My Hammer

My Hammer

by Garrison Frost

I'll never forget the first time I went to the UCLA Hammer Museum in Westwood. Always wary of ever-downward spiraling parking structures, I parked on the street and approached the imposing building on foot. Several minutes later I was still scratching my head, asking myself, "How the hell do you get into this place?" I believe I ultimately walked in though a driveway. Eventually, I found myself in the foyer, a giant marble room, alone with just the echoing taps of my leather shoes. Finally, I spied another human barely visible behind an imposing counter, and it was this human who quietly gestured me up the stairs to the galleries.

This, of course, sounds like I'm telling you why I don't like the Hammer. But the opposite is true. I love the Hammer, often specifically for its Kafka-esque qualities. People I know tell me they keep returning to the Catholic Church because, in the end, they realize that they want some institutional intimidation with their religion. Perhaps my attraction to the Hammer is the same. When it comes to a museum, maybe part of me wants to feel small. I want art with gravity, and I want the same from my art venue. With its blank walls, wide stairways, empty walkways and enclosed spaces, the Hammer's architecture certainly conveys gravity, if not outright menace. But the intimidation is pocket-sized, manageable.

There were people who complained about the Hammer's design when it opened in 1990, but most of those concerns were set aside eventually. Sure, a building a quarter the size could house the galleries. And sure, the interior plaza is shadowy and empty. And yes, the exterior looks more like a prison than a cultural institution. But the place still somehow endears. And if, in 1990 and the ensuing years, people failed to understand the genius of the place, there was always the opening in 1997 of the Getty Center a short distance away to drive home the fact. Now the Getty was intimidating in a way that the Hammer only pretended to be. Where the Hammer only sought to rent you the feeling of inferiority for an afternoon, the Getty wanted you to feel that way 24-7.

While the Hammer lets you come as you are, the Getty wants to rule you, to change you. Rather than make its home on the streets where we live and work, the Getty looks down at us from a hillside. Even though cars are central to our culture, the Getty told us to leave them at home and find some other way to get there.

And the Getty does something that the Hammer never does: it insists that you love its art. Certainly the Getty has a much larger collection than the Hammer, but that doesn't make the Hammer's any less appealing. It's an eclectic collection of new and old, staid and unconventional. Moreover, the Hammer brings in some great stuff from around the world. With the Hammer Projects series, the museum shows that it's willing to take a flyer on less proven artists, something the Getty would never do.

But comparing the Hammer to the Getty is a dumb idea that eventually risks comparisons of the namesake dead oilmen behind each, which is not very interesting in the end. They are two different places, two different things to do in the giant world of Los Angeles art. And, really, the whole point of this little piece is to express how much I like the Hammer, not pick a fight with Oz.

The UCLA Hammer Museum is one of those cultural institutions sitting on a cutting-edge renovation plan while it looks for the money to do the work. The new design by Los Angeles-based architect Michael Maltzan will do wonders for both the museum and the surrounding community. Maltzan intends to open up the north side of what is really just a big, inelegant cube to reveal the interior plaza, as well as a new theater and restaurant space. More than 3,600 square feet of new gallery space will be part of the deal, along with a new lecture hall, reception area classroom. While I will welcome these additions along with the rest of the city's cultural audience, I will also miss the old Hammer, or rather, the current Hammer. I don't think we know when the renovation will begin, so I will just take advantage of all the endearing coldness while I can get it.

(Feb. 27, 2006)