visible only from the air, are said by some to be evidence of visitors from another planet.

Crop Circle

Crop Circle

Personally, I have always reckoned that crop circles (and landmarks such as the Nazca Lines in Peru and the chalk figures carved into the English countryside) are the work of talented teams of land artists, but Cai is not so sure. When I visited him the other day at his studio in Lower Manhattan he pointed out that crop circles can have tremendously complicated and precise designs and appear sometimes overnight. ”If farmers can do this they could all become graphic designers!” he says, adding that he’s not sure that they aren’t evidence of aliens or some supernatural event. “I don’t know, but I like it,” he says.

Cai may not sincerely believes that crop circles are imprints of UFO landings or result from aliens branding the earth with energy beams, but he clearly likes the idea of reminding people that we likely are not alone. It feels a bit like a joke, but then, it’s not so funny.

Cai has made extraterrestrials an ongoing theme since a 1990 explosion event at Museum City Tenjim in Fukuoka Japan. The goal, he said at the time, “is to initiate a dialogue between extraterrestrials and human beings by means of reproducing the mystery crop circles with gunpowder explosions.” The “dialogue” may be one-sided – how many extraterrestrials will show up at MOCA? –  but Cai wants to get people thinking about intelligent life elsewhere in the cosmos. That’s always humbling and leads us to address the fundamental enigma of human existence.

Cai Guo-Qiang at LAMOCA

Inside the Geffen a crop-circle pattern will be pressed into an inverted field of reeds that hovers overhead. (Courtesy Cai Studio)

Exhibition Plans for MOCA

At MOCA he plans to install on the ceiling an inverted field with crop circles. The 26 x 118-foot rectangle will be densely carpeted with wheat-like reeds in which patches are pressed down to form circles. When visitors look up they assume the perspective of extraterrestrials looking down at their handiwork on earth. Again, I’m not among the faithful vis a vis crop circles, but the suspended field of feathery reeds sounds quite lovely.

Part of the Crop Circles ceiling fabricated in China.

Part of the Crop Circles ceiling fabricated in China.

Crop Circles reeds with wire inserted in the stalk.

Half a million of the reeds have wire inserted in the stalk.

Hundreds of workers in Cai’s native Fujian province spent four months inserting several million stalks into glue-filled holes in wood panels — 10,000 stalks per square meter. The crop-circle areas had to be bent and stay flattened, so workers manually inserted wire inside a half million stalks. Such massive hand-fabrication jobs — I am reminded of Ai Weiwei’s 10 million hand-painted ceramic sunflower seeds — would not be possible in the U.S. or Europe.

In a nearby gallery Cai’s three huge gunpowder drawings will elaborate the interplanetary theme. “Desire for Zero Gravity” will represent humans’ perennial efforts to escape the bounds of earth. The 11 x 39-foot canvas depicts 99 fanciful vehicles — everything from a mechanical goose to missiles — but centers on an image of the 16th-century Chinese official Wan Hu who perished on his homemade rocket chair. (NASA named a moon crater after him.) “Chaos in Nature,” an even larger canvas, will depict a galactic maelstrom of tornadoes, tsunamis and other natural cataclysms representing the uncontrollable powers of the cosmos that Cai says are a constant in his work. And “Childbood Spaceship” will be an oceanic 13 x 108-foot paper scroll with images Cai associates with his youthful reveries about the mysteries of the universe, from feng shui to his grandmother’s “superstitions and supernatural abilities” to imagined space voyages. “I’m trying to present my view about the cosmos, how everything from Chinese medicine to Taoism to astrophysics influences my practice,” he says.

Cai Guo-Qiang

Detail of Adam and Eve from a gunpowder drawing in Cai's studio.

Watching Cai’s drawings being made is thrilling. Indeed, the event itself can be as impressive as the resulting drawings. But many are superb – particularly those in which figurative elements are well defined amid an evocative haze. Cai has developed techniques to achieve both linear precision and painterly effects, experimenting with pyrotechnic material that leaves different colored residues to produce sophisticated images in his unique medium. When I visited the studio there were large-scale drawings of a wintry mountain range and of Adam and Eve (based on Durer’s). I would have considered them quite lovely had they been made with conventional media, but their affects were achieved with burning gunpowder.

Cai Guo-Qiang 2012 LAMoCA Explosion Event

For the opening, the Geffen roof will serve as a launch pad for flying saucer-like fireworks. (Courtesy Cai Studio)

Cai Guo-Qiang 2012 LAMoCA Explosion Event

The wall display will ignite shooting rockets across the parking lot towards viewers. (Courtesy Cai Studio)

Cai Guo-Qiang 2012 LAMoCA Explosion Event

After the crop circle explosion a rocket halo bursts from the head of a presiding alien deity. (Courtesy Cai Studio)

The inaugural explosion event promises to be quite an entertainment. It begins at dusk when flying saucer-shaped fireworks hover and spin above the roof of the Geffen. Then from the north exterior wall of the museum a crop circle pattern composed of more than 30,000 mini rockets will shoot out horizontally more than 100 feet across the parking lot towards spectators. Presiding over the crop circles will be a giant alien-deity outlined with a fuse that ignites a rocket halo when it reaches the head. Preliminary sketches suggest a Byzantine blessing Christ with a face from Roswell. The image will remain burned onto the wall, an architectural gunpowder drawing, but who knows how long it will remain?

Cai recently returned from a long stay in Doha where he was the guest of the royal family and mounted the first solo show in the new Mathaf Arab Museum of Modern Art. When I visited him in New York he showed me images of the exhibition, which drew ties between his native Fujian and the local culture. He shipped boulders from Fujian embedded with Arabic inscriptions taken from Muslim tombs in his home region. (There are 60,000 Muslims in his hometown of Quanzhou.) He made a gunpowder drawing based on video he made of the royals’ elaborate training regimen for thoroughbred horses, and created a mid-air installation of replicas of falcons assailing a camel. Among other works the piece de resistance was an exquisite mural of 480 white porcelain tiles covered with cast chrysanthemums – a ceramic product traditionally exported from his hometown of Quanzhou – across which he used gunpowder to burn a calligraphy of the Arabic word for “fragile.” Mathaf hopes to acquire the 10 x 60-foot mural.

