It's surprising to find such a traditionally macho mantra touted in the world of modern art. But critics chanted it loud and proud at the turn of the century when an old power station in London was reborn as the Tate Modern. And now that New York has unveiled its own giant, the cry can be heard once again: bigger is better.
In 2003, the
Dia Art Foundation
based in Manhattan's Chelsea neighborhood opened the doors to Dia:Beacon, a gargantuan gallery on the bank of the Hudson river some 60 miles north of New York City. It's the latest success story in a string of industrial spaces converted to house contemporary art. The 31-acre site located in the Duchess County town of Beacon features the vast Riggio Galleries: colossal, naturally-lit exhibition rooms filled with, well, big art.
A coverage of 300,000 square feet makes Dia:Beacon twice the size of Tate Modern. The historic converted Nabisco box factory, a chunky 1929 concrete-and-glass structure exemplary of the era's industrial architecture, houses some of the world's most important modern art from the Sixties to present day. Gerhard Richter, Blinky Palermo and Agnes Martin are there, to name a few, and, of course, there's the regulation Warhol exhibit. However, Dia's choice of Warhol's Shadows paintings rather than the standard Elvis or Jackie O. silkscreen series attests to the gallery's forged aesthetic.
The multi-canvas work, said to be inspired by a shadow cast in the artist's studio, is just as Expressionist as it is Minimalist. It wraps itself around the room, leaving the observer surrounded. Visitors seem to gravitate to the hollow center of the room rather than wandering along the walls, inspecting the paintings up close. The installation allows the work to be seen the way it should be: a ribbon of analogous images, some 350 linear feet of canvas, enveloping the viewer. The entire chamber provides the backdrop to the piece.
Upon first seeing such an impressive space, it's easy to assume it came first, the big art second. Visitors can be forgiven for entertaining the notion that there might have been some great quest for large-scale works to fill Beacon's spacious exhibition halls. In fact, the collection existed first.
A Behemoth is Born
Dia founders Heiner Friedrich and Philippa de Menil began acquiring works in the Seventies, housing them wherever they could around New York City. Curator Lynne Cooke says the hunt for a structure that could accommodate the permanent collection led her and director Michael Govan out of Manhattan, where they hoped to find a more affordable venue. When they discovered the former box factory, owned at the time and later donated by International Paper, it was love at first sight. Several artists featured in the collection were invited to view the space for themselves. All were struck by the building's unique features.
"One of the great qualities of the building is the light," explains Cooke. It's the north-facing saw-tooth skylights - 34,000 sq. ft of them - that supply the staggering effects of reflected light, showcasing the works so effectively.
Certain artists represented were very particular about how their works should be displayed. Donald Judd, for example, felt it essential that his work - a series of plywood boxes, identical on the outside, unique once you peer in - be showcased in natural daylight. He believes converted industrial buildings are better suited to frame contemporary art than most modern, purpose-built structures. In the case of Michael Heizer's Double Negative (1969), a sizable venue was necessary.
Although the massive round and rectangular cavities that make up the piece are, in fact, made up of nothing, emptiness, they require a considerable area to be displayed. Certain fixtures are hard to imagine existing anywhere other than the bright, open white-walled warehouse. John Chamberlain's mashed automotive creations are clunky masses of steel unsuited to a small, urban venue. Just as art transforms the space around it, the reverse holds true as well. Certain pieces need room to breathe and stand alone, so they can impress and loom over their audience.
Some of the gallery's inner rooms provide more controlled low light for exhibits like Bernd and Hilla Becher's black and white photographs of industrial architecture. Hanne Darboven's epic myriad of social and political memorabilia sprawls through several rooms in various degrees of brightness, as some materials incorporated are more sensitive to light.
The cavernous basement, reminiscent of the last rave you attended all those years ago, is ideal for housing projections like Bruce Nauman's Mapping The Studio I (Fat Chance John Cage) (2001), a compilation of footage taken using an infrared lamp to track mice in his studio at night. The attic, all creaky unfinished floorboards, confined, musky smells and dark, eerie corners, is perfect for more atmospheric installations like those of Louise Bourgeois. Her displaced Spider (1997), originally shown at Tate Modern, found a home in Beacon, along with a number of other grotesque, organic and sexually suggestive shapes that make up her body of work. Larvae-like lumps and fetal cocoons lurk in dark recesses or hang in plain, gaudy sight from the ceiling.
