The Broad

My grandchildren's favorite thing about the new Broad Museum was the yet-to-be-mowed, lush grass outside.  The museum opened recently with the rolled sod as a last minute addition.  It won't remain lush for long; at least not with the summer coming on and after having had Noah and Amanda rip out a good share.  Having undergone a few hours confined inside the austere museum full of meaningless objects, they were as thrilled to discover the green patch as walking into Disneyland.  

I shared in their relief having found the building's interior and the "art" quite disconcerting. How is it that the building plans were approved by the Fire Department with the only exit a lone staircase down from the main gallery on the third floor?  There wasn't a single work displayed that could take my mind off of the inevitable emergency that will unleash a lethal stampede similar to the annual carnage at the Muslim Hajj in Saudi Arabia.  

I can't recommend the museum but by all means try the grassy area and the frutero sidewalk cart where $5 will get you half a pound of cold assorted fresh fruits doused in lime juice and sprinkled with chili powder.  The other eating choices outside the museum include a vegan ice cream food truck with a single scoop going for $8.50, and a free-standing restaurant on the museum plaza, Otium, where you can pick up some foie gras to go.  The south facade of the restaurant features a massive mural inspired by a sculpture consisting of several fish floating in formaldehyde and entitled Isolated Elements Swimming in the Same Direction for the Purpose of Understanding.  If that doesn't immediately pull you in for a meal perhaps the thunderous rap music coming from inside might do the trick.

The museum itself resembles an inverted milk crate with a round dent in one side referred to as a "the dimple" but to my mind would be best described as "the orifice".  Surprisingly, the design of the building won out in an architectural competition and I expect to go to my grave still trying to imagine what the losing entries might have looked like.  

Admission is free - a wise decision considering what's on display. I read that Edythe Broad provided the influence which led to her billionaire husband acquiring thousands of works beginning in 1973.  Despite what I assume were the best of intentions and hundreds of millions of dollars of generosity, the timing wasn't ideal when they set out to make contemporary art available to the public.  Unfortunately, contemporary art had evolved into a directionless mangle as the result of a "Can you top this?" mindset. 

If something hadn't ever been displayed before that alone became just cause for doing so. It began with an oil on canvas by Kazimir Malevich entitled Black Square, 31 inches by 31 inches, first exhibited in Moscow.  The Broad features a knock-off version by Glen Ligon done on linen which permits miniscule specks of a white background to peer through the surface.  Ligon's work along with a Gulliver-sized set of table and chairs and the gold-plated urinal also at the Broad, are of the same ilk. They are one-offs that once described verbally don't really need to be seen because despite how long you might spend standing in front of them, there's nothing more to be gained by doing so.  

As an example, an artist like Ray Allen one day had a thought, "What if I take some rope and lash myself to a branch and have a photo taken looking up from below?  No one's done that before as far as I know.  It'll be a black and white print to give it that added dramatic, candid quality.  If it catches on I can always follow with anything from sepia to eventually full color."  Allen's piece was my favorite at the Broad.  I am still enjoying the notion that if he had hired me to string him up up and take the photo, he'd still be wrapped around that tree limb.  

Contemporary art is like kale, all it takes to make believers out of some people is a twelve-word title or vinaigrette dressing.

As mystifying to me as the works on display were the people with mobile devices obsessed with cataloging the entire exhibit.  There were hundreds of pieces making up the exhibit which required a focused discipline on the part of these individuals.  There was too much ground to cover for them to spend any time looking at the work.  I watched them shifting their weight from one foot to the other as they anxiously waited for others to move aside so they could get a clear shot.  I particularly liked it when they would lift a raised palm with their free hand to ward off wandering museum goers from interfering.  Once the shot was taken they'd speed walk to the little wall placard with the title and other info and snap that as well.  Then they'd scurry their way through the other patrons on to the next piece.

In truth, the iPhone catalogers that moved frantically from one piece to the next weren't missing anything.  The exhibit, like the whole of contemporary art, simply has no soul.  I've been led to believe that some sort of exchange ought to take place between a work of art and the viewer.  Certainly some works would resonate with individuals more than others but how does one explain a collection spanning four decades that comes across like the punch line of a shaggy dog story?  The entire Broad exhibit generates less inspiration than a single Van Gogh on a post-card.

Despite being disappointed by the exhibit I was at first encouraged when I read that there were nearly 2,000 other works of art in storage on the second floor of the museum.  Reading further I found that the Broads owned 125 pieces by Cindy Sherman, the world's single largest collection of her work.  Phillipp Kaiser (no that is not a typo, his name has three P's) who is serving as guest curator for the Broad Museum has mounted an exhibit of her self-portraits that will open in early June.  Her work of more than 30 years consists of photos of herself taken by herself. Kaiser was quoted as saying, “She is one of the most important artists of our time."