No sooner than he completes the MOCA show, Cai will be off to Hangzhou in Southern China. There he will work on a barge in the West Lake using gunpowder to sketch the panorama on a vast sheet of silk. The work will join a pendant that he created there last September, and other works for an exhibition titled “Spring” that opens at the Zhejiang Museum on April 20.

Jason Edward Kaufman

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Frick Lectures Going Online

Renoir, Dance at Bougival, 1883

Renoir's Dance at Bougival, 1883, now at the Frick

The Frick has begun to stream its lectures, so you don’t have to be on the Upper East Side of Manhattan to attend. The inaugural offering – all free of charge – was an overview by deputy director Colin Bailey about Renoir’s full-length figure paintings from 1874 to 1885, ten of which are the subject of a show he curated (on view through May 13). Bailey illustrated his talk with archival photographs, prints, related paintings, fashion ads, and all sorts of correspondence and other documents to conjure Renoir’s personal life and the dynamics of his career. It was interesting to discover that Albert Barnes had made an offer for Renoir’s La Promenadethe year before Henry Clay Frick bought it, and that Frick, who preferred Old Masters, had planned to return it, though of course he decided not to.

Bailey uncovered these details in researching the catalogue that accompanies his show in the East Room. The highlight is Dance at Bougival flanked by Dance in the Country and Dance in the City – a trio of life-size figure paintings with wall power. I would place the Dance at Bougival, from the MFA Boston, among Renoir’s finest paintings, along with Ball at the Moulin de la Galette in the Musee d’Orsay, Luncheon of the Boating Party at the Phillips, Madame Charpentier with her Children at the Metropolitan, perhaps the violin-playing Clown in Oterlo, and I suppose the Great Bathers in Philadelphia. I’m partial also to a radiant sunlit view over the Seine in the National Gallery’s new installation of its French and other paintings. Say what you wish about Renoir’s candy-box confections of Parisian society, the man could paint.

When the Met mounted a show about the dealer Ambrose Vollard, a highlight for me was the brief Gaumont film that captured the aging Renoir receiving his dealer in the studio. In an instant Renoir rose from the frozen annals of art history as a breathing human being. It was a humbling and quietly astonishing experience that recalibrated my sense of the man. Here is a similar clip that has the same effect. Bailey’s lecture furthered my education.

An excerpt of his talk is online and within a week the full lecture will be here. (Be advised, the programs are preceded by an ad.) The Renoir program continues with talks about the artist’s mistress (Feb. 22), his portrayal of Parisian women (March 7), his attention to fashion (March 28) and his career as portraitist (April 4). But first there is a talk about former Frick director Charles Ryskamp’s collecting (Feb. 15). For a complete listing click here.

- Jason Kaufman

Why Would Anyone Collect Conceptual Art?

Barbara and Aaroon Levine.

Barbara and Aaron Levine in their Washington, DC home, with Duchamp's Box en Valise (1941) in the foreground. (Photo: Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011).

People who collect contemporary art often pretend to be savants of culture. Their vanity can be tiresome when celebrity, money and power serve as substitutes for taste, discernment and social responsibility. Then there are collectors of a quieter and more bookish bent whose acquisitions are guided by historical perspective, intellectual curiosity and humility. They value artworks not primarily for their escalating auction estimates or auras of chic, but for their capacities to change the way the collectors see the world.

The Levines in their bedroom, lined with Warhol "Mao" prints.

The Levines in their bedroom, lined with Warhol "Mao" prints. (Photo: Jason Edwrd Kaufman (c) 2011)

Washington, D.C. has many collectors in this category, and among them are certainly Barbara and Aaron Levine. They are not major philanthropists on the scale of Duncan Phillips or Joseph Hirshhorn, but they bring comparable seriousness, perspicacity and enthusiasm to collecting. A recent tour of their Georgian house suggests that they are more interested in ideas than in big-ticket trophies and eye candy.

Aaron Levine.

Aaron Levine with a miniature replica of Duchamp's Bicycle Wheel. (Photo: Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

They do have beautiful high-end paintings, sculptures, photographs and prints (see image above), but the Levines specialize in conceptual art, which tends toward visual understatement. The premise of the movement, which coalesced in New York in the early 1960s, is that the artwork doesn’t need any physical expression; it exists in the realm of ideas.

The notion that the work of art is an idea and not a splendid thing to hang on the wall doesn’t exactly quicken the pulse of the average art lover. Even seasoned art aficionados can find it a bit obscure, if not downright dry and ungratifying. Who in their right mind would collect this stuff?

The Levines have stenciled the toilets in their house with Duchamp's pseudonymous "R. Mutt" signature from his notorious urinal.

The Levines have stenciled the toilets in their house with Duchamp's pseudonymous "R. Mutt" signature from his notorious urinal. (Photo: Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

The Levines — she is a longtime trustee of the Hirshhorn Museum and he is a lawyer who fights pharmaceutical companies — have more Conceptual art than any museum in town. They are obsessed with Marcel Duchamp and with his latter-day disciples Joseph Kosuth, Lawrence Weiner, and many others. What’s more, they can explain how Conceptual works impact the way they see the world. And they do so not without a self-aware dollop of humor (see image to left).

When I was in graduate school Conceptual Art, along with structural theory and semiotics, were the reigning orthodoxy. I dove in because it was germane to the  philosophical and epistemological questions that seemed so urgent at the time. They still are urgent questions, but we get caught up in the familiar and mundane and ignore the enigmas. No one seems to have time to pursue a life of the mind. It is refreshing to meet collectors who surround themselves with objects that function as interlocutors in that essential conversation.

