(No Ideas But in Things) An Experience in Perceiving, the Dia: Beacon

We visited the Dia: Beacon today. And that was in

 itself enough. I was introduced to a lot of new ideas, and my mind felt full within half an hour. 

It took an hour train ride to reach Beacon, and I was nodding off most of the time (my glasses even dropped into my lap at one point, when sleep became too heavy to resist. That was kind of embarassing. It was like on Sunday when we were riding the L train, and a middle-aged man was seated, sleeping, with a newspaper in his hand, and he slowly let go of his grip, and the newspaper slipped to the ground, waking him up. People were watching him; he seemed embarassed.)

Anyways, the Dia. We had the greatest tour guide. I don't even know his name, in fact, he was a rather enigmatic fellow in general. He reminded me a lot of Willy Wonka. He was very casual and nonchalant, yet seemed to speak in riddles at times. He was this short man, dressed in pale, spring colors. He had an accent, I think a British accent. But he seemed to speak many different languages. 

He told us about Dia's name, and how it is in fact NOT an acronym, as one might think, but is instead the Greek word for "through." The museum is devoted primarily to minimalist sculpture of the '60s and '70s. The building is crucial to the experience. It is designed so you can often see straight across the museum, through windows, and see outside, locating yourself in the world, allowing you to create a context for yourself. I've included a few pictures of the museum and its surroundings. The black and white pictures I took myself; the others I robbed from the Net. The space feels very constructed and orderly, very geometric. (The town Beacon itself look a lot like northern WA -- the Bellingham area.)

I must say, it is probably the most navigable museum I have ever experienced. I didn't even use a map while I was there. Apparently it was once the printing factory for the labels on Nabisco cookies. Our guide mentioned that it was typical irony of the modern age for this monument for the working class and blue collar to be transformed into a house for the elite artists of the world. 

One of our group members, Brooke, asked what a particular neon light piece by Bruce Nauman meant, or what the tour guide thought it might mean, and the guide said, with a slight smirk on his face, "How should I know?" Then Brooke said something to the affect of, "Well, I thought maybe he (Nauman) had told you." The guide responded, without the slightest hesitation, "No. He didn't. Even if he had told me, I would have no reason to believe him." Then he was speaking of the windows, telling us how we could determine which windows were the originals from the Nabisco factory of the 1920s and which were restored. Someone asked him to repeat himself, and he said, waving a hand, "It's just an anecdote. Totally trivial and irrelevant. *muttered under his breath* As most things in life."

I loved Louise Bourgeois sculpture Crouching Spider. It has this grotesque quality, yet it's nothing less than exquisite and graceful. It was breathtaking the first time I saw it, in the corner of the attic of the Dia. Despite it's enormity, it doesn't 

threaten. I was drawn to it, fascinated by it, but it felt to me like it exists in a world all its own. The spider is engaging and captivating, yet, at the same time, you feel you should keep your distance. Even though

there is an interaction with the piece -- you have to bend and contort yourself in order to pass under the legs to view the entire sculpture -- there's something very ethereal and intangible about the spider. The first time I saw it, I didn't even think to move around it. The spider seems to be paused (mid-pounce, perhaps), and this cues you

to pause yourself so as not to be noticed, or at least to  pause in anticipation, waiting to see what the spider's next move is. 

In terms of the formal qualities, the piece is very organic and whimsical. The soldering marks are apparent. Despite the weight of the material, the spider appears very mobile, quick and agile (maybe this is due to the needlepoint legs.) However, the spider looks like a creature from the set of a sci-fi film.  

I copied the picture above of the Crouching Spider from flickr. Photos aren't allowed in the Dia, but I guess someone was able to snap this without anyone noticing. 

I also bought a Robert Smithson book. The tour guide illuminated much about minimalist sculpture, and especially about Robert Smithson. Smithson wrote a lot about his work, wrote a lot of theory, so his work is really enhanced when you have someone who is well versed in his theories and concepts. 

Above is Gravel Mirror with Cracks and Dust, done in 1968. The mirrors below the half mounds of grey gravel are shattered, and above the mounds are mirrors which reflect only the feet of the viewers. The piece deals with issues of identity/fragmentation of the self, and the importance of contextual information for identification. Our tour guide looked in the mirrors as we were all lined up, looking at the piece, and said, "Oh wow, now this is great. We've got a harvest of feet." 

On our walk back to the bus, we saw these: