WITH GEORGE CALYS

Photo courtesy George Calys.

One Year After: The De Young Museum

By George Calys

October 12, 2006

"We shape our buildings and afterwards, our buildings shape us." --Winston Churchill

Nowhere in America does the average citizen have more opportunity to "shape our buildings" than in San Francisco. From community meetings to planning commissions to public design reviews, San Franciscans have a tremendous amount of influence on the built environment and newly proposed structures.

Our recent municipal history is rife with altered and cancelled projects. The giant Coke bottle at AT&T Park was almost scrapped because of neighborhood complaints, until a compromise was reached by placing the bottle in a nearly horizontal position. Remember the proposed Prada store by famous Dutch architect Rem Koolhaus? The Planning Department stretched an unfavorable and complex review out for so many months until the retail economy tanked and Prada decided their old San Francisco store would do just fine.

A year after it opened, the battle over the new de Young Museum is still fresh in our collective memories. How did we think and feel and speak about the building that would soon contain one of the City's most important collections of art?

From the moment it was announced that it was not feasible to seismically upgrade the old de Young, controversy began to swirl about what might take its place. Leading the charge for a new museum, wealthy arts patroness Dede Wilsey began a massive private fundraising effort.

Dede Wilsey. File photo (3/8/2006)
Photo by Luke Thomas

In Wilsey's mind, there was no question, "this had to be a modern building." The traditionalists groaned when international architects and committed modernists, Herzog and de Meuron were commissioned to design the museum. The tastemakers of San Francisco who deemed Mission Revival and Neoclassicism the only acceptable styles for Golden Gate Park were about to be shaken from their perches.

And so construction began. The building looked huge although the footprint of the new museum was only 53% the size of the old. Its exterior was some sort of funny, stamped, perforated metal-copper!-that was unlike anything the Park had ever seen. As the copper skin began to envelop the building, many observers commented that it looked like a "battleship".

The De Young Museum closely resembling a "Battleship".
Photo by George Calys

San Francisco author, Samina Ali, was "offended" when she first saw the copper panels being put in place. "My running group went by the museum one day during construction. I was shocked. The copper seemed so red, so very red. It didn't seem to fit into its environment and, hence, didn't seem to fit into San Francisco."

Copper panels greet visitors to the De Young Museam.
Photo by George Calys

But to Irit Axelrod, a Tel Aviv architect now practicing in San Francisco, the embossed copper skin was "an exciting example of digital architecture. It's a skin that is so complex and so rich, that it is only possible to design it with a computer-that's why it's referred to as digital architecture."

Far and away, the most controversial aspect of the design was the tower. With its twists and angles it first appeared to be the work of a drunken carpenter. At 160 feet, the height of tower was objectionable to many who publicly commented. No one seemed to recall that the old museum had a tower of 135 feet. Or that in fog-obscured Golden Gate Park, the tower was often not visible from outside the park.

The De Young Museum tower.
Photo by George Calys

In brilliant bit of political maneuvering, the museum backers agreed to shorten the tower and then reminded everyone that it would house the museum's educational facilities. The mantra of "educational facilities" made the existence of the tower bullet-proof against the objections of the Park's neighbors.

"The old tower wasn't accessible and people couldn't go up in it," recalls Axelrod. "That's why no one remembers that the old de Young had a tower. In contrast, the geometry of the new tower addresses the views and allows the museum visitor to experience the Park in a whole new way."

The true test of every art museum is how it showcases the art collection and how visitors are guided through the various galleries. Unlike the Sistine Chapel in Rome or the temple and rock gardens of Kyoto where art and architecture are completely integrated, the modern art museum must resolve a core contradiction-how to create a civic and architectural statement while at the same time focusing on and not overshadowing the art within. "I had to admit, my eyes were more attracted to the building itself," commented Ali. "Is it really a museum or is it just attracting attention to itself?"

But Axelrod found a vocabulary of "irregular spaces in the building: a narrow space; a tall space; an unexpected staircase; they all contribute to the visitor's movement through the museum. Every detail has been considered and contributes to the patron's movement through the building." She concedes that there is no "wow" space, no grand lobby to impress the visitor upon entering the museum. "It's a much more subtle approach, an approach based on surprise or juxtaposition." For Ali, those "surprises" drew attention to the building and away from the art. "I like the big open staircase, but I felt like the rest of the interior didn't utilize space very well."

Will future San Franciscans' attitudes about the de Young change? Can the building win a place in the City's heart? Ali is not so sure. "It looks big and imposing in the Park. I don't know if people can ever accept that.” “Time is required," says Axelrod, "it takes a long time for people to adjust and get used to something new, something out of the ordinary. But it will happen."

And so the debate continues. Is the de Young a daring piece of "digital architecture"? Or is it an oversized statement about itself to the detriment of the art inside? Or is the debate really about San Francisco's reluctance to accept innovation in our buildings, San Francisco's unwillingness to embrace any architecture which does not copy the past?

George Calys is an architect and hack writer who lives in San Francisco. He loves long walks through deserted alleys, chain-smoking, borrowing money from friends, and has yet to be discovered by the City’s social set.

Email George at: gcalys@yahoo.com

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