Click here for more photographs of their extensive collection, and to read my complete profile in The Washington Post. To access past articles click here.

Jason Edward Kaufman

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Museums Move into the Digital Future, Smartphones in Hand

The Google Art Project allows virtual visits to a growing network of museums.

The Google Art Project allows virtual visits to a growing network of museums.

Imagine the museum of the future.

You step inside your home tele-dec and settle into an armchair that self-adjusts to your comfort settings. “Computer,” you command, “load the National Gallery of Art.” The room brightens and you find yourself in the atrium of the great Washington institution.

In the air above the information desk a menu reads: Permanent Collection, Special Exhibitions, Timeline of Art History, and Lounge.

“Timeline,” you say, and the great hall becomes a mist out of which emerges a semi-circle of lifelike 3-D images of iconic sculptures and paintings from prehistory to the present.

Giotto's Scrovegni Chapel frescoes, Padua, 1303-05.

Giotto's Scrovegni Chapel frescoes, Padua, 1303-05.

“Italian Renaissance frescoes,” you say, and the scene converts to masterworks by Giotto, Ghirlandaio, Michelangelo and others. The hovering menu suggests tours by chronology, location, iconography, or patronage, but you feel like exploring the work of a single artist.

“Giotto,” you command, and you are inside the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua.

A holographic docent appears before you and asks, “Where shall we begin?” “Tour iconography,” you say, and the docent walks slowly towards a scene of the Birth of the Virgin on the wall to the left, your chair swiveling to follow her movement.

“The Florentine painter Giotto,” she begins, “was commissioned by Enrico degli Scrovegni to decorate the interior of a small chapel he had built adjoining his palace on the site of the former Roman arena in Padua. From 1303 to 1305 Giotto frescoed the walls with scenes from the lives of the Joachim and Anna, their daughter the Virgin Mary, and her son Jesus  Christ, as well as the Last Judgement. The cycle begins here,” says the guide,” gesturing as illumination increases on a rectangular scene showing Joachim praying in the desert.

We’re not there yet, but technological leaps are rapidly making possible remote access to images and information about art museum collections. And that information already includes pictures, texts, audio and video guides, not to mention  conversations with museum professionals and fellow museum lovers who convene through social media. Could the home tele-dec be far away?

Tap mobile app from Indianapolis Museum of Art.

Indianapolis Museum of Art developed TAP, an open-source platform that enables museums to create mobile apps for iPods.

The digital transformation of museum-going is the subject of my latest article in The Washington Post.

Nancy Proctor, the Smithsonian’s head of mobile strategy and initiatives, would like a visitor to be able to aim a smartphone camera at an object, have it do a visual search of all images in the museum database, tell the visitor what they are looking at and provide additional information about it.

That’s the foreseeable future, though image recognition does not work well yet for three-dimensional objects. And image-recognition software requires access throughout the museum to Wi-Fi or the web. Mobile phone broadband speeds are expected to increase making it perhaps the preferable route to the Internet.

An alternative would locate the object by GPS, but most museums lack the infrastructure (and satellite connectivity) to provide it, though something along these lines is where we are headed.

“If I could snap my fingers I would make Wi-Fi in every Smithsonian building to connect with SI.edu and other resources,” says Proctor, “with everything digitized in the highest resolution in 3D. And we’d recruit the world to help do the work of the Smithsonian,” she says, explaining that visitors could tag attributes of the objects they encounter, making that information searchable to other users.

The consensus among experts is that the field is still in the R&D phase, testing strategies and new technologies to learn which approaches will best serve museums’ missions. But all agree that museums inexorably are moving into the brave new virtual world.

The Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of African American History and Culture won’t open until 2015, but the museum is working on an application that will let people look through their phone cameras at the future site on the Mall and see a ghostly image of the building as it will one day appear.

The Street Museum in London used similar “augmented reality” software to allow users to overlay historic photos of urban scenes onto the actual views on their phone screens. And the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam enlisted augmented reality in a project that allowed the public to take 3D images of works in the collection and “hang” them in real space where they would be visible by other users of the software.

The Museum of Modern Art’s current “Talk to Me” exhibit of human-machine interactive devices employs quick response (QR) codes and Twitter hashtags for each object, enabling visitors to scan the coded images to call up dedicated Web pages and associated Tweets.

Visitors to MoMA's "Talk to Me" exhibition. (Photo (c) MoMA)

Visitors to MoMA's "Talk to Me" exhibition. (Photo (c) MoMA)

Google’s Art Project has made self-guided video tours of 17 museums possible on your computer, and the company expects to add many more institutions to the network while improving navigation and search across multiple collections.

Looking ahead, the Indianapolis Museum of Art has an Institute of Museum and Library Services grant to use eye-tracking equipment that will chart a visitor’s gaze, recognizing when a person is standing in front of an object, which part of it they are looking at, for how long, and what they looked at next. “We want to know how viewers process looking at artworks and if our labels respond to that,” says Rob Stein, the lead software designer at the Indianapolis Museum of Art.

Marc Sands, director of audiences and media at the Tate in London, and previously the head of online ventures for the Guardian newspaper, says that curators have been reluctant to work on web projects. But just as journalists over the past decade recognized that their audiences are online, curators, too are seeing the digital light. “They are writing for the Web now, but it will move to video and audio soon,” he says.

“Something digital was something you’d think about at the end of the exhibition. Now we are asking curators to think about digital enhancements from the get go for their exhibitions,” says Carrie Rebora Barratt, associate director for collections and administration at the Metropolitan Museum, which launched a redesigned website last week.

Bellini and Titian's "The Feast of the Gods," 1514/1529, in the National Gallery of Art.

Bellini and Titian's "The Feast of the Gods," 1514/1529, in the National Gallery of Art. Wouldn't it be useful to have it on your smartphone screen replete with notes identifying the figures and providing a historical overview?

