Outside Toulouse, France, I discovered the best artwork I've ever seen at a rest stop--leave it to the French to bring high culture to the highway. The piece, called, "Le Tour de France dans Les Pyrenees," consists of a sort of steel Mobius strip on which larger than life cyclists ride up and down the 'hills.'

It was completed by artist Jean-Bernard Metais in 1996. I love the fact that the base of the sculpture was surrounded by tile plaques quoting both sportsmen and intellectuals like Roland Barthes thoughts about "Le Tour." The philosopher Barthes was the inventor of semiotics. I remember reading his "Empire of Signs," when I was undergraduate school, a work that described the symbolism underlying many of the common objects and foods of Japan. Funny that he also wrote about a bike race.

Culver City Art Walk - 2010

A bit reluctantly, I went on the Culver City Art walk yesterday. My hesitation was due to past visits when much of the artwork seemed conservative; even lackluster.

I won't dwell on the work that was dull or bad, except to mention that there was one (alleged) artist owned space where a patio with 12 huge, horrible spattered paint canvases, disturbed my hopes for this event. As my friend said, "it looks like the colors came from the paint mixing mistakes pile of Home Depot." Worst of all, this guy has been there for seven years, and as with any crime I think there should be more severe punishment for repeat offenders.

On a more positive note, we saw appealing sculptures at two of the galleries along the east side of La Cienega. We crossed to west side to srutinize a vertical garden on the walls of an anonymous building, which had intrigued me for some time while driving past. It turned out to be The Smog Shoppe, an event space. There was a wedding taking place this afternoon allowing us to peek into the interior. Walking along the outside we admired how beautifully installed and maintained the selection of plants were on these walls. I have always wanted to live in one of the walled gardens, of the sort called a Carmine, in Granada. Here was the hip update to that concept. I did some research the following morning, and I've provided a link to The Smog Shoppe, which was created by a very interesting designer-artist named Miguel Nelson, who has also turned his downtown loft into another event space. Now I just have to get invited to some event there!

Next stop, Blum and Poe gallery. Even though I always admired the fact that they were the ones that kicked off the whole Culver City gallery movement, I've actually never cared much for their space or the work I've seen there. But this was their new mega-gallery and it was incredibly impressive. The largest, or certainly one of the largest galleries in Los Angeles, it is a beautifully designed sequence of differentiated interior spaces. To your right as you enter there is a very appealing, though private, art research library. We then entered a series of rooms, which fortunate for me were filled with works by Tim Hawkinson, who is perhaps my favorite Los Angeles-based artist. As usual, an excellent show. Upstairs, there was a more rustic space, wood floors exposed trusses, showing perhaps 15 huge redwood sculptures by J B Blunk, well known to me from my explorations of Bay Area furniture artists.

Blum and Poe obviously have incredible confidence, and what they've created makes a lot of the nearby galleries feel like amateur efforts. Since it's only two blocks from my own studio, I look forward to many repeat visits.

We continued down Washington Boulevard, becoming more selective about which galleries we would venture into. Why do some gallery owners think that anyone can enjoy looking at artwork in a hot, stuffy space, with incredible humidity? When I go to openings at physically uncomfortable spaces, I usually turn on my heel, without even looking at the work.

A few nice galleries, and a couple of spaces that were focal points for the cigarette smoking tattoo crowd. They had burnout, it was a beautiful day outside, and it made me wish that we had weekly, or daily promenade spaces, like many Spanish cities do.

All in all, the kind of day, and the kind of event, that makes me glad I live in Los Angeles.

We finished up at Royal-T, a cafe and gallery.

Last time I went there, I had dragged a friend about six extra blocks to show it to him, but our entry was prevented by a line of 150 teen girls, and teen-like adult women waiting dutifully to be allowed entry to the boutique in order to purchase the just-released, latest and greatest, "Hello Kitty" product. Yikes!

This time, no line. We wandered through the 10,000 or 12,000 square feet of space which features beautiful bowstring trusses, and exposed brick walls. There is an art exhibit secured behind thick plexiglass barricades, and in the middle of the space, there are perhaps a dozen café tables. The most novel thing about royalty is the fact that the servers there wear French maids costumes. Pity that all of them are girls.

This is my second time eating at Royal-T. It's affordable, friendly, and the service is excellent. I enjoyed my veggie burger, and my friend liked his chicken Katsu sandwich. I had a very nice, and large, French beer, and all was right with the world.

