....while sitting
inside the banh mi (Vietnamese-French sandwhich) cafe, I decided upon my next journey. I would check out the "Engagement Party" at the Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA) on Grand Avenue. I headed out, and emerged from the Pershing Square Metro station after the sun had already departed. As I ascended upon the escalators,
the towers of California Plaza and other nearby skyscrapers were galaxies of light in the night. I headed toward Angels Flight,
the old funicular railway that would carry me up the steep Bunker Hill. I approached MOCA
and as it was not yet 7pm (when the event officially began), I headed inside to take a quick look around. MOCA's galleries were being roped off
as part of tonight's infrastructure (more on this later). I still managed to see several prominent pieces from their collection including Craig Kauffman
who was an original Light And Space Minimalist in Los Angeles in the 1950s and 1960s. His (and contemporaries') clean smooth Finish Fetish work
adorned the wall. I saw some early Assemblage work. I also was fortunate to observe some of Alberto Giacometti's
"shadow sculptures". Guards began to usher me out of the halls and so I descended into MOCA's basement, which functions as a public "art lounge". Books on art, architecture and design lined the sparse shelves amid mid-century modern furniture
and an Apple desktop.
As it became nearer to 7pm, I went back upstairs and got in line for the Engagement Party. This particular event was an artist-in-residence performance by Liz Glynn. Entitled "
Like A Patient Etherized Upon A Table" , museum visitors are to be blindfolded
and lead through the galleries while being read morbid Modernist poetry by the museum's security guards.
The idea is to encourage the visitor to experience the space differently if they are deprived of the ability to view the art on display. As I was lead through the galleries,
I focused more on the creaking of the wooden floorboards and as I let go of my fear that I would plow head-first into a wall or a price-less work of art, I let my mind plunge off into an abyss. There was an inherent eroticism to the vulnerabilty of blindly walking toward the sound of jangling keys and a deep baritone reciting T.S. Eliot. Then out of the unknown, someone took my arm and lead me down many steps and into a chair where they removed my blindfold and I found myself in a dark theater where I sat alone staring at a white screen.
After sitting in contemplation for several minutes I got up as others were being lead
into the theater. I left MOCA with an even greater desire to expand my spatial perception. I walked up the block to the
Walt Disney Concert Hall. I went to the lower corner where the entrance to REDCAT
(a gallery, lounge, and theater run by California Institute of the Arts) is located. Inside I was confronted by a stark white space disturbed by the occasional panel of abstract
oil oozings, television,
or black wooden installations
of black and white photos. I discovered that the exhibit is made up of imagery from the Getty's Jacobian Orientalist Collection, and that the purpose of this showing is to explore the lack of context, the overemphasis on strategies of display, and the fascination with ethnographic "otherness". Pleased but still yearning for spatial exploration, I went outside. I passed in front of Patina,
the expensive restaurant by chef Joachim Splichal, that I will one day be able to eat at. I climbed up the steps
to the public spaces atop the concert hall complex, wandering amid the folds of stainless steel panels,
like an ant inside the petals of a flower. To the south I saw the swirls of light contained inside the monoliths of commerce.
To the north, I walked into the plaza of the Music Center, observing the 1960s neo-formalism of the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion
(home to the LA Opera), the Mark Taper Auditorium
(home to experimental performances), and the Ahmanson Theatre
(home to big-budget musicals and other productions). Even amid all the high-brow venues around me, I was very happy to find that in true L.A. -fashion, there was a stall selling tacos and beer.
Satisfied, I took the Metro back home. The art inside the Metro stations deserves its own entry at a future date.....
inside the banh mi (Vietnamese-French sandwhich) cafe, I decided upon my next journey. I would check out the "Engagement Party" at the Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA) on Grand Avenue. I headed out, and emerged from the Pershing Square Metro station after the sun had already departed. As I ascended upon the escalators,
the towers of California Plaza and other nearby skyscrapers were galaxies of light in the night. I headed toward Angels Flight, 
the old funicular railway that would carry me up the steep Bunker Hill. I approached MOCA 
and as it was not yet 7pm (when the event officially began), I headed inside to take a quick look around. MOCA's galleries were being roped off 
as part of tonight's infrastructure (more on this later). I still managed to see several prominent pieces from their collection including Craig Kauffman 
who was an original Light And Space Minimalist in Los Angeles in the 1950s and 1960s. His (and contemporaries') clean smooth Finish Fetish work 
adorned the wall. I saw some early Assemblage work. I also was fortunate to observe some of Alberto Giacometti's 
"shadow sculptures". Guards began to usher me out of the halls and so I descended into MOCA's basement, which functions as a public "art lounge". Books on art, architecture and design lined the sparse shelves amid mid-century modern furniture 
and an Apple desktop. 
As it became nearer to 7pm, I went back upstairs and got in line for the Engagement Party. This particular event was an artist-in-residence performance by Liz Glynn. Entitled "Like A Patient Etherized Upon A Table" , museum visitors are to be blindfolded 
and lead through the galleries while being read morbid Modernist poetry by the museum's security guards. 
The idea is to encourage the visitor to experience the space differently if they are deprived of the ability to view the art on display. As I was lead through the galleries, 
I focused more on the creaking of the wooden floorboards and as I let go of my fear that I would plow head-first into a wall or a price-less work of art, I let my mind plunge off into an abyss. There was an inherent eroticism to the vulnerabilty of blindly walking toward the sound of jangling keys and a deep baritone reciting T.S. Eliot. Then out of the unknown, someone took my arm and lead me down many steps and into a chair where they removed my blindfold and I found myself in a dark theater where I sat alone staring at a white screen. 
After sitting in contemplation for several minutes I got up as others were being lead 
into the theater. I left MOCA with an even greater desire to expand my spatial perception. I walked up the block to the 
Walt Disney Concert Hall. I went to the lower corner where the entrance to REDCAT 
(a gallery, lounge, and theater run by California Institute of the Arts) is located. Inside I was confronted by a stark white space disturbed by the occasional panel of abstract 
oil oozings, television, 
or black wooden installations 
of black and white photos. I discovered that the exhibit is made up of imagery from the Getty's Jacobian Orientalist Collection, and that the purpose of this showing is to explore the lack of context, the overemphasis on strategies of display, and the fascination with ethnographic "otherness". Pleased but still yearning for spatial exploration, I went outside. I passed in front of Patina, 
the expensive restaurant by chef Joachim Splichal, that I will one day be able to eat at. I climbed up the steps 
to the public spaces atop the concert hall complex, wandering amid the folds of stainless steel panels,
like an ant inside the petals of a flower. To the south I saw the swirls of light contained inside the monoliths of commerce. 
To the north, I walked into the plaza of the Music Center, observing the 1960s neo-formalism of the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion 
(home to the LA Opera), the Mark Taper Auditorium 
(home to experimental performances), and the Ahmanson Theatre
(home to big-budget musicals and other productions). Even amid all the high-brow venues around me, I was very happy to find that in true L.A. -fashion, there was a stall selling tacos and beer.
Satisfied, I took the Metro back home. The art inside the Metro stations deserves its own entry at a future date.....
I enjoyed this piece more than the othr blog posts. It has an immersion sense that is definitely dulled out in mega cities like LA. The freshness of your adventures and gracefulness of your words truly magnify the pure substance that is the base material of all that this city is composed and sculpted out of.
ReplyDeletethanks for consistently reading and sharing your thoughts! i appreciate the feedback :)
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