A daunting spiked suit is worn by mannequin. In a glass cabinet, a fake Aztec sculpture resembles the face of Mickey Mouse. Elsewhere, about twelve small, tropical birds are attached to strings, which hang from a dance collar of South American Tanagers. Drawings of a psychiatric patient hang on the walls next to the Breton photo. A strange wolf-head sculpture from the Kwakiutli tribe on the Central coast of British Columbia. Auction catalogues. A phenakistoscope, which is 19th century technology that evolved into the first motion picture projector.
What do all these things have in common? They appear in an exhibit called “Witnesses to a Surrealist Vision” — all of the objects were either owned by the surrealists or similar to those that they collected.
This exhibit is housed through an opening in an out-of-the-way corner of the Surrealist’s installation of the Menil Museum in Houston, Texas. In more ways than once, I almost missed it (both the modestly Renzo Piano-designed museum and the Witness exhibit) — but I’m so glad I didn’t, because this seems to be one of the most inspiring encounters I’ve had in my limited triestes into the world of the fine arts. I wonder to myself why it is so impressive. I’ve been to museums of native art before, and my eyes glaze over — I can’t understand it. And I’ve walk through a million art galleries with a mind as numb as my feet. But what captured me about this room was the juxtapositions. Suddenly, in contrast to all the other strange objects in the room, everything became clear. I felt in touch with a world that is reality, but the reality we can’t see, the reality that everyday life denies, the everyday life that surrealism banged against. Subterranean realities rose to the surface.
An hour earlier, I was enjoying the soothing warmth of the Rothko Chapel, just down the road. This octagonal chapel was commissioned by Dominic de Menil, the wife of a Texas oil baron Together, this couple cultivated one of the greatest art collections in the world, and the best one that I’ve personally encountered.
Dominique de Menil was, until her death 3 years ago, one of the greatest patrons the art world has ever known — by all accounts, such an eccentric and inspirational lady. Her love spills through the collection she left behind, and the nearby buildings, which along with the Rothko Chapel includes a restore Byzantine church with its frescoes intact.
In 1964, the couple asked the artist Mark Rothko to create a chapel. Rothko is an artist you can’t appreciate until you see his work — he has paintings that are entirely orange or entirely yellow, yet because of the layering and the texture and the depths and the shades, you can stare at his paintings for hours. Rothko, in collaboration with the architect Philip Johnson, created an octagonal chapel with black paintings all around it. A soft reverb emanates through the chapel, “like the shells children place to their ears to listen to the sound of the sea, they induce the sound of a soundless ocean,” says the brochure. The minimalist composer Morton Feldman composed music for this place, and another minimalist musician Steve Reich performed here. And the Whirling Dervishes from Turkey perform here. And in 1979, the Dalai Lama visited here. And whenever he comes to Houston, ex-President Jimmy Carter preaches here. In fact, Menil and Carter established an humanitarian organization together.
I’ve done a search on the web tonight, and read about Dominique de Menil, and I know I read about her in a magazine, perhaps New Yorker, years ago, and she seems so full of energy and life and love.
