Once Frank Lloyd Wright designed the Guggenheim Museum, the genie was out of the bottle. Museum architecture could and would never be the same again. The places we keep our art treasures had to stop looking like mausoleums, bank vaults, and imitations of neoclassical forms as translated by 19th century interpreters.
No, once the Guggenheim existed, the East Wing of the National Gallery could exist and now, among the growing list of the children and grandchildren of Frank Lloyd Wright, Daniel Libeskind’s new addition for the Denver Art Museum can take its place alongside its brothers and sisters.
Officially called the Frederic C. Hamilton Building, the latest Libeskind offering opened to praise and controversy in October. But make no mistake about it: Libeskind’s sharp angles are related to Wright’s curves, even as Frank Gehry’s swirls were in Bilbao, or I.M. Pei’s austere late modern addition in the nation’s capital.
Museums are no longer places only to look at sculpture: they ARE monumental sculpture. And we are all the wealthier because of it, even as these fluid shapes more and more pose a problem for the older art they have hanging on their sometimes very oddly shaped walls. They are not always the best place to look at those images that are part of the grand tradition of the easel oil painting from 1400-1950.
But they are stunning spaces that often dazzle as much as they confuse or frustrate the viewer. And they are no longer invisible.
Daniel Libeskind’s new building for the Denver Art Museum is the latest in a line of museums that grasp Wright’s intention to destroy the box; now we have to consider what the implications are for all the spaces that followed. They are buildings with voices, and the Hamilton and others of its kind might startle us at first, but in return for our active engagement, they give us a lot to reflect about.
In Denver, the new museum is helping to re-define the notion of a civic center, and comes complete with very expensive condominiums that overlook the museum, and seem to be in dialogue with the earlier incarnations of the museum itself. For that western American city, it is an attempt to re-create a stylish cultural center, form a new neighborhood, and show off, all at once.
Critics first observed that when one of the earliest skyscrapers rose in New York City – the Flatiron building, it looked like the prow of a ship, with its back to the lower, older downtown. The Flatiron seemed to have its back to the past, the old city, and was pointing towards uptown and the city’s future. Libeskind’s building also seems to have a prow as well, although it is titanium-covered, not built of massive masonry, and responds to the constantly changing light. Some say it is a ship in the heart of downtown, or a fragile piece of origami, or a giant silver bird, touching down momentarily in Denver. It makes us think about what may be possible if we can continue to build what we can dream.
But in Berlin, where Libeskind’s first museum/memorial was built, the success of the shattered Star of David form that the Jewish Museum creates was a deliberate call to pay attention. The museum is dedicated to the story of the history of Berlin’s Jewish community from the beginning to the Holocaust, and goes beyond merely invoking a dialogue: it takes on memory, discomfort, darkness, shadow, light and history. Libeskind’s Jewish Museum came relatively late in the career of the academic architect turned practitioner.
But had he never built anything else, Libeskind would be remembered for this stunning piece for reflection in the city where the Nazis tried to create a new world order in its own horrific image. The Jewish Museum plays on memory, insists that we feel uncomfortable, and that we remain aware as we walk through it. The space is a living pledge to never forget.
This is what the new museum architecture can do at its best: it is not background, barely visible, or meant to be just a repository. It is meant to be alive and vibrant, make us think about where we are, and what we are looking at. The new materials (such as the titanium sheaths) seem to make the buildings breathe: and this metaphor is not accidental.
Daniel Libeskind also drew up the ‘master plan’ for Ground Zero. His vision called for a memorial, office buildings, including a cultural center, and the soaring Freedom Tower, meant to invoke the Statue of Liberty. His work as proposed will not see the light of day: New York seems determined to re-build by committee. Libeskind barely lists it on his projects page. Another loss for New Yorkers at the site where the wound is deepest.
The recent Denver project is only the most recent in Libeskind’s achievements: he is working on apartment complexes, museums and memorials in six or seven major world cities.
These are flags he is setting against the wind: the architecture of the twenty-first century is preparing to meet the dominant culture of the twentieth. The cultural landscape is about to change profoundly. Again.
More reading
The Guggenheim www.guggenheim.org
East Wing of the National Gallery www.greatbuildings.com
Frank Lloyd Wright www.delmars.com/wright
Daniel Libeskind www.daniel-libeskind.com/daniel
Jewish Museum Berlin www.juedisches-museum-berlin
New York Times www.nytimes.com
