A Theater on the Most Famous Street in DC

In our twenty-first century cultural paradigm, nomenclature and semantics are often the battlegrounds upon which wars of political correctness and labeling are waged. In Washington, DC, the history of linguistic institutional identification contains arguments regarding the appropriate labels for governmental, economic, and cultural organizations, which, more often than not, have been used to place them above other comparable or superior institutions around the nation. For example, the National Theater is titled as such, which thereby suggests the role of this theater as the premier and most important one in the United States; however, many would disagree and cry out that New York Broadway theaters, or old historical theaters scattered along the coasts, should share some of this fame. How can one specific venue represent the vast and widespread cultural values inherent in American theater?

The history of the National Theater is quite illustrious in its unique position as one of the most important cultural institutions in Washington, DC. It opened (and still resides) on Pennsylvania Ave, which at the time was the only road with consistent street lighting. The location is in close proximity to the White House, which has led to a quite strong relationship between the Theater and the Presidency. In 2005, the Theater celebrated 150 years of almost continual presentation, and thereby is marked as the oldest cultural institution in Washington. While the building itself has suffered many fires, renovations, and refurbishments, it remains in the same location where it opened in 1835.

In its early history, the Theater rooted itself with a strong influence of British, French, and West European theatre traditions, conventions, and aesthetics. However, soon American vernacular theatre began to rise in popularity, and the National Theater was quick to display works that would not only appeal to the Washington populace but would also sell tickets. As current General Manager Harry Teter explained to our group of W&M interns, the Theater is economically fueled by donor gifts and ticket sales, making it a completely commercial venue. One may question why there is a lack of government subsidizing, such as at the Kennedy Center, NEA, or Library of Congress, and the list of answers is long and varied; however, one of the main reasons is that the Theater wants to have complete control over its workings, decisions, and calendar of shows. One must point out, though, that the program is fairly homogenous and fairly embedded in the conventions of contemporary popular theater, so works from Broadway, works with celebrity actors, or highly-regarded pieces win out over those which are a bit more avant-garde.

What is interesting to point out in discussing the history of theater in America is that America, as a country and cultural hub, has had a great amount of influence on the craft. Perhaps one of the most important contributions the United States have made to any artistic field has been the musical, which until the twentieth century had barely been touched upon. Certainly opera was engrained in European society, but the advent of the musical brought about a whole new area of theater that was unexplored, virgin, and exciting. So, if one looks at the twentieth-century history of theater, one begins to realize the huge role that America has played in shaping theater conventions by completely revolutionizing the field. It is because of this that the National Theater has been an excellent venue to showcase classic and vernacular American arts, because most of the musicals that are produced come out of New York City. Whereas places like the Kennedy Center and other institutions can rely on a varied calendar of programs that is reflective of world tendencies and reflections on the arts, the National Theater is in an almost unique position in that it presents basically a collection of American theater works.

Our class had the wonderful opportunity to visit the Theater, speak with the engaging and interesting General Manager Harry Teter, and attend the show “Doubt.” This piece is a straight play that received an incredible critical response while playing on Broadway. It encompasses issues of religion, sexual indecency, the patriarchy and its relationship to women, education, race, class, and overall the human condition. Mixing humor with issues of extreme gravity, the play is effective in electrifying the viewer and keeping them interested throughout the whole show.

On a simply material and slightly superficial note, the color scheme and interior design of the Theater is quite egregious—pink (or rather, corrupted salmon) and mint green provide a color landscape that looks very worn out, tired, and tacky. The lighting is dark and spotty, and the seats are not as plush as I would have expected. However, as soon as the play began, I realized it is not so much about the presentation anymore as much as it is about the artistic presentation at the National Theater. Sure, an interior such as found at the Nederlander Theater or the Schubert in New York City would be nothing short of grand and inspiring, but when a theatre can provide an excellent calendar of programs and shows, I can forgive their short-sighted interior design. I look forward to heading back to the National Theater, especially since they’re putting on “Avenue Q” and the wildly popular and raucous “Spamalot!” I’m sure it will be a fantastic time, just like we had seeing “Doubt.”

The NEA-- An Almost Silent Fight

Here is a reflection I wrote on a visit to the National Endowment of the Arts. We went as a class last Friday, and these are a few words in regards to the scope of the institution and our visit there.

