Jaded For Bronze

By Byron Fuller | Wednesday, November 27, 2002

The College has at last, if unintentionally, conceded the dismal banality of Berry Library with its attempts to enliven that building's drab 'functionality' with art. Anyone breezing down Berry's so-called 'Main Street' will have noticed the various, pedestaled heaps of scrap-metal now occupying the main floor. Aesthetically, this remedy is worse than the cold. The cure comes in several fruit-flavor combinations: the works of Beasley and creations of Voulkos. The former are angular, anorexic-looking bronze, reminiscent of sugar-crystal experiments performed in zero-G conditions; as to the latter, those of you familiar with the 'backyard furnaces' of Mao's Great Leap Forward program will have some idea of the sheer repugnance they elicit.

Beasley's six sculptures were donated by Beasley himself. The seven Voulkos pieces are the promised gifts of Mr. Roger Arvid Anderson '68, who has previously loaned the College works for a stunning Renaissance portraiture exhibit. It is unclear to what extent the pieces were solicited by the college. It is striking, however, that they appear to have followed the college librarian, Mr. Lucier, a recent West-coast transplant, from UC Berkeley. I can only hope that they are not part of his much-touted 'vision' for the library of the Twenty-first century. If they are, it will be a grim future indeed.

Bruce Beasley, author of the cubistic, oddly-balanced bronzes, is a graduate of the College, class of 1961. Frequently working with a computer-modelling program, his declared artistic aim is 'to produce emotion without representing a recognisable object.' While I perceived no noticeable emotion as I gazed upon them, I can attest that he succeeds admirably in the latter condition (though Star Wars fans will detect a haunting similarity to Imperial Walkers). Some people applaud the 'gravity-defying manner' they observe in his works. Frankly, I see the same defiance of gravity in most post-Sumerian architecture. If it has two legs, I call it an arch. Only one? A column. That little wings and ailerons can be attached to these basic structures reminds me vaguely of the concept of balance. Still, I find his work the less egregious.

The late Peter Voulkos gained renown for his unusual use of clay, and he is often credited with elevating it to a medium in its own right. As with many of his contemporaries like Pollock and Cage, he placed greater value on the process than the finished product. To our deficit, I might add. With this approach, rather than imposing preconceived, artistic ideas on a medium, the idea is to interact with it, allowing it to express 'the human struggle for life against the phenomena of accident and chance.' Looking at his work, I think this is crap. Johann Joachim Kaendler similarly established porcelain as a medium, his works reaching their sublime pinnacle in Count Br∏hl's Schwanenservice. Still, Voulkos is highly esteemed, having taught at Berkeley for twenty-sx years, at times inspiring bizarre loyalty in his students. One of these, so captivated by the sheer 'earth-energy' of a piece, 'slept next to it for three nights, tracing every line, texture, and movement of that piece.' I encourage you to do the same.

For me, the reaction to Voulkos is less cerebral and more visceral. One piece particularly, Sevillanas, convulses in the corner immediately as you enter from Baker, the Beasley piece next to it looking on with cubist unrecognisability (see cover). To me, Sevillanas evokes none of the lively flamenco or even possibly republican feelings one might expect from such a distinguished name— on the contrary, it practically make me want to draw up and salute with a loud, droning 'Hail Comrade.' Considered one of Voulkos's breakthrough works—despite the continued melted scrap-metal theme— it depicts a variety of pots being mashed together into a wretched, seething, and uniformly ugly mass. Admittedly, the piece is not out of place at Dartmouth.

But you might be wondering, 'How on earth did these eyesores get here?' Well, philanthropy appears to be a double-edged sword. Once upon a time, philanthropy was philanthropy and not advertising (consider Webster Hall's fa¡ade, recently vandalised in the name of Bruce and Diana Rauner). That is to say, people gave a school money because they genuinely believed in the causes espoused by the school; further, they had the mental capacity to appreciate the subtlety of those causes, and while, no doubt charmed by a discreet plaque, they required no recognition and often outright eschewed it. They gave selflessly to a higher cause because they sympathised. Now, of course, the school's mission is so thoroughly muddled that it's hard to say whether the administration is for or against education; philanthropy is more often a bankrupt code-word for tax-break and name-recognition. I cannot speak directly to what Mr. Berry or the Baker descendants might have been thinking, but I am confident in saying that, had they asked the school to omit the obscenely large signs, the College would immediately have clicked its heels and done so. I still hold out hope that someone sensible will demand the school pull them down. More economical, of course, would be a reapplication of the school's policy towards other art on campus: simply re-use the boards from the Hovey mural. It would be a great coup, the College's standing by its own diversity policy by showing tolerance towards opinions it doesn't like.

To the College's credit, it solicits donations largely with the aim of bettering the undergraduate experience. Sadly, it hasn't had the sense to plan ahead and solicit these funds in an unrestricted fashion. The budgeting problems arising from College's endowment deficit are compounded by the issue of too many donations (and their income) being restricted for special-interest use. Much the same with these sculptures. They are to be permanent additions to the library. Don't misunderstand me. I've nothing against the College accepting (most) gifts, provided it reserves a certain autonomy in disposing of them. This applies equally to art as to the general fund. In this case, saving one or two of the pieces for its collection, the remainder would, I think, fetch an excellent price under the Sotheby's hammer. The proceeds could be designated for the purchase of other art, a 'diversity' of art, if you will. Not only would a selection of sculpture provide general visual stimulus, but, more importantly, it would also serve to provide a continuum, a context for works as wildly abstract as the Voulkos and Beasley pieces. Though it is largely a question of taste, I will concede that some of their charm may be lost on my amateur's eye. And yet, I would argue this to be the case for the majority of students, staff, and faculty as well.

The sculptures, despite their considerable unsightless, do liven the dreary mediocrity of Berry. My gripe with the sculptures is less with their presence (it's something, after all), and more with their proliferation. One of each artist's would suffice. Entirely. Dispersing good artwork in the library is a great idea, whether in old Baker or in the McDonald's-esque, cookie-cutter Berry. I can think of few things more stimulating than looking up from some dreary text to feast my eyes unexpectedly on an emotive Kirchner or a copied Venus de Milo, lingering in the reference section, far from her native Paros. This all might lead one to wonder what further plans the administration has? Having recognised the fact that diversity is beneficial (and now a prominent DartmouthÙ brand feature), one can only hope the College will seize upon this opportunity to provide true variety, rather than a variety that conforms to its own sanctioned opinions. Currently, there is no over-arching policy governing future art installations. While the college has made a surprisingly intelligent move introducing art (i.e. life) to Berry, a failure to consider a policy would be fatal. If the sculptures remain, alone and devoid of context, they will invariably suffer the widespread cynicism accorded Princeton's 'Flying Fuck' statue.

William Johnson Cory maintains that 'you go to a great school not so much for knowledge as...for taste, for discrimination...' Taste and discrimination can only be formed by open comparison; they cannot be dictated by lone example. That's what diversity's about. Let's see the College demonstrate mastery of its own mantra.

Jaded For Bronze

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