We spent part of the day yesterday at a local privately own art museum, the Marciano Art Foundation. Housed in a handsome former Masonic Temple . This mid century structure , while lacking the patrician dignity of east coast temples ( such as the mind blowing Philadelphia pile ), nonetheless was very impressive in its day and currently, in its reincarnation, still is .
Happily the Marciano Foundation is conscientious in tending to the dignity of the facade .
The interior , much gutted , houses a permanent immersive work as shown in the video above in what was a spectacular auditorium and rotating collections of well known and lesser known contemporary artists in the striking gallery floors above . A noble mission . All free of charge. Quite admirable , all in the spirit of Carnegie .
Yet with this abundance, I was overcome with a sense of isolation, one that I frequently feel whenever in the presence of what is deemed important art . Be it the Museum of Contemporary Art , Hauser&Wirth or the well regarded Hammer – all must-sees when visiting Los Angeles , I feel a sense of desolation . What I experience on a deep visceral level is an abiding sense of alienation.
I see enthusiastic crowds gathering about , snapping images ( not all selfies thankfully) and having earnest and sincere conversation about work that leaves me so listless that I cannot muster the strength to open the camera on my phone .
What on earth am I missing ?
So much of what is seen as exciting and needing to be discussed at great length has me skeedaddling out of the handsome , well appointed galleries at a rapid pace . So much of the work, of cantilevered plates of glass, of copious amounts of asphaltum, of precise geometric composition, works demanding the focus of a mathematical equations , these works leave me wondering , if such works were my introduction to art , would I have ever picked up a pencil ?
Luckily , as a boy , my first art crush , was found in the teeniest reproduction of Greek vase paintings – from there I grabbed a pencil .
From much of the work I see at respectable temples to art , I fail to grasp the spirit of the maker , of the object . I read the theory , witness the sincere discussion concerning the work , I ponder , question , reflect , yet comprehension is as elusive as proving the existence of an almighty .
It isn’t at all fair to pick on the Marciano Art Foundation, and that isn’t my intention . In fact , I am sure at some point I will return for some exhibition of interest .
But the greater issue for me is of existential disconnect. I have many contemporary artists whose work I know and love ( a few I have even met ) but they all offer a piece of their heart . Perhaps that sacrifice is what I desire , and wish to offer myself . The presence of heart wasn’t apparent to me yesterday.
In the end , I did enjoy my visit to the Marciano , the staff was so pleasant, plentiful and eager to chat, the interiors handsome and spare and the Masonic history thoughtfully preserved . In fact the Masonic costumes were of particular interest .
The exterior of the former temple still retains its beautiful mosaic murals by the fantastic Millard Sheets and the striking monumental architectural sculptures narrate Masonic lore as plainly as a medieval stained window .
In closing, my intention isn’t to bemoan the contemporary world, that would be futile and ineffective, my intention is to recognize my disconnect, the why of it , and to find a place in it . An attachment to a romantic past is fruitless , but thoughtful conversation across time , that is what I seek . My alienation frequently stems from not grasping my present society,this alien nation .
Boondocks Babylon 