The Unknown Korea

Moon Jar, Early 18 century. Porcelain, Height 16 1/8 inches (41 cm). National Museum of Korea, Seoul. Treasure No. 1437. 

HUMANITIES
Spring 2014

The Unknown Korea
by James Panero

Little known treasures from the Joeson dynasty come to the United States

“Sacrifice,” writes Lee Myung-Bak, the former president of South Korea and CEO of Hyundai, in his autobiography The Uncharted Path. “That's what makes our mosaic so beautiful and rich.” Over the last sixty years, such sacrifice has turned a war-torn country into an economic powerhouse and brought what is known as the “Miracle on the Han River” to the United States. We Americans drive Korean cars, eat Korean cuisine, watch K-Pop on Korean electronics, and read Korean-American literature by celebrated writers such as Chang-Rae Lee.

The confident reach of South Korean culture follows that country’s emergence from a century of terrible upheaval, in which it was caught up in the territorial ambitions of China, Japan, and Russia as well as the Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union. Over a million people perished in the Korean War between 1950 and 1953. And today, even as South Korea has emerged from darkness, North Korea remains captive to an aggressive tyrannical regime.

Sun, Moon, and Five Peaks, Artist/maker unknown, Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910), 19th century, Eight-fold screen; colors on paper, 82 11/16 × 217 7/16 inches (210 × 552.3 cm), Private Collection 

For Hyunsoo Woo, curator of Korean art at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, the moment was right to look beyond her country’s recent past to the era that informed it: the 518-year reign of the Joseon Dynasty (pronounced “Choe-sun”), from 1392–1910, which gave Korea its culture of duty. What has resulted is an ambitious survey of one hundred and fifty works called “Treasures from Korea,” now on view at the Philadelphia Museum, an exhibition that will travel on to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston.

The show is a “dream come true,” Woo tells me over lunch at the museum. “Everyone thought I was crazy.”

Crazy, in part, because of the difficulty in securing work for such a show. There is relatively little Korean art in American museum collections. “The number of Korean pieces in the United States is drastically smaller than for other Asian art. There is much less of it than Chinese or Japanese,” says Woo.

Portrait of Yi Jae (1680-1746), Artist/maker unknown, Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910), Late 18th century, Hanging scroll; ink and colors on silk, 38 1/2 × 22 3/16 inches (97.8 × 56.3 cm), National Museum of Korea, Seoul. 

Known as the “Hermit Kingdom,” Korea under the Joseon was late to open its doors to the West. Korea only began normalized relations after establishing a trade treaty with the United States in 1882. “Korea didn’t know about the rest of the world,” says Woo. By 1890, the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston already had a curator for Japanese art, and American collections of Japanese and Chinese artifacts were extensive. Even today, according to Woo, there are only four curators for Korean art at U.S. museums, and until recently only UCLA offered a Ph.D. program in Korean art history. As a result, Americans know sadly little about Korean art.

Joseon art and artifacts are rare in Korea, too, and are seldom lent overseas. “We went through a rough modern era: the annexation by Japan and the Korean War between north and south. The whole country was completely ruined,” says Woo. The upheaval led to the “loss of many treasures and cultural properties,” and some that did survive remain locked away in North Korea. What survives in the south can also be fragile: paper, hemp, silk. Woo’s only choice for a multicity exhibition was to find different objects to borrow from Korea for each location: “We are only allowed to show one painting at any venue, for conservation reasons. So it was extremely complicated. Books and paintings will all be rotated. Screens are on paper and silk.”

Ever since the war, in which 40,000 U.S. service personnel lost their lives or went missing in action, America has had a deep bond with South Korea. So “Treasures from Korea” grew from the spirit of cultural exchange between the two countries—and became far more expansive than even Woo first envisioned. In exchange for the loans from Korean institutions, many of them protected as national treasures, the three stateside venues, plus the Terra Foundation for American Art, first lent a historic three-century survey of their holdings for an exhibition called “Art Across America,” which showed in 2013 in Korea at Seoul’s National Museum, a key organizer of the current exhibition.

Jar with Design of Bamboo and Plum Trees, 16th to 17th century. Porcelain with underglaze iron decoration, 15 3/4 x 14 15/16 inches (40 x 37.9 cm). National Museum of Korea, Seoul. National Treasure No. 166. 

Just as Koreans might be familiar with Jackson Pollock and Andy Warhol, but new to the Hudson River School, the art and culture of the Joseon will be an eye-opener for American audiences. The word “treasures” brings to mind rich materials, but the Joseon, the longest reigning neo-Confucian dynasty in history, enforced an austere aesthetic. “Reserve, discipline, formality, simplicity, serenity,” says Woo of the Joseon. “It was a great culture of recording.” Its respect for tradition and self-sacrifice helps explain its singular longevity. Imported from China, neo-Confucian scholarship also gave Korea’s intellectual class a way to keep its monarchs in check. 

The art of the Joseon was far more spare than what you see from earlier Korean dynasties, such as the Buddhist Silla. Pronounced “Shilla,” works from this period were recently exhibited at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Highlights of the Joseon include minimalist porcelain pottery, often left white and unadorned, and the detailed scrolls used to record and dictate royal ceremonies. “Japanese and Chinese art, if you look at it, you think, amazing, gorgeous, look at the level of technology and achievement,” says Woo. “But with Korean art, you don’t really have it. It takes some time to appreciate. That’s where the challenge is. There is no immediate response to it.”

Instead, Joseon art rewards close looking, with small imperfections, a fingerprint left here and there, revealing the soul behind the austerity. “There is a huge jar. A moon jar,” Woo explains of one large example from the early eighteenth century. “And it is really a difficult technique to perfect . . . because the diameter is so wide.” The same goes for the dynasty’s detailed, illustrated self-documentation, one that in a way mirrors our own “selfie” culture. 

Military Costume (Dongdari), 19th century. Silk, length: 45 11/16 inches (116 cm). Dangook University Seok Juseon Memorial Museum, Yongin. 

“We wanted this to be a great introduction to Korean art,” Woo says of her exhibition’s thematic approach, which ranges from sections on the royal family to dioramas of simple Joseon rooms, clothing, and everyday artifacts. “So we wanted to do the exhibition that way, to come up with some themes, to come up with some story based on the viewer’s own knowledge.”

The screen paintings, Woo’s academic specialty, take little to appreciate: Often symmetrical landscapes in gorgeous geometric patterns, filled with naturalistic symbolism, they were used as royal backdrops and objects of prestige. The exhibition’s innovative digital displays do an impressive job at unpacking and explaining the messages in these paintings. “We really wanted to integrate that technology to broaden the knowledge,” says Woo. “Because we knew that Korean art and Korea in general are new.”

Śākyamuni Assembly, 1653. Hanging scroll; colors on hemp, 39 3/16 × 25 7/16 feet (12 x 7.8 m). Hwaeomsa, Gurye. National Treasure No. 301. 

The biggest surprise, now at the Philadelphia Museum, is certainly the Śākyamuni Assembly, a thirty-nine-foot-tall hanging scroll of the Buddha, painted on hemp and used for outdoor services, from 1653. The fact that this towering object even made it to Philadelphia is astonishing—it is far too large to travel to the other venues. Woo had the vision of it hanging in the museum’s Great Stair Hall, where the statue Diana by Augustus Saint-Gaudens is otherwise displayed. “When I first told people that I really wanted to bring that painting here, everyone thought it was impossible. And I thought my chances were extremely slim because of its size, and it is designated a national treasure of Korea. There are about eighty paintings of that type that survived in Korea at different temples, and, among those, this is the best example in terms of size, quality, condition, and date of production. This is one of the earliest.”

Yet, Woo says, “along the way, people became convinced it was important to show because it was never introduced outside of Korea.” The transportation of the scroll by cargo plane from Korea to Philadelphia was a feat in itself, and the complex image, now in line with the axis of the museum’s grand east entrance and the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, is breathtaking.

The lavish scroll hints at another side of Joseon culture. Beneath the asceticism of the dynasty’s official neo-Confucian mandates, a more fanciful Buddhist influence from earlier dynasties never went away. The same might be said of the two-part nature of Korean society today, with a fanciful pop culture that overlays a deeper, older mandate. “The spirit, the Confucian ideals,” says Woo, “you have to pay ultimate loyalty to your king and the state. Even in the current day, we see that. You put your family, your organization before you.”