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Perhaps for the first time since coming to Washington, I really understood the usage of the word “national” after visiting the National Endowment for the Arts. Mind you, I have yet to step foot in many of our nation’s hallowed institutions, which tout the title “national” as not only a placeholder but a status symbol as well; however, the breadth, grandeur and actuality of this word really became applicable and realized at the NEA. Its mission is fairly simple, compared to many other places around our nation’s capital—to fund worthwhile artistic ventures that seek to promote, enrich, and diversify cultural energy, experience and life in and beyond the United States of America. Excellence is seen as a cross between colloquial appeal and widespread relevance, which thereby denotes attentiveness to American and global folk culture and helps bring a varied group of voices to new ears.

Much of the same rhetoric was used in creating the NEA as was instated for the Kennedy Center. To quote the National Foundation on the Arts and the Humanities Act of 1965, “While no government can call a great artist or scholar into existence, it is necessary and appropriate for the Federal Government to help create and sustain not only a climate encouraging freedom of thought, imagination, and inquiry, but also the material conditions facilitating the release of this creative talent.” One must take into account the climate of the time in which this Act was passed—Kennedy had recently been assassinated, America was facing ever-increasing responsibility on the global stage, and the development that would in turn label the US as a global superpower was much underway. Still under the shadow of WWII, yet distancing itself a little from the incredible work ethic and industrial genesis of the 1950s, America began to realize the extent of its clout.

In my mind, the creation of the NEA was not seen by the police-makers and government officials in DC as a chance to enhance the diversified folk sub-cultures in America, but rather to act as a symbol of the nation’s dedication to institutions of higher culture and refined nature. It was a chance to gain credibility globally, because while the Work Projects Administration served the purpose in the 1930s of raising local morale, creating jobs and sparking the economy, the NEA and Kennedy Center would prove to competing nations that the United States was equally, if not more, well-rounded and cultured. During a speech at Amherst College on October 26, 1963, President John F. Kennedy said, “I look forward to an America which will steadily raise the standards of artistic accomplishment and which will steadily enlarge cultural opportunities for all our citizens.” While this is certainly a great step forward for national recognition of the role of the arts in society, one must ask: what arts are being celebrated? The quotation above is taken from the dedication of a new library and tribute to Robert Frost, who was seen as a great All-American poet. Respected artists included poets William Carlos Williams, photographer Ansel Adams, experimental artist Jackson Pollock, painter Norman Rockwell, authors Nathaniel Hawthorne, Mark Twain, and Emily Dickinson, sculptor Alexander Calder, and painters Georgia O’Keeffe and N.C. Wyeth. These artists, from a wide variety of fields and artistic mediums, all were instrumental in revolutionizing their areas of expertise by creating either new pathways or redefining cultural standards of excellence. But, all of these innovative and significant people were celebrity artists. One did not hear Kennedy touting the importance of the Native American tribal dancers and musicians, Alaskan Inuit artists, Appalachian balladeers, or Bayou folk jazz; rather, it seems to me that the creation of the NEA was rooted in upholding artistic icons and transmitting them globally.

This history of the NEA provides a quite intriguing look into the role of the institution post-genesis. In its early years, divisions of fund redirection were created for differing types of artistic pursuits: theater, music, dance, education, visual arts, and literature. Interestingly enough, theater received a hefty percentage of the Endowment’s funds. In 1967, $1,007,500 was set aside for theatrical grants. This year is also important because it denotes the time when the Endowment funded the incredibly controversial theatrical production of “The Great White Hope” at the Arena Stage in Washington, DC. This play, featuring new-comers James Earl Jones and Jane Alexander as the lead actors, is a look at the nature of racism in America through the lens of boxing. Jones’ character, based on boxer Jack Johnson, deals with the immense racism from all areas—white boxers refuse to compete with him, the general public rebuff his ability and credibility, and an interracial relationship with Alexander’s character show him the depths of racism in America. While the play was a success and ended up winning three Tony Awards and the 1969 Pulitzer Prize, the Arena Stage production brought much controversy and hostility.