Dividing the Light - James Turrell

I visited James Turrell's 'light and space' piece at Pomona College on Saturday. I had last seen it two years ago, after the symposium in honor of the opening of this work. At that time, I was a little overwhelmed after several hours of conversation from the speakers at the symposium, and I enjoyed "Dividing the Light," but wasn't really able to focus on it. When you have an artwork that is large-scale, but also about subtle effects that can only be experienced over time, you really have to be careful to create a circumstance where you can give yourself over to what is happening in the moment.

The work is a large canopy floating over a square arrangement of stone benches. The ceiling of the canopy is illuminated by lights that shift in color and intensity according to programs created by the artist. There is a large square aperture punctured through the center of the canopy, like a frame for a particular portion of the sky. Below the opening is a black reflecting pool.

If you ever studied Joseph Albers', Interaction of Color," you would immediately understand the forces at play here. According to the principle of simultaneous contrast our brain tries to establish a neutral field, upon which we evaluate the color of various objects. So if you spend half an hour in a room illuminated by pink light, and then step outdoors, everything seems to have an weirdly bluish cast for a few minutes.

Even though I know the science of how this works, I was amazed at the power of "Dividing the Light." The canopy is eliminated by Lavender light for the first 20 minutes or so, and the sky color through the aperture looks fairly natural. Then, in just two or three minutes the light colors switches to Turquoise, and the sky becomes much more gray. I kept comparing the color of the sky through the aperture, to the sky color to the west, as the sun was setting. At first, they seemed to match, but as the color effects on the canopy became more dramatic, the sky above contradicted the "outside" sky.

I didn't really expect more than a few people to visit this case on a Saturday evening. It's best to get there 30 to 40 minutes prior to the Sunset. The "show" begins 25 minutes before sunset, and continues for about an hour. As I approached the courtyard, I saw several people walking towards it from other directions, and I heard a fairly loud rumble of conversation. And in fact the benches surrounding the reflecting pool were nearly filled and there were about 50 people in attendance.

As is typical, when people are waiting these days, there was a fair amount of e-mail checking, text team, looking at things on mobile phone browsers. There was a nice mix of young and old, and no surprise that this looks like a fairly affluent and educated bunch of people. Several families were there, and what I thought would feel restrained and spiritual, felt more like the beginnings of a family picnic. Anyway, I didn't mind, because the last thing I wanted was some guard telling me not to take any pictures, or not to talk. Once the event began, the audience became very focused, and conversation involved only that delighted sharing of something unusual and beautiful.

The work held people's attention, and they were patient enough to let the color effects develop. About 40 minutes into the program, there were some sudden and dramatic shifts in the intensity of the sky seen through the aperture. It made me happy to see that this work by Turrell, who is one of my favorite artists, was being received with enthusiasm.

In addition to the sky phenomena, a seconary aspect of this piece is just watching the other people watch the sky.

Near the end of the hour, I experienced a dramatic compression of time. It seemed like 10 minutes before I had seen a bright blue sky near dusk, and then, very suddenly, a star appeared in blackness. If you just stare through the aperture, after 45 minutes the edge between aperture and canopy blurs; and at least to me, pink and blue flashes appeared at the edges, and the sky was ink black through the hole, with a bright planet near the zenith. The canopy became very bright white with a pinkish cast. It was the color equivalent of someone suddenly shifting a zoom lens. I thought it was totally effective in producing an intense experience of the transition from day to night.

See this piece for yourself. I took a number of photographs during the program, and not unexpectedly, the objective camera kept "seeing" the same damn colors that were monotonously similar due to the lack of the an overlay of brain processing. I can't think of any other experience that has made me more aware of what my eye 'sees,' in contrast to what my brain was making of the image.

The brochure for "Dividing the Light" says it open to the public Sunday and Monday, from 10 AM to 8 PM. But since it's in an open courtyard on the beautiful Claremont colleges campus, I would assume you could visit on any evening. It's located behind two buildings on the corner of College Way and 6th St. in Claremont California. More information is available at www.Pomona.edu/museum

Brian Eno at Cal State Long Beach

I went to see the new Brian Eno art exhibit at its opening on Saturday night, arriving about 6 PM. There was supposed to be some sort of gallery walk-through, and I was expecting a big crowd based on Eno's celebrity in the music world, so I was a little surprised to see only 40, or so, undergrad students milling around on the lawn. Things definitely looked very low key.