In the north, we see a regime’s repressive interpretation of the old Hermit Kingdom. In the south, a Confucian work ethic drives the country’s exuberant contemporary culture. It has also brought a divided nation back from the brink. “When I was growing up, I rarely saw my father,” says Woo, “because he was working so hard, building the country.” During the war, she explains, he fled from the north at fourteen, leaving family behind. “He thought he would only be away for a few months. Now it has been sixty years.” Woo’s “Treasures from Korea” honors all those who have made the sacrifice to ensure the survival of this treasured culture.

Ten Longevity Symbols, 18th century. Ten-fold screen; colors on paper, 98 7/16 × 231 1/8 inches (250 × 587 cm). Private Collection. 

The traveling exhibition “Treasures from Korea: Arts and Culture of the Joseon Dynasty: 1392–1910,” originally on view at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, will be on view at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art from June 29 till September 28 and at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, from November 2 till January 11, 2015.

Gallery Chronicle (June)

Loren Munk, Bushwick Map (Study), 2013

THE NEW CRITERION
JUNE 2014

Gallery chronicle
by James Panero

On "Peak Bushwick" and Bushwick Open Studios.

Next to my desk I keep a print by the artist Loren Munk called Bushwick Map (Study), based on a drawing he made between 2010 and 2013. Munk should be a familiar name, to readers of this column certainly, and to anyone who follows contemporary art beyond brand names and auction headlines. A self-described “informationist,” Munk loads the ephemera of the art world into his work, preserving his knowledge and research of creative activity in hallucinatory maps and flowcharts (and his DIY video documentaries called The James Kalm Report).

Bushwick Map captures an alternative arts neighborhood at its most radiant. Small galleries and studio addresses burst forth from the street grid in first bloom. Yet for me the image also serves as a warning: a reminder of how short the growing season can be for a creative place of any importance. Already, a handful of influential galleries on Munk’s map, with evocative names such as Factory Fresh, Famous Accountants, and Pocket Utopia, have closed up or moved on.

Now we come to learn that the leases for all of the gallery spaces in the enormous Ridgewood–Bushwick building 17-17 Troutman Street will not be renewed. The Troutman building currently hosts the largest and most experimental concentration of neighborhood galleries outside of the must-see spaces at 56 Bogart Street, including Regina Rex, Parallel Art Space, Ortega Y Gasset Projects, Bull and Ram, Underdonk, and Harbor.

Of course, the closing of Bushwick galleries might register up there with “Small Earthquake in Chile, Not Many Dead,” Claud Cockburn’s famous example of a headline that is factually accurate but exceedingly uninteresting to most people reading it. Still, the goings-on at Troutman have a way of signaling the next chapter in the Bushwick story. One night back in October 2007, this same Troutman building saw a small humanitarian crisis, Red Cross and all, as a raid by the fire department sent hundreds of artists and other residents into the streets, unable to return. The event served as a wake-up call for how uncertain the future of the neighborhood would be, with landlords, the FDNY, and the Brooklyn political machine all keyed into the area’s rising value. And artists realized it too, becoming more serious and organized, accelerating the growth of Bushwick’s small exhibition scene.

With the latest developments at Troutman, and more dislocations soon to follow, the question is: Have we reached “Peak Bushwick”? Of course, the question is not to suggest that neighborhood development will abate. If the history of other one-time arts communities is any indication, growth is sure to accelerate, just with less artistic consequence.

All vital artistic activity has a way of becoming quickly absorbed into the background of lifestyle advertising and new-age spirituality—the transcendence we contemplate through the ingestion of grass-fed beef hand-butchered by hipsters. Such a thought came to mind last month as I savored a $38 lunch plate of brisket served by Marlow and Daughters, the Williamsburg-based butcher, at the art fair Frieze New York. Located in a bespoke encampment on Randalls Island for a weekend in May, Frieze is a lifestyle caravan and new-age tent revival in one. Decorous contemporary art awash in an iPad glow serves as a backdrop for hip catering à la plage. A book I spotted in the checkout line of one celebrity vendor, Blue Bottle Coffee, summed up the nature of this delectation: Modern Art Desserts: Recipes for Cakes, Cookies, Confections, and Frozen Treats Based on Iconic Works of Art. The cover depicted a Battenberg cake in the form of a Mondrian.

Artistic Bushwick itself is traversing from lifeless to life-filled to lifestyle at a remarkable clip. Last month, local newspapers announced that a Bushwick building known as “Hacienda Villa” is being developed into the city’s first “polyamorous-only” apartment house and “judgement-free zone” catering exclusively to the “libertine community.” Not to judge the cohabitation of libertines, but with lifestyle tourists at the gate, the time might be right to catch the full (and final?) flowering of the arts of Bushwick.