Not all grants given by the NEA during its earlier years funded contentious productions and strived to push national conceptions of race, religion, sexuality, gender, power, and class. Struggling ballet companies, writing workshops, child enrichment programs, and architectural initiatives all received grants from the Endowment to help fund their outreach and execution of their ideals. And through the early years, the annual budget for the Endowment continued to grow. Under Nixon’s appointment, Nancy Hanks, NEA director from 1969-1977, pushed for more funding, and by the end of her tenure the budget had grown from the $7.8 million of 1969 to $94 million. During Hank’s tenure at the organization, many respected artists became involved in the grant selection process, including luminaries such as Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., Toni Morrison, Harold Prince, Roy Lichtenstein, and Robert Shaw. The NEA had become a reputable institution to which many artists were devoted. There seemed to be a reciprocal relationship—a metaphorical intellectual marriage between artist and organization, which generated credibility for the NEA. Then, in 1978, the Folk Arts Program was made separate from the Special Projects section of the NEA’s funding. While there had always been recognition of the importance of American folk arts, this was the sea change in support from the organization. Bess Lomax Hawes, relative of esteemed folk archivists Alan and John Lomax, helped form the Folk Arts program and direction, through establishing an evaluative method. She examined the art through criteria such as infrastructure, production, recognition, and relevance. In 1982, the National Heritage Fellowships in Folk Arts were distributed to fifteen folk artists.

In the 1990s, a massive struggle between the NEA and federal government ensued after two controversial pieces sparked national enmity. In 1996, after a few years of pressures from Congress, the NEA’s budget was reduced by 39 percent, thereby forcing the staff to be cut by 47 percent and many grant allocations eradicated. A growing conservative outlook on the Arts in America had been seeping into congressional and public mindset since the beginning of the decade. Therefore, to eliminate artistic controversy, Congress decided to severely punish the NEA for pursuing its goals set out by its founding directors and program heads. But one must ask, why wasn’t this done in 1967, when “The Great White Hope” produced an outcry of public resentment? Although the Endowment was in its genesis stage, and the government couldn’t afford to go back on the words of Kennedy, Johnson, and other influential public figures calling for the creation of such an organization, why weren’t there greater censorship? Nowadays, censorship is attempted through budget cuts and legal restrictions. By cutting the NEA’s funding to under $100 million (from $170 million), Congress sought to do more than a slap on the wrist—the message was clear: support the arts, but only if they don’t piss people off.

This rhetoric is echoed throughout Washington, from the National Gallery of Art to the Smithsonian Museums and to basically any cultural establishment that receives federal funding. Conservative exhibitions, collections, and presentations flourish, mainly due to the fear of losing federal financial backing. So often we, as members of the fairly artistically and art historically uneducated public, look up to these monuments of artistic relevance and conversation to help guide us in our search to understand, appreciate, and define art. This is not to negate the significance and influence of the masters—the celebrity artists—whose role has been to shape and change a widespread conception of art, its direction and its purpose, but to question the total lack of questioning amongst the audience. Few people ask for controversial subjects and artists from these Washington institutions because they’ve become used to conservative manifestation of art display. Unfortunately, in a country where funding for the arts is at a frightening low, it’s really not a surprise that the government is reluctant to seriously support the arts. Up against unduly scant funding and a traditionalist, oft-static, and feisty Congress, the NEA has had to play its role very carefully post-1996. By increasing dedication to folk arts and communities and continuing to support exquisite artistic performances and ventures, the NEA has simply been doing what it has always done—endows the arts that deserve the recognition and funding. Perhaps they’ve become a bit more formal and conservative in their language and presentation (there’s little to no discussion of the 1996 government conflict on the website), but they’ve been able to build back up some government support. However, they’ve also had to rely on the help and influence of fellow artists, who in a way have become mentors to younger NEA followers. Gone are the days of Lomax Hawes, Nancy Hanks, and Kennedy’s optimism, and in are corporate sponsorships, private donors, and saturated marketing spheres. The NEA has had to reinvent itself in the past decade, and regrettably, there still persists the threat that the organization could still be eradicated.

3rd Week Recap

Today, my professor for the W&M in Washington Program asked us to write a short reflection on any "disappointment, despair, or dilemma" that we have had thus far at our internships. I couldn't really come up with one real instance, as I haven't come across anything that awful over the past 3 weeks. Therefore, I wrote this reflection on how a lack of context before launching into a completely novel experience can leave one feeling quite lost and frustrated. So, here it is-- the supposedly "darker" shades of my time at the Hirshhorn Museum.

