The truth is, I really haven’t traveled that much in my life. Part of that has to do with the fact that I’m afraid of flying (like really really afraid.) But, for the sake of ArtBabble, I had the amazing opportunity to visit Los Angeles last May. Fellow Nugget Danny and I documented the whole experience with photos and video. On our trip we met a lot of interesting people and dogs and enjoyed the sunshine, the warm weather, and (Danny especially) fresh tacos.

The reason we traveled was to film on location the construction of Andrea Zittel’s project, a large floating island to be installed in the lake of 100 Acres back in Indy. The island was fabricated by Barnacle Bros studio in East L.A. where upon arrival, we were greeted by a cast of characters led by a heavily tattooed man known as Smilee Barnacle. They brought us up to speed on the project and led us around the work shop,  which looked more like a carnival parade storage room than any kind of studio! The interview we did with Smilee turned out to be pretty hilarious:

And here are some pictures I snapped throughout the day. You can find more here.

That's Danny filming Smilee and crew

Shop dog

From the desk of Mr. Barnacle...

The colorful alley behind Barnacle Bros

Danny filming Smilee as he explains what materials were used for the island

There in the middle of the shop sat a snow-white igloo, which on closer inspection was not made of snow, but foam. And even better, it really looked like it would float! Smilee and his team used homemade tools to claw, shave, and mold the foam into a smooth, round shape. I can only imagine the spraying bits of foam as they hacked away at the towering mound of white.

It's snowing in L.A.! (standing in a pile of foam bits)

Here’s an interview we did there with Andrea to get a little more background info on the whole project.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago, when the Barnacle crew brought the island to Indianapolis… only to be greeted by chilly temps and mud in the Art and Nature Park… Indiana at its finest! There was a lot of activity in 100 acres lake that week. Both the island and Eden II are now floating in the lake for all to see.

I felt kind of sorry for Andrea and the Barnacle Bros, wading around in the frigid lake, because their visit to Indy was a cold and damp one. Then again, they get to experience the beautiful California weather all year ‘round. (Special thanks to Smilee, Theresia and the whole Barnacle Bros. crew, Andrea, and the cool cats at The Getty for their kind hospitality.)

It sure was sunny in California but I think I’ll stick with Indiana. I’m kind of partial to the sunsets.

I snapped this photo outside my house a couple months ago

Its visual resonance is amplified by having been recorded by two of the most important architectural photographers of the twentieth century, Ezra Stoller (1915-2004)  and Balthazar Korab (1926-  ).  As we work to understand the property and the changes it underwent, to have the photographs taken by these men is to sift a treasure almost beyond one’s wildest hope. Many preservation projects must rely on much less for visual documentation.  Imagine being immersed a career of genealogical and historical research and suddenly working on an individual whose every portrait had been taken by Cecil Beaton or Irving Penn!

Monica and Balthazar Korab, Photo by Mark Zelonis

My first look at Ezra Stoller’s work was in The Galveston That Was by Houston architect Howard Barnstone.  First published in 1966, the book contains photographs by Stoller and by Henri Cartier-Bresson, and is credited with dramatizing the importance of architectural preservation in the decayed coastal city.  Stoller captured the Miller House and Garden shortly after its completion, some of the images appearing in Architectural Forum of September 1958 and in an article titled “A New Concept of Beauty” in the February 1959 edition of House and Garden.  In keeping with the family’s wishes, the house was published without naming its owner or location.  Stoller’s images, however, assumed a life of their own, achieving great staying power and continuing to illustrate publications about the property decades later.

While Stoller’s visits to the Miller House and Garden were limited to a brief period just after the house’s completion, Korab made several trips to Columbus over many years and so developed an archive of images that captures a sense of evolution and change.  Judging from his images, Stoller’s interest seems to have been more in the house than the garden, with the landscape appearing primarily at the margins of his photographs.  In contrast, Korab’s work responds equally to the architecture and to the landscape, giving it tremendous value to the effort to unravel the garden’s secrets.  Eero Saarinen:  Buildings from the Balthazar Korab Archive, published in 2008, presents a significant sampling of his work at the Miller property.

In June of this year, I had the opportunity to travel to Balthazar Korab’s studio in Troy, Michigan, with Mark Zelonis, Ruth Lilly Deputy Director of Environmental and Historic Preservation at the IMA, in order to review hundreds of photographs.  For the better part of two days, we visited with Balthazar and Monica Korab at their home and studio, enjoying their generous and gracious hospitality in an atmosphere that combined photography, architecture, gardens, and history, all enlivened with the Korabs’ sense of humor and whimsy.  An additional delight was the chance to see the Korabs’ own garden, built over decades on the gentle slopes surrounding their 19th-century house.

Korabs' Studio, Photo by Mark Zelonis

Korabs' Garden, Photo by Mark Zelonis

It was a joy to be with them both, to review the images of the Miller House and Garden with the man who took them, and to listen to anecdotes of a career that can only be described as humbling.  We heard stories of his early association with Le Corbusier, of his entry in the design competition for the Sydney Opera House, his work in Italy during and after a devastating flood in the 1960s, and of his work in Saarinen’s office while it was developing designs for the Miller house.  Of the Millers’ living room fireplace, a simple but exquisitely detailed freestanding cylinder, Korab remarked that the lengthy process of arriving at so pure a design had been responsible for changing him from an architect to a photographer.