The in-gallery experience is likely to be profoundly transformed, though no one knows precisely how. Perhaps many visitors, especially younger ones, would love to be able to stand in front of a painting — say Bellini and Titian’s Feast of the Gods in the National Gallery — and have the image automatically appear on their smartphone screens with an overlay identifying each of the depicted figures. Perhaps they want to tap on menu items for in-depth information and to hear a curator via their earpods discuss the work and its creators.

This sort of experience is within grasp for museums. Some already come close, and for others it seems less a question of “if” so much as “when.”

To read more about the fast approaching brave new virtual world of museums, click here or on one of the images.

Jason Edward Kaufman

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Nuit Blanche Brings a Night of Light to New York

Still from Diller and Scofido's Soft Sell (1993), single-channel projection with sound.

Still from Diller and Scofido's Soft Sell (1993), single-channel projection with sound.

We all met at the 34th Street Ferry that took us across the East River ($4 each way) to Greenpoint where curators of Nuit Blanche New York showed us a few of the 50 or so artworks — all involving light – that will be lining the blue-collar streets and filling a few of the disused factories for one night only – tonight, Oct. 1.

We strolled down the India Street pier towards a projection of a pair of luscious red lips asking us a series of question, each beginning, “How would you like….” (The saleswoman in Diller & Scofidio’s “Soft Sell” offered everything from “a clean credit record” to “a new identity,” but never got around to the one thing many of us were waiting for.)

Around the corner a Tony Oursler-style eye by Marcos Zotes-Lopez blinked from the top of ten-story-high water tower, U.S. and Polish troops recounted their Iraqi experiences as a candle flickered in a Krztsztof Wodiczko video in a local bar, and Eli Keszler busily stretched piano wires on walls in preparation for a performance.

The roster assembled by creative director Ken Farmer promises work by Dustin Yellin, Luke Dubois, Chakaia Booker, Daniel Canogar, Jeremy Blake, Richard Serra (films from the ’60s and ’70s) and dozens of others, as well as musical performances and a youth poetry slam from an ice-cream-like POEMobile – all within a few blocks.

The organizers told us ink-stained wretches that the time to arrive on Saturday night will be around sunset, and that ferries back to Manhattan go ’til midnight. For more information click the lips.

Jason Edward Kaufman

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“Suddenly Last Summer” in Chelsea

Suddenly Last Summer

Taylor in the 1959 film.

Katharine Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor and Montgomery Clift starred in the film version of Tennessee Williams’ Suddenly Last Summer. I love that film, directed by Joseph Mankiewicz, but I’d never seen the play live until I happened upon a production now in Chelsea. It’s an emotionally satisfying hour and a half, worth making an effort to see. I   recommend touring the galleries, getting a bite to eat, then walking to the Hudson Guild Theatre at 441 W. 26th St. between 9th and 10th Aves. where tickets are $18 each.

The 1958 play – written more than a decade after The Glass Menagerie and A Street Car Named Desire, and a few years after Cat on Hot Tin Roof — deals with many of the same themes as those classics. Psychology, greed, family intrigue and sexuality play leading roles. Williams (1914-83) called it a “moral fable,” an allegory “about how people devour each other,” and indeed, each character uses the others to one purpose or other.

Set in the Garden District of New Orleans, the hothouse drama centers on the death of Sebastian the previous summer while vacationing at the beach in impoverished Cabeza de Lobo. His widowed mother Violet blames the death on his cousin Catharine, an attractive girl he brought along to attract the boys on whom he preyed sexually.

Suddenly Last Summer

Hepburn, Clift and Taylor in the 1959 film version of Suddenly Last Summer.

Catharine reveals Sebastian’s lurid death at the hands of his lovers, but Violet rejects the agonizing account as delusional and seeks to have the girl lobotomized to silence her. (Williams’ sister Rose was institutionalized and given a lobotomy.)

The White Horse Theater Co. production, directed by Cyndy A. Marion, comes to life through the performances of Lacy J. Dunn as a suitably luscious and shell-shocked Catharine Holly, Elizabeth Bove as the domineering battle-axe Violet Venable, and Lue´ McWilliams as Catharine’s anxious mother, who with her brother George (Haas Regen) urges the girl to lie about what happened to appease Violet who might block the money Sebastian left them in his will. The psychiatrist, Dr. Cukrowicz, is rather blandly played by Douglas Taurel, which focuses attention on the emotional dynamics of the family, which is rightly the main event.

The 1959 movie set a high bar, and so does this modest off-Broadway production. Plan to see it before it closes on Oct. 2. For tickets visit http://www.whitehorsetheater.com/ or call 212.868.4444.

Jason Edward Kaufman

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Collecting Latin American Art in Washington, D.C.: Daniel & Mirella Levinas

Daniel & Mirella Levinas. (Photo Astrid Riecken)

Daniel & Mirella Levinas. (Photo Astrid Riecken)

The facade of Daniel and Mirella Levinas’s mansion off Wisconsin Avenue looks like many white-brick houses in Georgetown. Greek revival details convey patrician heritage and conservative taste without a hint that behind the pilastered doorway is a pristine, ultra-modern museum.

Inside unfolds a domestic variation on the gallery style known as “the white cube.” Walls and floors are rectilinear planes stripped of decorative flourishes, and rooms are a sea of white, relieved here and there by a patch of muted color on the sparse furnishings. Where you would expect to find furniture, curious functionless objects beckon.

The first thing you see is a stack of Warhol-style Brillo boxes made of puckered paper, covered with hand-drawn logos and lettering in black and white (by Spanish artist Javier Arce). In the foyer stands a white monochrome figure with a clutch of colored fluorescent lights slung over his shoulder (Catalan artist Bernardi Roig). A translucent fabric scrim that at first looks like a solid wall becomes a screen for a surprising video projection.

Juan Munoz, Balcony, is mounted high on a wall.