I walked into the gallery, or rather the museum, at California State University Long Beach. To enter you have to shove your way through some heavy blackout curtains in the doorway, which seemed a bit fussy, since the first space consisted of eleven small, colorful digital prints. This was a beautifully proportioned space with bright red walls and dramatic spotlighting of each work . The prints were signed in 1/50, Brian Eno. If a famous musicians name weren't attached to them what I think? "These are handsome, and facile, and there is some variety from one piece to the next. I am however unpleasantly distracted by the prints that have little cartoon characters scribbles in them. That seems trite."

The installation and lighting of these pieces is impeccable. But on some level, don't the bright red walls feel like a gimmick? If I saw these 11 pieces hung close together on a white wall, what would I think of them? Probably just that they have rich color and look expensively printed, and have been designed by someone very capable in using illustrator. Nicely decorative, but really, not a lot of meaningful content.

Next, you enter a very large 'L'- shaped space, with charcoal gray walls, and an array of flat-panel TVs in a sort of daisy pattern on the end wall. There are six dark gray sofas which are filled with people, respectfully watching what turns out to be a slowly morphing display of designs and colors on the 12 screens. This is what Mr. Eno means by that title: "77 million paintings". It's very colorful and pretty. I enjoy the slowness of the shifts in color and patterns, which is like going to a demanding but rewarding avant-garde film. On one level, it's great that people are willing to sit there for half an hour in order to experience it, when they might more too typically spend Saturday night at slambang Hollywood film.

But what does this mean, I spend about 20 minutes with it, and I can't for the life of me really discern any cogent message. I recall a critic's line from 30 years ago in which he described the work of a San Diego-based pattern painter as "the thinking man's tablecloths."

Also, when I spend time watching evolving colors and patterns on a video display I can't help but compare it to the work of one of my favorite artists, Jennifer Steinkamp. No contest. Jennifer's work is rousing, technically brilliant, sometimes metaphorical, other times just so jazzy and precisely installed that it leaves me with a warm glow thinking all is well in the art world.

While the Brian Eno works are beautifully installed, I can't discern any intended meaning. Maybe his point is that intention is of no interest, and that it's best to let the machine generate both the sequence of colors, and the music which is part of this experience. I've enjoyed his collaborations with Talking Heads, and in the 70's respected his ambient music; not that I listened to it for days on end. Maybe I am missing something in this slowly evolving video piece, because it reflects his ambient aesthetic to which I never felt a great connection. I also find myself comparing what's on these flat panel screens to the large show Bill Viola had at the Getty several years ago. While I found that show a little grandiose, there were individual pieces in which you've viewed an actor emoting in slow motion and it was very evocative, albeit cool in a sort of pseudo scientific way.

It might be, that the Eno exhibit is better experienced without the crowd. It's up until December 13th, so I'll give it another go, and see if my perception changes.

Pompeii and the Roman Villa at LACMA

I went to the Pompeii show at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art tonight. Overall, a very satisfying exhibit.

I've never been much of a history buff, but became more interested due to several books I've read such as Colleen McCullough's "The First Man in Rome" -- a great historical novel. I also really liked the book called Pompeii by Robert Harris, which made the experience of being present during the eruption of Vesuvius quite real. And like a lot of people, I was very impressed with the HBO series, "Rome."

So I entered the Anderson building , and for once I tried out the audio tour. I'm definitely no fan of docents, and for most exhibits I'm not really interested in audio tours either, but in this case the brief statements and background music were soothing and informative.

This was a large show, maybe 150 pieces, which seem to be very high-quality, probably because many of them were lent by the Pompeii Museum in Naples. There was a nice mixture of large-scale marble and bronze sculptures, tabletop pieces, frescoes, and a few mosaic floors. What I like best, was a side gallery which contained a grouping of bronze animals which can only be described as charming. I was tempted to grab a coiled bronze snake sitting on the block of alabaster and run for the door. It was just so appealing. Nearby was a sculpture of a wild boar being pestered by two small dogs. The rendering of the fur of the former in bronze was sublime. Apparently, water once issued from the boar's mouth. I could easily imagine people living in that palatial home, loving these modestly scaled pieces, enjoying them perhaps for years. only to be buried with eruption of Vesuvius, hidden, then enjoyed again 2000 years in the future. Because the galleries were virtually empty, it was easy for me to feel a certain sense of possession my favorite artifacts.