Miller House Living Room, Photo by Balthazar Korab©

We spoke of his work to photograph the model for Minoru Yamasaki’s World Trade Center, which was so large that Korab had to rent a space to accommodate both the model and the necessary photographic equipment.  Monica Korab quipped at one point that Balthazar had photographed most of the works of what she called the “brand name” architects of the twentieth century.  I asked about Philip Johnson’s house for the Houston collectors and philanthropists John and Dominique de Menil (coincidentally, it was they who supported publication of The Galveston That Was).   In a moment, my inquiry was rewarded with a large file of color transparencies that recorded the idiosyncratic glory that resulted when the Menils, great collectors of surrealist art, engaged couturier Charles James to design the home’s interiors.  Another treat was to see photographs of Alexander Girard’s residence in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and to gain some insight into how his taste intersected with that of the Millers in designing and decorating their interiors.  Almost as an afterthought, out of the files came images of the interiors of Georgia O’Keefe’s house.  I was reeling by this point, feeling myself on the edge of a body of work so vast I could barely see into it, let alone comprehend it.

Balthazar Korab’s Genius Loci:  Cranbrook was my memento of the trip to Michigan.  Beautiful as this book is, however, I will remember the visit more for having been in the presence of so deep a repository of experience, of so keen a visual intelligence, whose work has helped shape our perception of the work of the 20th century’s greatest architects.

One of my favorite pieces in the IMA’s collection is a delicately textured work entitled Duvor, or ‘Communal Cloth,’ by Ghanian born artist El Anatsui. He lives and works in Nigeria as a sculptor and professor.

Duvor is a shimmery, undulating sculpture, made from thousands of collected bottle caps and copper wire, and reminiscent of fabric or chain mail. It hangs in the hallway of the second floor, between the African and Fashion Textile Galleries. Smart move, IMA. This work will stop you in your tracks.

Duvor is captivating, and it makes a strong statement about tradition, trash, beauty and modern Africa. Sustainability is a buzzword now popular in relation to global warming and going green, but not necessarily something I expected to find at IMA. He confronts the social problem of trash by transforming and repurposing it, sustainability at its most beautiful. The patterning is homage to the textiles of Western Africa, including Kente cloth, a woven textile which is known as nwentoma in Ghana.

Anatsui’s sculpture background is evident in the delicate forms created by the rippling and bunching of his ‘fabric,’ something I would guess is not easy to coax out of bits of metal. The installation process with the IMA team shows how he works with the metal until he gets it just right.

As I have thought about this work, fueled by recent readings, I have been thinking about how something like this is classified. Duvor is many things. It is inherently African. It was created in 2007, so it is contemporary. It is also technically a part of the Fashion and Textile collection here at the museum. I know that designating categories is how we find things; we sort by time, place, origin, material, color, size, etc. But I wonder if something like this can ever be all three, equally. Is it just our nature to want a primary category?

Ultimately, where does this object fit in? Who should decide where it goes? Ponder that, and discover some things you might not have already known.

• El Anatsui studied Sculpture and Art Education, and teaches at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka.

• Ghana and Nigeria are along the West coast of Africa.

• It is 5765 Miles from Indianapolis to Accra, Ghana.

• The word Kente comes from kenten, for basket.

• Kente cloth patterns are associated with stories and proverbs, which give the specific patterns their names.

• Recycling aluminum saves 95% of the energy cost of processing it new.

• One recycled aluminum can saves enough energy to run a T.V. for 3 hours.

I hate being stuck on a machine in a gym, just staring at the back sweat of the guy in front of me. To combat this, I have been taking an opportunity of the gorgeous weather and walking the Monon. Now, I am not an outdoorsy person, but being outside in the sun and fresh air is fulfilling- just add some bird chirps and I really feel like I am communing with Mother Earth. The trail provides changing scenery and a different experience each time, something missing from the gym.

My main walking partner left on Saturday for a month-long camping and road trip with her family in Montana (talk about outdoorsy!) and I have been looking for new walking routes to mix it up in her absence. I was very excited to discover the Central Canal Towpath and its connection to the trail around the 35 acre, man-made lake at the IMA’s Virginia B. Fairbanks Art and Nature Park.

While I had heard about the more formal building that will be opening in 2009, I thought that all of this property was closed until that time. I was surprised when I found out yesterday that the peaceful, shady trail that runs around the lake is open and accessible from the IMA grounds, as well as the towpath.

I walked down to check it out yesterday, making my way down the path and across the bridge. I thought I had turned the wrong way because the trees get pretty dense, and it really doesn’t seem like there could be such a large lake in that direction. Suddenly, you come into a clearing, with the lake in front of you and a beautiful meadow to the left.

I had just started exploring when a flash of lightning appeared in the suddenly ominous clouds, and I headed for the museum. Thank goodness, I just missed a total downpour! I am looking forward to walking the full loop someday soon, so I can let you know what is on the other side. For now, I’ll share what I have already learned…

• The Art and Nature Park, Canal Central Towpath and red bridge can be accessed any day of the week by a road between the museum building and the Lilly-Oldfeilds house or a flight of stone steps connected to the Oldfeilds gardens.
• The Art and Nature Park can get very muddy after it rains.
• The red bridge connecting the IMA to the Central Canal Towpath and the Art and Nature Park was built in the 1870’s and restored in 1999.
• In a vegetation survey, 187 plant species were observed in the Art and Nature Park.
• There are rumors of a naked jogger using the paths.
• Naked joggers are neither art nor nature.
• There is a public forum at the IMA about the Art and Nature Park on June 19th, 2008.
• It’s about 1 mile around the path loop at the Art and Nature Park.
• It’s about 2.5 miles from the Butler University campus to the IMA along the Towpath, including once around the Art and Nature Park path loop.
• It’s about 5 miles from Broad Ripple to the IMA along the Towpath, including once around the Art and Nature Park path loop.

Do you have any juicy tidbits or stories to add about the Art and Nature Park?