Juan Munoz, Balcony, is mounted high on a wall.

It feels so much like a public gallery that you have to remind yourself that you are visiting a private home.

Some people collect stamps, cars, guns, stuffed animals, wine or Civil War memorabilia. The Levinases collect contemporary art. The Argentine couple have hundreds of sculptures, paintings, drawings, photographs, videos and artist books, mainly by younger artists from Latin America.

The list includes prominent figures such as León Ferrari, Vik Muniz, Cildo Meireles, Matthew Barney, Olafur Eliasson, Liliana Porter and many others who may not be household names, but who have soaring reputations among experts. But the couple are known particularly for discovering talented artists.

Daniel Levinas in his living room. (Photo by Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

Daniel Levinas in his living room. Foreground, a painted-wood piece by Manu Muniategiandikoetxea, and in distance, flourescent bulbs blossom in tree piece by Carlos Schwartz. (Photo by Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

“Every time you visit his home, it’s a learning experience,” says Richard Koshalek, director of the Smithsonian’s Hirshhorn Museum, where since last year Daniel Levinas has served on the board. “There are going to be works by emerging artists not known by other collectors, and many times not known by curators of major museums. His exploratory sensibility is extremely important for the Hirshhorn, which has to have a global vision, a great awareness of what’s happening in other parts of the world.”

“They’re not looking for the proverbial painting over the couch,” says Leigh Conner, owner of Conner Contemporary Art in Northeast Washington. “They’re very adventurous collectors, open to what art can be, whether it’s a video or a sculpture made of forks and paper plates,” she says, referring to a hedgehog-like assemblage of plastic dinnerware by local artist Dan Steinhilber that the couple purchased from G. Fine Art.

That piece — among the few by local artists currently on display — occupies a nook in Daniel’s book-lined study. A nearby balcony overlooks the living room, a cavernous, light-filled chamber with double-height ceilings and a polished stone floor that extends some 30 yards in length. Sunlight floods in through a floor-to-ceiling glass wall onto a seating area around a square table laden with art books and small sculptures.

Levinas living room with Javier Arces mural after DIego Rivera. (Photo by Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

Levinas living room with Javier Arces mural after DIego Rivera. (Photo by Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

Mounted above a recessed fireplace is a crumpled-paper mural with a black-and-white rendition of a famous fresco by Mexican master Diego Rivera (also by Arce). Around the room, sculptures rest on pedestals or directly on the floor, culminating at the far end in a raised mezzanine where dried trees bloom with fluorescent bulbs (Spanish artist Carlos Schwartz).

Cubbyhole shelves contain a miscellany of framed photographs, drawings and precious objects. And the entire glass wall retracts to open onto an enclosed patio where a giant Dixie Cup-shaped fountain continually pours water into a swimming pool.

We’re a long way from the conventional image of inside-the-Beltway living.

There are all sorts of explanations for why people collect: prestige and social climbing, financial investment, or even, as some psychological theories hold, as a form of sexual display or a way to compensate for trauma or loss. Daniel and Mirella claim more wholesome motivations. “We collect to be surrounded by things that we like,” Mirella says. “Other people have plants in their house. We don’t.”

Artworks in Levinas wall display. (Photo by Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

Artworks in Levinas wall display. (Photo by Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

These days, wealthy collectors often hire curators or consultants to tell them what to buy. The Levinases do their own hunting. “It’s part of the excitement,” Mirella explains, ticking off a list of recent expeditions from New York to Basel, Madrid to Mexico City. Their next trip is to the Venice Biennale, with stops in Trieste, Italy; Ljubljana, Slovenia; and Berlin to visit artists’ studios. “Some people enjoy going to the beach, and some people enjoy going to a museum or to see an artist or installation. For us, to see art is pleasure,” she says.

For slide show of works in the collection and to read the complete profile click here or one of the images above.

Jason Edward Kaufman

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Art on a Lake: How to Lure Locals to Contemporary Art

"Art on Lake" on Budapest's City Park Lake, with the scenic Vajdahunyad Castle illuminated at night.

"Art on Lake" on Budapest's City Park Lake, with the scenic Vajdahunyad Castle illuminated at night.

How do you like the idea of a sculpture exhibition with the works set on the surface of a lake? Clever idea or a gimmick? I was leaning towards gimmick when I received an invitation to see such a show taking place in Budapest this summer. It’s organized by the city’s Museum of Fine Arts (MFA) and takes place on an artificial lake in City Park, a short walk from the museum across Heroes’ Square. “Art on Lake,” which opened at the end of May, marks Hungary’s presidency of the European Union (the term ended July 1) and includes one work each by 25 artists representing 16 E.U. countries (Hungary itself has 3 participants). The gathering of old and emerging artists from across Europe may be an international event, but “Art on Lake” inevitably will have its greatest impact on the locals. Officials at the MFA, whose exhibitions center on a renowned collection of Old Masters, consider the project an instrument for introducing an uninitiated public to the pleasures of contemporary art.

When I arrived the day after the vernissage I had my doubts that the students would show up for class. It was hot and muggy, slightly overcast, and the only people around were publicists, a couple of curators, and a few of the artists waiting to fly back home. The target audience was absent and the place felt desolate. I joined the others near a Baroque-style pavilion that services ice skaters in winter and row boaters in summer, but was shuttered for an E.U.-sponsored renovation. Sitting on plastic chairs we ordered bottles of tea from a poorly stocked makeshift café and gazed at the brooding Vajdahunyad Castle, an ancient-looking historicizing mélange built a century ago to celebrate the supposed millennium of Hungary’s founding.

Talk ranged from the rise of right-wing forces in Hungarian politics, to cutbacks in funding for European artists, to the difficulties of installing works on the cement-bottomed shallow lake. I could not help but notice that pedestals beneath some of the artworks were visible above the water line. Was this a temporary problem? I asked. Several artists rolled their eyes. It seemed the lake had been drained for installation, and when the water was let back in it failed to reach the expected level. Everyone agreed this was not catastrophic but frustrating nonetheless. How depressing, I thought. This must be typical of  post-Soviet Eastern Europe.

