A visit to the McNay Museum

Founded in 1954, San Antonio’s McNay is the oldest modern art museum in Texas. Both its original collection and the 24-room Spanish Colonial Revival mansion that is the heart of the institution were the bequest of Marion McNay, a five-times-married oil heiress and art lover.[1] On the bright, crisp winter day I visited, the place sparkled, a jewel set in twenty-three acres of park-like grounds.

McNay, around 1910

McNay began buying in 1927. For the rest of her life, she continued, collecting 19th- and 20th-century European and American paintings and Southwest art. At her death in 1950, she left some 700 works of art, the house and its grounds, and what must have been a substantial endowment.
From that original nucleus, the collection has expanded to some 20,000 works. These include prints and drawings, theater arts, glass, and even Medieval and Renaissance art (a bit of an outlier—there must be an interesting story there). But the thing that you notice right away when you enter the McNay is that its collections and exhibitions are, well, relevant, in that they address and include the people and the artists of West Texas.

From the parking lot, visitors walk past outdoor sculpture-- most prominently, Robert Indiana’s LOVE sculpture, a popular site for wedding and engagement pictures-- to enter the museum’s modern addition. Here, contemporary (as in, larger-scaled) work can be shown, in a series of boxy, high-ceilinged white galleries. This new building was completed in 2008 and added some 45,000 square feet to the museum as well a sculpture gallery and garden, a lecture hall, and classrooms in which the McNay conducts many educational programs.

Christmas trees designed by Chuck Ramirez for Linda Pace

When I was there in late December, the main exhibition featured the work of Chuck Ramirez, a beloved San Antonio artist/ photographer/ designer who died in 2010 in a bike accident. A sprawling show of photographs (he started his career doing commercial work for a local supermarket chain, H-E-B) opened with a flotilla of nine eccentric Christmas trees Ramirez had made for artist, collector and philanthropist Linda Pace, founder of the internationally-renowned local residency Artpace (http://www.artpace.org/) and Ramirez’ friend.

Chuck Ramirez, purses

Plenty of visitors wandered through the rooms, examining the striking pictures; some featured single objects, while others documented the contents of purses or trash bags and hospital flower arrangements—all photographed against empty white backdrops.

There were opportunities to interact with some pieces. The labels were clearly written, both accessible and smart.

John Chamberlain, Sabine Knights, 1977

James Surls, Art Too (1974), Ringed Eye (1975)

Robert Indiana LOVE seen from inside the McNay

Along the side of the building, a long gallery features sculpture. Many works are by the usual (Famous Artist) suspects, but most are well-chosen pieces that are worth a close look.

A beautiful staircase at the far end of the building leads down to a lower level that includes the lecture hall, galleries of tabletop sculptures (19th and 20th century bronzes), and, when I was there, a show of politically-oriented prints by Francisco Goya, Gabriel Orozco and Ben Shahn. The choice of images seemed to be extremely apposite in these times.
 

staircase to lower level

Small bronzes, with shadows from the staircase

Ben Shahn, Say No to the No Sayer (1964)

Hung Liu, Trauma (1989)

Back upstairs, I wandered past the centrally-located (and rather generic) museum gift shop and into the house itself. Another small show, titled 'Transnational: Migration, Memory and Home,' included a nearly thirty year old painting by Bay Area artist Hung Liu. 

In the end, the exhibition/area in which I spent the most time was “Artmatters 17: Mi McNay es Su McNay,” most likely a play on the hospitable expression 'mi casa es su casa.' Described as “immersing visitors in a domestic setting that blurs the lines between art and life” (the building WAS a house, after all), a series of small rooms present a range of well-chosen works dating from the 18th century to the present. The lighthearted wall text, written in the first person, suggests that a hostess--the founder herself?—is welcoming you to a party. The real occasion for this show, though, is to welcome the collection of San Antonio native John M. Parker Jr. to the museum, including some 160 pieces, the majority of which are Minimal or Conceptual. It’s a gift well worth celebrating.

Sophie tries to follow directions from Erwin Wurm

I attempt to follow directions myself...

Highlights include three eccentric furniture-based pieces by Erwin Wurm that solicit visitor participation (we tried them all). In another room, a rug featuring the outline of a table and chairs by Andrea Zittel lies before an enigmatic sconce-thingie by the Kienholzes, near a striking ceramic plate- collage by Ann Agee. Other ceramics include a dish by Turner prizewinner Grayson Perry, propped on a stand on a handsome antique sideboard like Grandma’s Spode.

Ed and Nancy Reddin Kienholz, Elle monoseries #23 (1989); Andrea Zittel, Drop leaf table carpet

Ann Agee, Gross Domestic Product (2010)

Grayson Perry, Our Dear Bicknacre (1989)

Donald Judd Bed, Sophie for scale, and Boots III (1992) by Donald Oates

In another room-- clearly the bedroom, in this domestic fantasy-- a Minimal couch/ bed designed by Donald Judd (who knew?) keeps company with sweater-y wall pieces by Wurm, a giant pair of foam boots by Swiss artist Donald Oates and one of Lesley Dill’s oversized, text-covered suits.