A year before that Troutman raid in 2007, the neighborhood’s artists and eighty-five participating spaces came together to host the first Bushwick Open Studios. Under the auspices of the volunteer organization Arts in Bushwick, BOS became a yearly event, with the neighborhood throwing open its doors over the first weekend in June. (By the way, the Munk print I mentioned earlier was created as a benefit for BOS and is still available from its Bushwick printer, Supreme Digital. Three new benefit editions have also been issued this year, of work by Lisa Corinne Davis, Meg Hitchcock, and Alice Mizrachi.)

Meg Hitchcock, Lamentations (BOS benefit print)

This year’s BOS will kick off on the evening of Friday, May 30 and continue through Sunday, June 1. If you are coming to this column after that date, do not fear: Some of the larger shows will continue for a few weekends thereafter. With 532 studios and gallery spaces by last count now participating, BOS provides an extensive if overwhelming access point for viewing art in the neighborhood. It also gives us a stress test of the neighborhood’s continued vitality.

I once did a calculation of how long you could spend at each BOS venue if you wanted to see it all. The answer is less than a minute and a half, and that includes transportation time. So some winnowing is in order. Each year, artsinbushwick.org becomes more sophisticated with its interactive online listing. This year, the map includes ten “hub” locations to serve as gathering places and spots to catch your breath. I like to start at Norte Maar to see the singular private collection of the curator Jason Andrew. Bushwick’s great impresario, steeped in the histories of modernism, is now also the co-owner of Outlet Fine Art, a gallery that is pioneering the neighborhood’s eastern limits. A week after BOS, Outlet will open an ambitious summer show that will link a 1946 drawing by Arshile Gorky with work by thirty modern and contemporary artists, including Gregory Amenoff, William Anastasi, Judy Dolnick, Hermine Ford, Margrit Lewcuk, Michael Prodanou, and Joan Snyder. Based on the visual connections made in Andrew’s 2013 match-up, with a drawing by Giacometti, this should be a particularly strong exhibition. This summer, Andrew’s non-profit Norte Maar will also continue its excellent project series in performance and dance: an evening “sound event” on June 21 on the water at Socrates Sculpture Park in Long Island City with the artists Andrew Hurst, Shona Masarin, and Audra Wolowiec, among others; and a site-specific dance residency in the park over weekends in August.

Rob de Oude, studio

There are numerous artists exhibiting at BOS who have appeared in this column, or should have and will. The Troutman galleries deserve a proper sendoff: Parallel Art Space has an especially good group show, including works by Don Voisine, Katrin Bremermann, and Douglas Witmer. I am particularly keen to see the studios of obsessively detailed artists such as the collagist Meg Hitchcock and the optical linesman Rob de Oude. Then there’s the intimism of Louisa Waber, the gimlet-eyes of J. Robert Feld, the haunting realism of Fedele Spadafora, the flotsam and jetsam of Eliot Markell, the urban vignettes of Kerry Law, the Bauhaus-riffing of Björn Meyer-Ebrecht, and the copyright-infringing of Adam Simon. The painter Julie Torres continues her great mitzvah work of bringing like-minded painters from across the country together at BOS with a forty-artist show at the former home of 3rd Ward.

Bushwick, of course, is particularly rich in abstraction, with open studios by Enrico Gomez, Nancy Baker, Patricia Satterlee, Vincent Romaniello, Lisa Corinne Davis, Brent Owens, Matthew Neil Gehring, Jeanne Tremel, Jay Gaskill, Shingo Francis, Lauren Collins, Kurt Steger, MaryKate Maher, and Christina Kee. My magazine colleague Rebecca Litt, who paints psychologically charged portraits and landscapes, is exhibiting with her studio-mate, the abstractionist Gili Levy.

The gallery Lorimoto, which will have a promising group show of Bushwick artists, will also open the studios of the owners Nao Matsumoto (who recently terrorized the Volta art fair with apocalyptic contraptions) and Lori Kirkbride (who creates surrealist close-ups in polymer and resin). The cavernous gallery Signal, which tends to mix arresting work with music and performance, will show Jesse Hlebo, Nicholas Gottlund, and Andrew Laumann. The Bushwick stalwart Centotto always deserves a visit.