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So far during my internship at the Hirshhorn Museum, working in the Marketing and Communications Department, I have encountered fairly minimal amounts of disappointment or despair. Actually, I feel incredibly blessed to work with such a supportive staff and a supervisor who is genuinely appreciative and thankful for the work that I do on a daily basis. Upon starting at the Hirshhorn, everyone I met was kind, generous, and engaged me in conversation. I would walk down the hallways to fetch computer printouts, make copies, or fix a new cup of tea, and I would have two or three conversations with other staff members. They all made me feel like a major part of the team—that I was just as important of an asset, as an intern, as I could be. It has made the past few weeks a joy. I look forward to waking up in the morning and going to work, because I know that I will be expanding my sphere of knowledge, professionalism, and work ethic.

As is the case with many things that we love, there are parts of the experience that are less than desirable and pleasant. For me, it’s a bit more of a general feeling rather than any specific citable experiences of immense disappointment that lead me to some incredible frustration. I threw myself into a world about which I knew very little. I decided to bypass my sensibility and prudence and choose an internship that would push me and make me really become responsible for learning on my own, without the guidance and structure of college courses. Instead of choose an internship working with curatorial departments at the Freer Gallery, Phillips Collection, or National Museum of Women in the Arts, I chose the Hirshhorn because I would be working in a department I knew very little about (Marketing), and I did not recognize one piece of artwork in the entire collection.

To go into a space as hallowed and respected as a Smithsonian Institute’s museum and not know anything about the history of the space, the material, or the collection is incredibly daunting. Unlike the National Museum of the American Indian, where one could pull open childhood reminisces of The Indian and the Cupboard, old movies, or American History lessons, or the Air and Space Museum, where one could remember the footage of the first moon walk, stories of the Wright Brothers in the Outer Banks, or the tragic disappearance of Amelia Earhart, the Hirshhorn does not lend a vernacular common with the majority of Americans. It showcases pieces from the international art community of the past hundred years, and it focuses on the oft controversial, compelling, challenging, brooding, complex, and at times opaque pieces of modern and contemporary art. While I knew nothing of esteemed artists as Alexander Calder, Dan Flavin, Wolfgang Tillmans, John Baldessari, Chryssa, Hiroshi Sugimoto, Pae White, or Virgil Marti, I knew that I wanted to get to know them.

I remember reading about the Hirshhorn Museum on Wikipedia and coming across a striking quote by former Secretary of the Smithsonian Institute S. Dillon Ripley. In discussion of the Museum’s architecture, he wrote, "If it were not controversial in almost every way it would hardly qualify as a place to house contemporary art. For it must somehow be symbolic of the material it is designed to encase." He references the circular nature of the Hirshhorn’s physicality, which is arresting in its 1970s inspired starkness and minimalism. It was this quote that drew me into the Hirshhorn—the more I read about it, the more it began to encompass much of what I was seeking in an institution and an internship position—a chance to use ordinary mediums to challenge conventions and stereotypes.

However, this is so much easier said than done. I go to work every day for eight or nine hours, completing tasks such as scanning of press clips, photocopying critical current essays, magazine texts and newspaper reviews, completion of various Excel tables, calculating attendance figures for exhibitions, writing formal letters to members of the press, preparing press releases, editing pieces of writing, collating reports, organizing the office, and running various errands. How am I challenging contemporary social conventions through this work? Wasn’t my goal, my scope, for this internship to be able to be a part of a sea change? Yes. And in a way, I am working towards and for that. I’m representing an institution that brings experimental and significant characters like Matthew Barney, Wolfgang Tillmans, and Noguchi to the American public. I’m helping distribute a product that helps defy tradition and works to expand one’s worldview and concepts regarding art. But this frustration of being caught up in the logistics is my biggest challenge at the Hirshhorn Museum. I have yet to come into contact with any staff member with whom I butt heads, any supervisor or boss hasn’t yelled me at, and I haven’t felt belittled, insignificant, or worthless. On the contrary, I have been brought into a close-knit family that truly values the contributions I make on a daily basis. But, every night I come home, open up the two or three magazines, like Harper’s Bazaar, Vogue, ARTnews, Art in America, Wallpaper, Elle, Interior Design, The Washingtonian, the New Yorker, or Artforum, which have been assigned to me by my supervisor to keep a keen pulse on the contemporary fashion and art world, and I can’t help feeling lost. I’m lost because I am trying to cram so much information on trends, threads of style and form, and definitions that I am losing sight of my mission. I’m learning that Matthew Barney and Joseph Beuys share many of the same defining artistic characteristics of overt theatricality and anti-minimalism. I expanding at an increasing rate, and yet I can’t help but feel at times that I’m losing my vision and sense of direction. But, I think that this is all part of the experience of getting to know something so utterly foreign as modern and contemporary art is to my world. I cannot expect to show up every day and understand perfectly why we are showing a comprehensive collection of Wolfgang Tillmans’ photography, or the reasons why the Visual Music exhibition from two years ago was such a complete success in the art world. I’m still completely in the beginner stage, but I cannot help but feel lost and frustrated at times because of my lack of familiarity with the space around me everyday.