Other pieces that pushed me back in time included a set of 4 to 5 inch tall bronze deities, and several fresco fragments displaying the exotic cuisine prepared for a banquet. The peak moment came in one of the last galleries, when I entered a triclinium, or dining room, with three incredible read fresco walls from a large building outside Pompeii. I could feel the presence of people sitting up against these frescoes, enjoying their food, catching the eye of one of the gods framed in the trompe l'oeil architectural settings. The room was really beautiful and had only recently been exhumed. It was in an area underwater, exposed by freeway construction, and therefore had to be removed from its original site. It was nearly intact, and it was great to be up to spend five or ten minutes in this room alone. There were a number of guards nearby, but since it was getting close to closing there were anxiously anticipating the end of the day, and yaking loudly in Tagalog, or something. Kind of annoying and unprofessional.

Time flew. I really enjoyed the whole show, which really needs about two hours, if you have any real interest in the art of this period. I would say the quality of the artworks was exceptional, the installation design with decent with very well done lighting, and a nice mix of objects in each of the galleries.

I'd recommend this show to anyone with an interest in Roman artifacts. Bear in mind it's $25 to get in, or $20 if you go after six. For me, it was very worthwhile, because so many of the objects spoke to me, and took me away to a different world.

The exhibition is up until October 4th.

The Great Spaces of Southern California

I'm teaching a course in 3d design at Otis College, and in order to learn more about what makes a space unique and interesting, I asked my students to find a "great space" in Southern California, and produce a very concise photo essay.

So the question is, "Where are the great spaces?"

I'm open to suggestions.

It seems easy to think of numerous incredible places in Europe, because there is so much history, and a stronger tradition of commitment to great plazas, churches, train stations and airports. Frankly, Southern California seems relatively mundane. Part of this may be the fact that so much of work by star architects consists of residential design (the Case Study houses for example) that is generally not available.

My list starts with the obvious: The Getty Center, The new downtown cathedral, the Disney Hall (which I am almost sick of looking at), the new Arts High School by Coop Himmelblau.

Garden spaces, such as the Noguchi Sculpture Garden next to South Coast plaza, the Chinese Garden at the Huntington Library, the Garden at the Getty Center by artist Robert Irwin.

What else?

Union Station, of course, and the Bradbury Building. The high ceilinged halls of Geffen MOCA, which are certainly more interesting than the Bunker Hill branch.

So many of our public spaces are shopping malls, but are any of these great? Things like the Beverly Center, and Westside Pavillion are banal. And Frank Gehry hung his head in shame, when the Santa Monica Place project was complete. The Grove is a sort of Disney-fied european street, but it is an active and pleasant place to wander. Being next to the tacky claustrophobia inducing stalls of the original Farmer's Market makes it more interesting.

I was meandering through 3d models in Google Earth, and rediscovered one of my favorite spaces, the Monsanto Ride at Disneyland. Sadly, it was destroyed years ago, but the memories of entering the microscope and having the terrifying experience of shrinking to the size of an atom remain strong.

Off the 405

Went to a free music event at the Getty Museum on Saturday Night called "Saturdays off the 405." It was a surprisingly large crowd, but still on such a beautiful evening with perfect weather, I was very happy to be there.

Once a month in summer the Getty hosts these events, starting a 6PM. Good news is free parking. Bad news is $7 for a glass of wine in a plastic cup.

The crowd is twenty-thirty somethings, with some families mixed in. It's actually very pleasant and casual. You can wander in the gardens if you want to escape, and in fact one of the smartest things may be to smuggle in you own wine and snacks, and hang out there, letting the music wash over from the plaza.

The first band, was like a pale imitation of Berlin (late 70's/early 80's punk band). I stayed away from that. The next group, featured a talented vocalized wailing in either Celtic, or simply in nonsense verse to ambient synthesizer instrumentals. I know that sounds bad, but it was quite nice for the setting. The main plaza was more alive than I'd ever seen it, and the security forces of the Getty were politely present--just trying to maintain a 10' clear swath through the crowd.

The galleries are all open, but of course most of the visitors could care less, especially about looking at things like the French furniture collection. So, if you need a respite, try hanging out underneath the Louis Quinze chandelier with the crystal fishbowl underneath.

I wish the main cafe was open, but now it's only used at lunch time, so other than making a reservation at the pricey but superb restaurant, your stuck with snack, or maybe a sandwich from the lower plaza cafe. At least if you go there a drink is only six bucks.

The event starts at 6PM. Free parking after five, though it can be a slow crawl down into the bowels of the garage. Concessions close promptly at 8:30.

One of my favorite parts of the evening was being able to walk slowly down the hill with hundreds of other people who didn't want to be crammed into the packed trams. Having had a strangely alcoholic cocktail for my final drink (I believe it was made with Persimmons, Cardoman, Rum, and Qualudes, I was most happy to sober up on this nocturnal stroll.