James Reeder, vitrine series, 2013

The analogue (i.e., not digital) photographer James Reeder will open up his studio and gallery Silver Projects (named after the photochemical silver nitrate) along with his entire creative row house known as Hotel (which was the sleeper hit of Bushwick Beatnite when I curated a gallery evening last fall). Meryl Meisler, arguably the original Bushwick artist, will exhibit her photographs and launch her book on “A Tale of Two Cities,” documenting life in New York in the disco era.

And no BOS would be complete without a visit to Bushwick’s grand visionary Deborah Brown and her studio gallery Storefront Ten Eyck. In her luminous paintings, Brown has gone from depicting the streetscapes of Bushwick to the historical landscapes of literature and portraiture. Storefront will also feature the surrealist sculptures and drawings of Hans van Meeuwen and a site-specific group show curated by Karin Bravin. Brown and the gallerist Lesley Heller are again curating an outdoor sculpture show called “Real on Rock Street” (although here I could do without the kitsch-artist dog killer Tom Otterness).

Deborah Brown, Tete: Dutch Master

The heart of BOS is the studio visit, so let me conclude with a few words of advice about it: The chance to see an artist’s studio space, the fons et origoof creation, is foundational and intimate, but it can also be intimidating and time consuming. The open doors of BOS lower the barriers to entry. Trust me: There are no dumb questions you can ask in an artist’s studio, because I’ve tested them all. Point, get up close, tap into childlike wonder: Artist studios are fantastical places. And if you like it, buy it. Use eyes, not ears. Don’t wait for Gagosian, Christie’s, or The New York Times to tell you what to do. “We are our own art history” is the inspiring phrase that Loren Munk once printed on a bumper sticker. If you admire something but ask, Who likes this?, Who collects this?, the answer is: You do. If Bushwick has a future at all, it will depend on the connections made over this one weekend in June.

Gallery Chronicle (May)

Centerpiece at the Hispanic Society of America: Francisco de Goya y Lucientes, The Duchess of Alba, 1797; Oil on Canvas, 210.2 x 149.2 cm

THE NEW CRITERION
May 2014

Gallery chronicle
by James Panero

On the Hispanic Society of America and “William Powhida: Overculture,” at Postmasters, New York.

There is something antediluvian about the story of Theodore S. Beardsley Jr., the director of the Hispanic Society of America from 1965 to 1995. What? Never heard of Beardsley’s trove of Spanish art, artifacts, and literature sequestered in an alcazar in Washington Heights? Good, went his reply, and why should you. “We’ve been here since 1904 and one of the things we’ve learned to do is lie low,” Beardsley said to Grace Glueck ofThe New York Times in 1989, “I’ve sat on a lot of boards, and bigness is always worse.”

Founded in 1904, opened in 1908, the Hispanic Society was the first of several institutions to anchor the beaux-arts campus of Audubon Terrace, the great and distinctly American cultural vision of the philanthropist Archer M. Huntington located on 155th Street and Broadway. (I wrote about the American Academy of Arts and Letters, the Terrace’s other remaining institution, in last month’s column.) Motivated by a love for Spanish storytelling, Huntington created a jewel-box that was as fanciful as the tales he read, filling it with books, art, and artifacts from Iberian history. He bought masterworks by El Greco, Goya, José de Ribera, Velázquez, and Francisco de Zurbarán along with 800 other paintings, 6,000 watercolors and drawings, 1,000 sculptures, 6,000 decorative objects, 15,000 prints, and 175,000 documentary photographs of Spanish life. Much of this he stuffed into the Society’s main court hall. He ringed a tight second-floor balcony with his most significant paintings, which are still not shown in ideal light. Goya’s Duchess of Alba (1797) greets visitors upon arrival with an hauteur that recalls the work of John Singer Sargent (whose studies from the Prado are included here as well). He also gathered a significant collection of over 250,000 books and manuscripts on the Iberian Peninsula—20,000 printed before 1701, including rare hand-drawn maps of Spanish exploration (a singular example is kept behind a curtain in the Society library) and a first edition of Don Quixote.