Kennedy Center Reflections

Work at the Hirshhorn is progressing along quite well. I’ve been involved in some wonderful projects, some a bit less glamorous and then some that have found me continuing to learn my way around this place. This week, we open a new exhibition: “Refract, Reflect, Project: Light Works from the Collection.” Here’s a little bit more about the exhibition:

Throughout the history of art, light has been linked to fundamental questions of vision and perception. Refract, Reflect, Project: Light Works from the Collection explores objects in which light—as substance and subject—is central. Encompassing important practices and movements from the latter half of the twentieth century to the present, these works include examples of Minimalism, kinetic art, immersive environments, experimental film, and conceptual art. Among the artists featured are Giovanni Anselmo, Chryssa, Dan Flavin, Joseph Kosuth, James Turrell, and Thomas Wilfred. The exhibition also will highlight recent acquisitions by such artists as Olafur Eliasson, Spencer Finch, Christoph Girardet, and Iván Navarro. This exhibition is organized by associate curator Anne Ellegood.

In other news, on Friday, February 9, our class met to venture to the Kennedy Center for a day-long visit. We met with three representatives, from Education, Development, and Event Planning, as well as enjoyed a tour and a free performance at the Millenium Stage. For this class, I was asked to write a reflection on my experience at the Kennedy Center, and I have enclosed it below:

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Friday’s visit to the Kennedy Center was my first time at the hallowed institution honoring John F. Kennedy’s dedication to the arts in Washington, DC. As Ramien Pierre explicated, the Kennedy Center, is a “living memorial.” It doesn’t differ too much from other notable Washington, DC memorials, in that it is honed of exquisite marble, designed with sensitive yet epic architecture and vision, and executed in a style showing a strict dedication to proportion, balance and harmony, but the Kennedy Center has an additional sphere that is absent from many memorials: it lives fiercely in the present and future tenses. While it serves to represent the legacy of our 35th President of the United States of America, it also works to serve the local and global communities by providing innovative, thoughtful, and beautiful performing arts programs. The Kennedy Center is a forum for forward thinking art lovers, up and coming artists, established and well known dance/theatre/singing/musical companies, donors, and new patrons to experience the performing arts and to revel in their transformative powers.

The history of the Kennedy Center is quite illustrious and interesting in light of the current administration’s policies regarding the arts in America. The idea of the institution was signed into law by Dwight D. Eisenhower in 1958 under the title of The National Cultural Center. It was the first time in United States history that the federal government financially espoused the genesis and construction of a building wholly devoted to the performing arts. In much of the same way that Andrew Mellon envisioned and articulated the importance of an exceptional gallery of visual arts in order to bring the United States onto the “international stage,” the original proponents of the Kennedy Center understood the necessity for a space to house the performing arts in Washington, DC. Eisenhower was instrumental in legislatively realizing this project, but it wasn’t until after the assassination of John F. Kennedy that the development of the Center truly gained considerable momentum. Given a large sum of money (upwards of 86 million dollars) with which to cover construction, annual running costs, bonds, and a formal starting grant, the Kennedy Center began with large governmental support, but also ardently sought private donations from the likes of the Kennedy family, Marjorie Merriweather Post, and John D. Rockefeller 3rd. It is important to note the relationship of the Kennedy Center to the United States government—the Center is made up of a private/public partnership that involves the government and the private donors, trustees, and members of the Kennedy Center. While the government funds the annual running costs of the institution, the programs and events are all covered by private funding, gifts, corporate sponsorship, ticket sales, and merchandise revenue.