To my great relief, when I returned after the exhibition had opened to the public, the unpromising scene was transformed into a bucolic art-infused Arcadia. Pathways and grassy tree-shaded slopes surrounding the lake were mobbed, visitors rowed boats out for closer looks at the sculptures, and the well waters feeding the basin had risen sufficiently to produce the desired effect of artworks hovering on the surface, scattered among the reflected landscape and sky. The aquatic sculpture park proved a popular success. (Click for video tours here and  here.)

Lakeside cafe near rowboats for rent at "Art on Lake." (Photo: Jason edward Kaufman, (c) 2011)

Lakeside cafe near rowboats for rent at "Art on Lake." (Photo: Jason Edward Kaufman, (c) 2011)

Like most international group shows, it’s of uneven quality and without a coherent theme. There are abstract, conceptual, neo-surreal, and socially engaged works, some intriguing (or at least well-meaning) and others simplistic or even silly. A few might best be characterized as lazy. The roster embraces much of the E.U. (11 of the 27 member countries are absent, including Ireland, Portugal, Sweden, and Bulgaria) and includes artists of modest renown, particularly in the U.S., as well as several international stars.

Co-curator Alexander Tolnay. (Photo: Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

Co-curator Alexander Tolnay. (Photo: Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

Alexander Tolnay, a Hungarian independent curator living in Germany, worked with co-curators Péter Fitz, director of the city’s Kiscelli Museum, and art historian Krisztina Jerger. Tolnay told me the team sought works that “either give you a surprise – like a park bench or toilet in the middle of the lake [I’ll get to those examples in a moment] – or merge into the environment of the [aforementioned] castle. They had to either harmonize or irritate,” he says, adding that the results – two thirds of which were newly made for the exhibition – range from ironic, to playful, to earnest. That’s about right.

Tea Mäkipää's Atlantis, a house sinking into the lake. (Photo: Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

Tea Mäkipää's Atlantis, a house sinking into the lake. (Photo: Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

The most compelling and effective work on the lake is Tea Mäkipää’s Atlantis, a pale-green peak-roofed house set atilt as if sinking beneath the surface. Evocative not only of natural disasters that have become all too familiar in the age of global warming, it also alludes allegorically to larger themes of philosophical inundation and epistemological shipwreck. A Finnish artist living in Berlin, Mäkipää knew how to respond to the exhibition’s unique setting.

Balázs Kicsiny’s Delayed Departure, Hurried Return attracting boaters at "Art on Lake." (Photo: Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

Balázs Kicsiny’s Delayed Departure, Hurried Return attracting boaters at "Art on Lake." (Photo: Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

Another eye-catching piece is Hungarian Balázs Kicsiny’s Delayed Departure, Hurried Return. Four checkerboard-painted automobiles, joined at the back, each containing a crash-helmeted manikin seated as if to dine at a round table in the cars’ conjoined interiors. The vehicles are positioned to speed away from one another, suggesting the passengers’ inevitable isolation. Kicsiny, who represented Hungary at Venice in 2005, says, “The aim is to condense the contradictions of experiencing space and time into a visual paradox.” It misses in that respect, but row-boaters gravitate towards the enigmatic assemblage. Perhaps it does illustrate some metaphysical riddle.

The largest and most prominent installation is by Mimmo Roselli, an Italian who extends ropes from points of the Vajdahunyad Castle to the surface of the lake (see images above). His colossal drawing in space links the outlines of the architecture to the water plane, a spatial delineation that calls to mind work by Fred Sandback, Waltercio Caldas and others.

Jaume Plensa's Soul XII. (Photo: Stefan van Drake (c) 2011)

Jaume Plensa's Soul XII. (Photo: Stefan van Drake (c) 2011)

Also appealing is a piece by Jaume Plensa, the Catalan whose work of late has become a well-known brand at art venues around the globe. He sent a work from his now familiar “Souls – Nomads” series (begun in 2005), a stainless-steel seated figure on a rock, his skin an openwork net of letters that form words in various languages. “Letters are bricks of our souls,” muses MFA director László Baán, who considers it “the most impressive” work in the show.

But most of the big shot artists disappoint. Poland’s art doyenne, Magdalena Abakanowicz, whose shows at the MFA (2005) and Kunsthal (1988) have given her unique exposure in Budapest, contributes a folded metal V-shaped piece with upward slanting wings. Bird (2005) suggests an abstract dove or moth hovering above the lake, but the slight monochrome piece fails to take flight.

Anne and Patrick Poirier's tableau evokes classical civilization and myth.

Anne and Patrick Poirier's tableau evokes classical civilization and myth.

Anne and Patrick Poirier, the French couple enamored of an end-of-civilization theme, show a previously exhibited group of antique-style human figures and an energetically rampant horse that emerge from the water near a downward-pointing arrow. The semi-submerged Baroque-style sculptures suggest a mythic narrative being subsumed by the ages, but like the half-buried Statue of Liberty in Planet of the Apes their gravitas sinks into kitsch.

German artist Willi Weiner also culls antiquity for content and comes up with a stylized reminiscence of Greco-Roman amphorae. The pair of over-sized, mildly abstracted, rusted-steel pots constitute yet another vanitas of classical culture, tokens of a hackneyed notion oxidizing in the sun.

Krysztof Bednarski's Pop Karl Marx column fountain.

Krysztof Bednarski's Pop Karl Marx column fountain.