The Society’s art, architecture, and sculptural program spoke to the high-minded wonder of Huntington’s vision. Charles P. Huntington, Archer’s cousin, drew up the master plans for the beaux-arts campus and designed the buildings of the Hispanic Society itself (Cass Gilbert and William M. Kendall of McKim, Mead & White were other architects for the site). In the 1920s, the celebrated sculptor Anna Hyatt Huntington, Archer’s wife, designed a grand outdoor program, after the site’s orientation was turned east to Broadway, for what was at first a staircase leading up from 166th Street. Here her bronze equestrian statue of El Cid, the medieval Castilian knight, rides beside a monumental relief of Don Quixote. Huntington also commissioned the painter Joaquín Sorolla y Bastida to create a fourteen-painting cycle of “Visions of Spain,” recording regional scenes of Spanish life, which he installed in their own hall in the Society.

Audubon Terrace with The Hispanic Society of America at center.

Yet Glueck’s article, “Major Hispanic Museum Lies Low and Likes It,” was as much about exposing Huntington’s successor’s unreconstructed attitudes towards museum governance as drawing attention to the treasured collection in his trust. Blessed with Huntington’s endowment income and tasked with strict rules about how the institution should be run, Beardsley showed little interest in serving anything more than the founder’s wishes. When it came to donor intent, he was an unreconstructed originalist. There was the issue of loans, for instance. Huntington never wanted his masterworks to leave the building, nor that outside works be shown among the collection, and Beardsley agreed. ‘’We love them,” he said of such restrictions. ‘’You put pieces in jeopardy by moving them around. The whole loan thing is a mixed bag.’’ There was also the library, where Beardsley strictly limited the hours and forbade patrons from making copies. “A lot of our consultation is by mail and telephone,” he explained to Glueck. “We’re much more famous in Madrid than we are here.”

And then there was his approach to fundraising. “We have never blatantly courted donors,” he admitted. “We find it tacky. Mr. Huntington felt it was not very gentlemanly, and until he died if we needed money, he wrote a check.’’ Beardsley refused to publish the names of his board. Even as his endowment dwindled, his curatorial staff shrank in number, and his building was in need of repairs, he had little desire for an infusion of funds. “Our maintenance is slow, but if someone gave me a check for $10 million, I wouldn’t do it faster,” he concluded, “there’s a danger in having too many workmen in the building.”

Given Beardsley’s antiquated ideas, it’s remarkable he lasted as long as he did. Five years after Glueck’s article, reality caught up with him. It was merely chance that, largely after World War II, a Hispanic population settled in the neighborhood around the Hispanic Society. For Beardsley, the only time “town and gown” came together was when they came for him. In 1993, Robin Cembalest published an interview with Beardsley in Art News in which he stated that he didn’t reach out to his local community because they had a “low level of culture.” In the same piece, George S. Moore, a retired chairman of Citibank and the Society’s octogenarian president, blasted the neighborhood as “nontaxpaying slums.” When word of this interview got out, according to Cembalest, protesters gathered to chase the director as he crossed the Terrace courtyard, chanting “Beardsley,racista!” A year later, it was over for Beardsley, and Mitchell Codding, the Society’s current director, was installed.

The main court hall of the Hispanic Society of America. Nicole Bengiveno/The New York Times

It’s easy to mock a figure like Beardsley. Across the cultural world, his notions of museum stewardship, curmudgeonly and narrow, have now been eclipsed by nearly the direct opposite. Today our model of cultural governance looks to reinterpret a founder’s wishes, encapsulate original buildings in new construction, maximize turnstile numbers and revenue, and make fundraising the metric of institutional success, all the while lavishing the administration with six- and seven-figure salaries. Yet with so many institutions, from the New York Public Library to the Museum of Modern Art, now pursuing this destructive extreme, it must be said that the crustiness of Beardsley’s tenure left us an institution that was unspoiled. For now, we can continue to enjoy a free institution as its founder intended while appreciating an artifact of American museology that is nearly untouched.

For an institution as anachronistic as the Hispanic Society, rich in art and artifacts but out of line with contemporary museum standards, the future is never certain. For a time after his arrival, Codding announced his intentions to relocate the Society further downtown. It would have been a move that mirrored the departure of several other of the Terrace’s original inhabitants. In the 1970s the American Geographical Society left for Wisconsin. In the 1990s the Museum of the American Indian went to Washington. In 2008 the American Numismatic Society relocated to downtown Manhattan. For the Hispanic Society, picking up stakes was a predictable idea, but it would have been a disastrous one, curing the institution by killing it. Fortunately, these plans never materialized, and now, it appears, Codding has doubled down on his current location, acquiring an annex from the former American Indian museum and repairing his infrastructure (although he has come under fire for auctioning off a multi-million-dollar coin collection).