While it is certainly generous that the government funds the necessary running costs, why doesn’t it give a heftier monetary figure to subsidize the arts at the Kennedy Center? Over the past thirty-six years, the Kennedy Center has defined its character based on artistic excellence and integrity, so why doesn’t the government provide the Center with a greater amount of funding? The Kennedy Center also embodies many educational ideals by providing a wide variety of outreach programs around the nation to infuse schools and communities with artistic conceptualization, presence, and appreciation. Isn’t this a venture that the government would want to support? To try and personally be as “fiercely bipartisan” as the Kennedy Center claims to be, I find no excuse for the minimal amount of funding that is given to the arts in Washington, DC and the rest of the nation. Often people will refer to the arts as merely entertainment, but after witnessing the inner workings, careful decision making, and advocacy that fuels the Kennedy Center, I can not even reconcile this claim of art acting solely for amusement. The Center houses some of the most accomplished, talented and skilled performers around the world—this is a dedication to complete excellence embodied in so many different forms. As Garth Ross indicated, the Kennedy Center attempts to bring together the best performers to complete the purpose of the Center’s mission—to provide excellence and relevance while appealing to the public and pushing them to expand their concept of the performing arts. While many performing arts venues would claim this mission as their own, the Kennedy Center is in a critical position, because they, in essence, represent the true intersection of the global and American performing arts spheres. The Kennedy Center houses all the flags of other countries with whom there has been exchange, contact, and a relationship—many diplomats, ambassadors, and foreign visitors come to the Kennedy Center to be in a space that promotes American arts culture while still presenting international ideas, trends, and ideals. The Kennedy Center must act with prudence, for it stands as a symbol for many as our interaction with other countries through the lens of the arts. So why doesn’t the government fund it more? Should the Kennedy Center have to rely on Target to financially subsidize the Millenium Stage and Performing Arts for Everyone ventures, which act to bring all different types of arts to the public, free of charge? Absolutely not.

The United States government should fund these programs, as they provide an excellent chance to engage in the globalization not only of public paradigm, but of the artistic and performing world today. These programs help enrich the local and international community and reflect highly on the United States and its supposed dedication to the arts. Although I advocate an increase in funding by the government, this should not coincide with an increase in governmental influence and opinion, for it is incredibly important that the arts be allowed to thrive without the censorship and suppression imposed by outside legislative forces. I applaud the private/public partnership in place at the Kennedy Center, and it certainly has proved that the director and staff can create some of the most intriguing, compelling and significant programs in the world; however, if the government were to pledge a larger grant, they couldn’t use that to gain clout and decision making status in the organization. It should simply be enough that the government allows the Kennedy Center reign to create its program, as it currently does. The Center is not going to go off to proverbial deep-end and only showcase experimental, risqué and controversial pieces. While these have the capacity to be good additions to any catalogue, the Center has a fantastic understanding of the pulse of its constituents and public support, and I doubt they would abandon this backing. They know what the people want, but they also try to expand the public’s awareness and sense of what they want.

Although the tour, graciously given by Catherine Russell, was informative in regards to the origins of the gifts to the Center and very basic background information, I was not really aware of the express mission of the Center until Garth Ross’ dialogue with our group. While Ramien Pierre addressed the necessity to garner private funding and corporate sponsorship, I still was not sure of what the Kennedy Center was really trying to do. Mr. Ross’ presentation allowed me an inside look at the decisions that form what the Kennedy Center looks like to an outsider—the program of events. This is provides breath into the Center. It allows it to be a true “living memorial.” I applaud Mr. Ross and his colleagues, such as distinguished president Michael Kaiser, who daily work to supply a collection of concerts, plays, and events that incorporate as many different perspectives, backgrounds, and voices as they can. The Kennedy Center is a very special place, because despite the pitiful lack of government funding for anything other than running costs, it continues to strive for the utmost excellence in artistic ability and integrity, while reaching out to a public, both local and international, that may or may not need to be reminded of the vital significance of the arts to the human condition.