I expected more fountains – something to rival Jean Tinguely and Niki de St Phalle’s Stravinsky Fountain (1983) outside the Pompidou, or Isamu Noguchi’s astounding Floating Fountains (1970) in Osaka. But, the only waterworks are by Krysztof Bednarski, a Polish artist living in Rome, who stacks seven pink-resin heads of Karl Marx to form a 15-foot pillar with water sprinkling out of the top. This sort of agitprop Pop Art takes pleasure in mocking the once-revered Communist philosopher, and may strike a provocative chord among anti-Soviet Hungarians, but to cosmopolitan art aficionados it feels clichéd and clownish.

Jirí David’s red-and-white Cane for the Blind. (Photo: Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

Jirí David’s red-and-white Cane for the Blind. (Photo: Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

Czech multi-disciplinary artist Jirí David’s over-sized red-and-white Cane for the Blind, a work that could be mistaken for a Claes Oldenberg were it not such a humorless motif. Rather than a reminder to help those with poor eyesight, I imagine it’s a symbol of our collective perdition, or perhaps a wise-guy rebuke of the supposedly blinkered sensibility of his audience. David heads the Intermedia Studio at the Academy of Fine Arts in Prague, so maybe there’s something more here than meets the eye.

Kristoff Kintera's police barriers sprouting antlers. (Photo: Stefan van Drake (c) 2011)

Kristof Kintera's police barriers sprouting antlers. (Photo: Stefan van Drake (c) 2011)

A younger Czech artist, Krištof Kintera, presents a trio of tube-metal street barriers sprouting antlers. He transforms state instruments of crowd control into stick-figure deer wading in the shallows. They’re mildly amusing, but I couldn’t help but see them as discarded bicycle racks. (An Austria-based Esterhazy Foundation reportedly bought them.)

Eric Binder's Waiting, a park bench and streetlamp set mid lake. (Photo: Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

Eric Binder's Waiting, a park bench and streetlamp set mid lake. (Photo: Jason Edward Kaufman (c) 2011)

Nearby is Eric Binder’s Waiting, a park bench and streetlamp set mid lake, inaccessible and slightly surreal, as if there had been an unexpected flood, or urban planning had been overseen by Magritte. In the distance is a stone snowman garnished with a palm frond., the simplistic sentinel of climate change by Daniel Knorr, who represented Romania at Venice in 2005 by leaving the post-Ceaușescu nation’s pavilion vacant. Here he joins a legion of Europeans preaching heightened awareness of our fragile environment.

Via Lewandowsky set a plastic outhouse in an inconvenient location.

Via Lewandowsky set a plastic outhouse in an inconvenient location.

East German-born Via Lewandowsky planned to spill oil or some other toxin into the lake. Instead she installed a blue plastic outhouse in the middle of the water. An attention-getter, to be sure, it reads more like a slapstick joke than a grim admonition about pollution. It’s silly and quite ugly, which I suppose was her point.

Ilona Németh's flowery Private Islands were available for tending by "guerrilla gardners.""

Ilona Németh's flowery Private Islands were available for tending by "guerrilla gardeners.""

A more subtle and nuanced expression of ecological concern is a pair of flowery floating islands by Ilona Németh, a young artist from Slovakia. Her artificial Private Islands are intended as sites of guerrilla gardening, rentable by industrious art lovers who wish to tend the plants. I’m not sure if anyone signed up, but the oases of natural beauty enhance an already pastoral scene.

Josef Bernhardt installed a grove of birdfeeders on posts, creating a protective environment for sleeping ducks.

Josef Bernhardt installed a grove of birdfeeders on posts, creating a protective environment for sleeping ducks.

Josef Bernhardt, an Austrian who laments our destruction of animal habitats, installs one of his trademark grids of bird-nesting boxes on poles. “We have lost our contact with nature, and therefore also with ourselves,” says the environmentalist, whose 2005 work has been shown in Japan and Vienna. Waiting for Birds was still waiting for residents when I left town, though ducks reportedly have taken to sleeping within the protective grove of the birdfeeder supports.

Undertones of environmental policy emerge from a work by Heather Allen, a British artist resident in Berlin. Two diminutive bronze figures precipitously climb a trussed-metal oil derrick, apparently dramatizing the perils of reliance on petroleum. And ethnic politics come to the fore in Róza El-Hassan’s wicker totem Exclamation Mark, for which the Syrian-Hungarian artist commissioned Roma basket weavers from a camp in Szendrölád, Hungary. “The exclamation is the voice of those excluded undeservedly,” she says of her ostracized collaborators.

Zénó Kelemen's spiral Rounded Loop, the only abstract sculpture in the show, was purchased by a local insurance company.

Zénó Kelemen's spiral Rounded Loop, the only abstract sculpture in the show, was purchased by a local insurance company.

It was surprising to find only one non-figurative abstraction gracing the lake. Zénó Kelemen’s Rounded Loop is a spiral Moebius form in white resin, with embedded LEDs that light up at night. A local insurance company bought the young Hungarian’s piece for their Budapest headquarters.

Naturally several artists fabricated nautical crafts. The Dutch artist Paul Segers dabbles ironically with the machinery of war in The Southern Front (ZFU-05), a 10-metre long air strip replete with landing lights and a shed that rests on pontoons and looks like an abandoned mobile military unit. Another rudimentary vessel is by the senior German artist Günther Uecker. His minimalist frigate consists of six square sails suspended in a row between masts mounted on floating barrels. The contraption, which pivots in the wind, was designed for the set of a 1979 production of Wagner’s Lohengrin at Bayreuth, and Uecker donated this reconstruction to the Budapest MFA, which Tolnay says will organize an Uecker show in 2012.

Laurens Kolks' Private Investigation offers boaters a view of the show from behind tinted glass.

Laurens Kolks' Private Investigation offers boaters a view of the show from behind tinted glass.

Laurens Kolks (b. 1976), a young artist from Rotterdam whose career has spanned industrial and interior design, has created a small cabin-boat with tinted windows that enables visitors to paddle the pond in seclusion. Private Investigation permits clandestine participation in public-art, but it was difficult to gauge whether any couples took full advantage of the opportunity.

