At the Geffen in Los Angeles | Part II

There’s so much to like about the new Geffen Galleries in Los Angeles. LACMA (the Los Angeles County Museum of Art) confidently swung for the fences. The building is a leisurely stroll in the perennial sunlit summer of Los Angeles, an uncrowded domain that feels less urban than horticultural. Think of an arboretum of giant Sequoias. It has the swoop and dash of classic Googie-form California and the big picture windows that signal we are on the West Coast. The building articulates an infatuation with light, the natural kind that pours in from the sides. If nothing else, it is of its place.

For all of that, it feels strangely sparse. It comes off as an aspirational effort, California answering the call of The Met, but with big open spaces where objects should be. If you have one tiny pitcher made by Paul Revere, you don’t quite have a collection of colonial-era silver, even if there are lesser-known makers in the showcase.

And the works themselves are sometimes awkwardly displayed. A massive hanging by El Anatsui looks beautiful against grey concrete, even if it abuts a utilitarian cutout to its left. But that can’t be said for a tiny inlaid missal stand, lavishly adorned with mother-of-pearl and tortoise-shell. It looks like a Faberge egg in a warehouse.

Small works need to be set off in appropriate spaces that reflect the delicacy and richness they project. I wanted someone at least to stain the concrete to frame out the decorative sparkle of these objects. Then I saw that it had been done in smaller galleries that are located along the spine of the building. Something similar should be done on the periphery.

None of this means that Geffen is empty. The curatorial staff exercises the same taste and discernment that LACMA frequently displays throughout. On a earlier visit, I saw a suite of block-printed textiles that felt smartly displayed and deeply nourishing. In the Geffen, there is a gallery of Islamic material in which the words of the Qur;an form the scaffolding of artistry. The frontispiece is a work by Nasser Al Salem that shapes a verse about wandering into a maze of letterforms. It’s a dazzling remake of a very old tradition.

Another gallery given over to film is an immersive display of six looping broadcasts, each featuring a young woman in a busy marketplace. The sites run the gamut of worldwide conflict zones, and record the encounter between the young woman and passersby. Their responses range from hostile mockery to communion. The effect is absorbing, mesmerizing, disturbing. I felt privileged to witness the young woman’s courage and the otherworldly tranquility she brought to these transactions.

What I mean to say is that I will be returning to the Geffen to experience the craft of curators of great talent. Their final gift to the museum’s public is an astonishing level of confidence and trust. Many of the objects on display—however rare or precious—are offered in three dimesions without any sort of barrier. No glass, no velvet rpopes, no nothing. You could touch any one of them, but because of the trust, you don’t. Sometimes they are set on simple pedestals. Sometimes they are arrayed on enormous banquet tables.

All of them signal a level of respect for the viewer that no other museum on earth communicates. For that, alone, we owe a debt to the Geffen.