Week 1 Retrospective

Upon entering the fourth floor of the Hirshhorn Museum, home to all administrative offices, library, and conference rooms, I was met by five beautifully framed, spaced, and vivid images from Michael Barney’s most recent work, Drawing Restraint 9. Many know Barney as “Mr. Björk” for his relationship to the quirky Icelandic songstress (they have a daughter, Isadora, together), but within the art world, he is regarded as one of the most eminent and important artists of the past 20 years. Known for his experimental pieces that focus on intense imagery, thought-provoking subject matter, and expansive theatricality, Barney has created a following of teenage hipsters, aspiring college art students, twentysomething bohemians and modern art snobs. I made a remark to my supervisor in regards to the arresting photo stills on the wall, and she replied to tell me that I would have the special chance to attend an exclusive lecture Barney was giving on Wednesday. Disbelief, incredible anticipation and excitement met me in a rush as soon as I heard this—I, someone who knew him only peripherally from his film output (although, these are among his most critically acclaimed pieces) would have the astonishing chance to attend the Hirshhorn’s renowned Meet the Artist Matthew Barney lecture. This was only the beginning of a first day that I never expected and one that didn’t fail to overwhelm and excite me throughout the entire time.
We spent the first couple hours discussing logistics, impending projects, hours, and basically slowly helping me acclimate to the office. I received a whirlwind tour of everything behind the scenes at the Hirshhorn, from the copy room to the storage area for the majority of the Museum’s collection not on view. I met most of the small fifty person staff, and promptly forgot their names within minutes of meeting them. My supervisor, Gabriel, and I then headed off to lunch and spent the time discussing family history and views on the role of Marketing in the commercial world. I felt quite comfortable around Gabriel from the beginning—her enthusiasm and fervor was palpable, and I soon found myself feeding off of her energy.
Upon returning to the office, Gabriel whisked off to a meeting and I was left with my first job as an intern at the Hirshhorn Museum—I was sent off to familiarize myself with the Museum’s collection. Descending to the third floor, I exited the elevator and walked into a large, open room that housed Alexander Calder sculpture, structuralist paintings from the 1930’s, and cardstock relief art. To say I was overwhelmed with this first task is quite an understatement; rather, I had no idea where to begin. My tools at analyzing, understanding, and evaluating modern and contemporary art were incredibly dull and not very useful—instead, I was forced to rely on simply taking in the color schemes, textures, lines, artistic mechanisms, and all around general characteristics of each piece. Because I couldn’t yet really associate clout to too many names that I passed, I relied on how each piece made me feel. I had to rely on my visceral reaction to these works to begin building a relationship with the Museum’s collection. I did not yet know that Clyfford Still’s usage of texture, paint levels, and color was meant to respond to Nietzsche philosophy and thereby evoke a sense of primal symbolism. Even so, I was mesmerized by the sheer power and beauty of the collection.
One of the biggest tasks for this coming semester is going to be acquiring, building and understanding the contemporary art and aesthetic vernacular. Coming into this experience with little background in modern and contemporary works, everyday represents a new opportunity to learn a little bit more about art, current artists, exhibitions, art history, fashion, marketing, public sentiment, and human emotion. Part of my homework for my internship at the Hirshhorn has been reading art and fashion magazines, such as ARTnews, Art in America, Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, Interior Design, and the New Yorker. I’ve read pieces on the influx of floral prints in spring lines, upscale couture, gallery openings, reviews of recent exhibitions, the chic nature of certain types of handbags, the Iraqi War, medical ethics, Henry Moore sculpture, art policy, and Ian McEwan’s latest work of fiction. I’ve been asked to read Peter Plagen’s recent editorial on the lack of authentic art criticism in current mass media. I’ve poured over pages separated by Dior, Calvin Klein, Marc Jacobs and Valentino ads, rife with gorgeous photography, breathtaking models, and awe-inspiring fashion collections. I’m slowly developing my vocabulary, and I couldn’t be having more fun doing it.
I’ve certainly had my share of menial, low-level intern-quality jobs to do over the past week. I’ve become quite close to the copy machine, and I’m learning the intricacies of the phone system. I’m responsible for updating and maintaining the Hirshhorn’s MySpace page (http://www.myspace.com/hirshhornmuseum), and I enter in all the contact information from the cards signing people up for the Hirshhorn’s online newsletter. But these tasks do not seem as daunting and tedious because they are interspersed with events like the Matthew Barney lecture, gallery visits, art history research, reading books on upcoming exhibitions, talking to co-workers, or spending time listening to archived podcasts from previous lectures. I’ve thrown myself head first into the contemporary art world, and it is a thrilling place to be. Gabriel and I have a really massive and important presentation to give to the Board of Trustees on Tuesday, so tomorrow will be a 12 hour day, full of scanning images, cropping, rearranging, and finalizing a full-color, full text and bound 30-40 page formal book presentation of the past half-year’s press. I can’t believe that I’m already working on things of such import, but I am glad I can simply be of service. There is an energy at the Hirshhorn which is utterly infectious—I’ve never felt as compelled by art and its implications before, and I am invigorated by a desire to wake up in the morning and head off to work. I think it’s going to be a really wonderful semester.