I don’t know what to make of Austrian Brigitte Kowanz’ red buoys, some cylinders and some spheres, that spell out an indecipherable message in Morse code. Nor did I care for Gert Robijns’ chair resting on an archipelago of curvilinear islands that we are told outline the shapes of Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck. Then there is a work by Susana Solano, the Spanish artist, who placed a broad plate of metal on the concrete floor of the lake. Consider it a kind of underwater Carl Andre, if you like, but it struck me as weak and lazy.

“Art on Lake” may not be a collection of masterpieces, but the show seems to be serving its purpose, which is to introduce contemporary art to an under-informed public. Hungarian curators and artists tell me that the city’s cultural awareness is about as up to date as City Park’s faux medieval castle. And no wonder – the 1.7 million residents have almost no exposure to contemporary art.

Hungarian artists Zénó Kelemen and Balázs Kicsiny. (Photo: Jason Edward Kaufman © 2011)

Hungarian artists Zénó Kelemen and Balázs Kicsiny. (Photo: Jason Edward Kaufman © 2011)

The Ludwig Museum, established in 1989 with about 70 postwar works donated by the late German chocolate magnate, is the de facto national museum of contemporary art, but its collection remains small and its relocation in 2005 to the Palace of Arts — an unimaginative glass-and-steel structure overlooking the Danube on the city’s eastern outskirts — has resulted in low attendance. The collection galleries and a well organized retrospective (closed July 3) of Croatian conceptualist Mladen Stilinović (b. 1945) were vacant on a weekday afternoon when I toured with curators Branka Stipančić and Katalin Székely. So was the survey (closed July 31) of paintings, drawings, and films by Belgian artist Michaël Borremans that filled the great Kunsthalle, across Heroes Square from the MFA, when I visited with curator Zsolt Petrányi . [The Ludwig has a László Moholy-Nagy exhibition on view until September 25.] I did not visit the handful of commercial galleries, but it is noteworthy that the 300-plus galleries at Art Basel in June included only one from Hungary (Vintage Galería).

The lake show is a gentle effort at consciousness raising. Co-curator Tolnay, told me that “the majority of people here do not go to museums [and] there is no tradition of contemporary art. Sculpture in a public space must be a general on a horse or a metal poet. This project is democratizing the art, getting it out of the ghetto of the happy few.” MFA director László Baán says the idea was to place work outdoors where an encounter was insured even for those unaccustomed to stepping inside a museum. “In Hungary people are pretty conservative. Contemporary art is not so fashionable,” says Baán, noting that a Luc Tuymans show attracted 5,000 visitors in Budapest and 50,000 in Munich. “It’s an educational process,” he says, “to show them it’s not so dangerous or inaccessible. It’s an important gesture bringing contemporary art and the public together,” he says.

This is not the first time sculpture has been presented on City Park Lake. In 2000 it was the site of a millennial show of Hungarian art, organized and sponsored by the State with support from private companies. The current project is the first outdoor exhibition under the auspices of the MFA. Most of the 500,000 Euros budget was covered by the State with additional funds from the E.U. and private sponsors; some artists received support from their home countries. Access to the exhibit is free, but boat rentals cost 1500 HUF an hour, and have been quite popular. In fact, the show is doing so well that Baán says he would like to establish a triennial open-air project of some kind. Whether or not that dream comes to fruition, “Art on Lake” already has made a splash in that direction.

Art on Lake,” organized by the Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest – City Park Lake, Budapest. Through September 4, 2011.

To read more about Budapest and its museums, return here soon for Part 2. .

Jason Edward Kaufman

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New Age Kiefer Documentary Disappoints

Kiefer (right) and assistants working on massive canvases at Barjac, a highlight of the documentary by Sophie Fiennes.

Kiefer (right) and assistants working on massive canvases at Barjac, a highlight of Over Your Cities Grass Will Grow, the documentary by Sophie Fiennes.

What do you know about Anselm Kiefer, besides his art, that is? I expected that Sophie Fiennes’ documentary about his legendary subterranean earthworks at Barjac, in Southern France, would explain a lot. But it provides little valuable material. Over Your Cities Grass Will Grow (2010), currently showing at Film Forum, is a desultory clutch of mostly silent tracking shots that fails to come together coherently, as if after she got to the editing room the director realized she didn’t have what she needed, but went ahead anyway.

The best scenes show Kiefer and his assistants at work — painting, dusting, and hoisting superb forest scenes on huge canvases, melting and pouring lead for an apocalyptic alchemical installation, stacking slabs of stone and metal to resemble ruined towers. Also worthwhile is an interview with the artist in his studio. He displays his philosophical streak, but also its intellectual limitations — that is, he is pointedly Faustian and far-ranging in his references, but his ideas are no more revelatory than those of any intelligent and cultured person. Bruce Nauman noted sarcastically that the true artist must reveal mystical truths. His irony makes sense except in cases where mystic revelation is the subject of an artist’s work. Then you want a little more than random scientific factoids, apercus, and aphorisms.

Kiefer and Fiennes.

Kiefer and Fiennes.

Regrettably, these few scenes are a small portion of a 105-minute film that mainly slowtracks through colossal installations, giving artsy partial views and close-ups that convey more the languid technique and facile eye of the camera operator than a cogent presentation of Kiefer’s monomaniacal project. Spacey music by György Ligeti cannot redeem these amateurish cinematic longueurs, and the soundtrack becomes a grating New-Age cliche.

I am a huge fan of Kiefer’s work – the recent exhibit at Gagosian contained splendid canvases and eerie assemblages in vitrines — and I enjoyed this flawed filmic visit to Barjac, but I found the whole thing disappointing. The review in The New York Times has it all wrong.

Kiefer, who worked at Barjac from 1993 until moving to Paris a few years ago, has expressed his desire to open the complex to the public. There have been reports that a German-French foundation may fund and operate it, but its fate remains uncertain.

Jason Edward Kaufman

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