The Hispanic Society of America, with original entrance gate facing 166th Street.

Today’s museum directors have a habit of mistaking solutions for problems. The remote setting and idiosyncrasies of the Hispanic Society are not what drive people away. They make the place a wondrous attraction. The challenge is to find a golden path of leadership that understands and nurtures the soul of an institution, rather than carving it out and replacing it. While at the helm of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Philippe de Montebello understood this course better than anyone, and fortunately he has now been serving as an advisor to the Hispanic Society. One of his suggestions, a good one, has been to add the words “museum” and “library” to the Society’s name. Such modest and smart proposals are just what the Society needs to continue broadening its outreach without becoming a community center, a shopping mall, or a blockbusterKunsthalle—and the Society can still do more. Its outward appearance is weedy and uninviting. Whoever heads up its social-media outreach is doing yeoman’s work, but an overhauled website would be nice too. The courtyard is in need of a facelift, and the entryways could use better signage. Frankly, even while walking within Audubon Terrace, I passed by the Society for years without realizing there was a remarkable and free museum just inside those doors. A broader advertising and media campaign would go a long way—along, of course, with a grant for it. So too would further outreach to the local community, which Codding has already initiated (although as an outsider I would welcome a guide to the area’s Hispanic restaurants, such as the delicious and affordable Margot). And why doesn’t the MTA do more to spread the word of this unsung venue, which, after all, is only a subway ride away?

As the dynamics of New York culture are being driven out from the center to the peripheries of the city, 155th Street and Broadway offers a welcome reprieve from the big-money bustle of our more establishment institutions. The adopted son of a railroad baron, Archer M. Huntington assumed that high culture would follow the new subway lines uptown. It may have taken a century longer than he expected, but Audubon Terrace may suddenly find itself in the right place at the right time.

William Powhida, "Overculture," exhibition installation view

One of my most anticipated exhibitions last month, and certainly related to the discussion above, was “Overculture” by William Powhida at Postmasters.1 Powhida mixes information-rich diagrams (also called “Informationism”) with institutional critique. He is famous for his cranky public persona, which he widely broadcasts through Twitter. For a younger man, he has cultivated a surprisingly high level of dyspepsia and bile. Yet his work succeeds for two very obvious reasons: the humorous intelligence of his criticism and the craft of his draftsmanship. Both aspects were on display at Postmasters. They were even knowingly divided into two distinct sections. On one side, there were the hand-drawn lists of art-world quibbles for which he is best known. Some were drafted to look like they were scribbled on enormous lined spiral paper, such as How To Try To BeOK With The Contemporary Art Market and How To Make An Auction Ready-Made (both 2014). Others riffed on classic diagrams of art history. The best example took the branching tree motif from Ad Reinhardt’s How to Look at Modern Art in America from 1946 and turned it into How to Look @ The Contemporary Art-Industrial Complex in America. In Powhida’s take, name-brand artists are the big leaves growing from the trunk of “Auctions and Big Box Franchises,” while a smaller branch of emerging and mid-level artists has been eaten away by a beaver labeled “rent,” and the smallest branch for “non-profit artist run alternatives” has been shot through and bandaged up while waving a white flag labeled “culture war.”

William Powhida, How To Look @ The Contemporary Art-Industrial Complex In America, 2014; graphite on paper, 31 x 23 inches 

The other half of Powhida’s exhibition sublimated his criticism in his craft. The painted spiral-bound sheets went abstract and blank, or they were turned into sculptures of metal that resembled God-sized crumpled notebook pages, created with remarkable verisimilitude. A final work at first looked like nothing but screws in the wall and leveling lines, as though a piece had been removed. But a closer inspection revealed it to be trompe l’oeil, drawn directly on gallery drywall. Had Powhida sold, or had he sold out?

The self-awareness of this show and its high level of skill left me with a sense for Powhida that was ultimately more profound and somber than comic. The nature of his criticism reminded me that our cultural problems are far more endemic than we like to admit. A critic of the left, he would find common ground in much of what appears in these pages. The fact is, our cultural establishment is now unswayed by criticisms shared across the political spectrum. Which leaves the rest of us tilting at windmills.

1 “William Powhida: Overculture” was on view at Postmasters, New York, from March 15 through April 19, 2014.