Lesley Dill, The Big Suit from Worst Case Scenario (1998)

Some pieces are part of the McNay’s collection, but many came from Parker. Their intermingling suggests both that the museum is an appropriate new home for these things, and that the addition will be transformative for its holdings of this kind of art. The mixture of old and new is heady and the presentation, entrancing. 

From there, a door leads out to the courtyard, where one or two lonely koi hide in a pond out of which peculiar, intermittent spurts of water jet into the air: a strange water feature, no doubt artist-designed, but it grows on you. Beautiful plants and colorful tile work make the space pleasant. In December, it is difficult to imagine what it’s like in the midst of San Antonio’s blistering summer heat, but it must be an oasis. The galleries continue on the other side of the house.

Sculpture court, McNay Museum

The day I was there, the glassed-in sculpture gallery was spectacular in the late afternoon sun. As I walked around the pieces, I thought about how much sculpture the McNay has in its galleries compared to many other smaller museums I’ve visited over the years. Is this a Texas thing? After all, the preeminent sculpture museum in the US, the Nasher, is in Dallas. I continued towards the library, and a show featuring Tim Burton’s work for The Nightmare before Christmas, including stop animation sets.

Henri Matisse, The Red Blouse (1939)

In the library itself, there was yet another small exhibition-- 'Stage Frights: Madness, Monsters, Mayhem,' of scenery and costume designs for theatre. Like the Tim Burton show, it had been put together from the McNay’s own collections. Nearby, in several of the mansion’s rooms repurposed as galleries, an impressive collection of modern art included a heart-stoppingly lovely Matisse, and so much more. 

But it was time to go.

Parts of the McNay are in the process of renovation. Should I return, I hope to get to see them, and more of the 20,000 items in the collection. I also sincerely hope that the museum spruces up its website and its web archives, for all of those interested in their holdings. But I often wish that kind of thing, even as I realize that there is just so much money and time, institutionally-speaking. And clearly, the McNay is busy with its main job: putting on shows. There are eight this spring, both continuing an exploration of the very timely issues of race and identity and celebrating San Antonio’s 300th anniversary. The current ‘blockbuster’ is “30 Americans,” pieces by contemporary African- American artists selected from the Rubell collection in Miami. This is clearly a very popular traveling show; it has been in the road since its debut in Florida a decade ago, with four more stops scheduled after Texas, for a total of 16 appearances—all, at small regional museums.

Charles Louis Sallee, Jr.,Girl with Pink Geranium ( 1936). The Harmon and Harriet Kelley Foundation for the Arts. © Charles Louis Sallee, Jr

The McNay complements “30 Americans” with  “Something to Say: The McNay Presents 100 Years of African-American Art,” largely drawn from the holdings of local African-American collectors Dr. Harmon and Harriet Kelley. As McNay curator Rene Barilleaux told a local journalist, “The Rubell collection has been touring around the country, but never has it been positioned within a 100-year trajectory of African-American experiences reflected in the arts.”[2]

But that’s not all. There is also a smaller show of the work of four Texas artists-- Xavier Gilmore (San Antonio), Rafael Gutierrez (San Antonio), Calvin Pressley (Philadelphia/San Antonio), and Deborah Roberts (Austin). This, too, is about identity and race, from the perspective of young artists of color in and around San Antonio. Coincidentally, Roberts has a wonderful solo show of collages in San Francisco at Jenkins Johnson Gallery (2/1-3/17/2018). It’s a small, small art world.

If I lived nearby, I’d visit the McNay often, as I do Oakland's somewhat more financially challenged regional museum. I admit to envy. Not to make too broad a generalization, but seems like Texas institutions (and collectors) have both deep loyalty and deep pockets.

And, finally: as visits to smaller museums like the McNay reveal, culture is everywhere. Take a field trip, and find out for yourself.

Deborah Roberts, Talking to Beauty, 2017. Mixed Media on Paper. Collection of Ann Daughety. Photograph courtesy Robert Beam.

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marion_Koogler_McNay

[2] https://www.expressnews.com/entertainment/arts-culture/article/San-Antonio-couple-s-art-collection-at-heart-of-12544634.php

A visit to the Hilbert Museum

“Where do museums come from?” I imagine a little girl, eyes shining, asking me this question as I stand in front of the Hilbert Museum of California Art, quite possibly California’s newest institution. Founded by real estate magnate Mark Hilbert and his wife Janet and opened to the public in February of 2016, it’s affiliated with Chapman University, a smallish Christian school in the heart of Orange County. In 2014, the Hilberts decided to donate art and seed money (three million dollars) for a building. The museum’s current location (seen below) was, until recently, a storage facility; it was refitted at lightning speed to serve as 6,000 square feet of exhibition space until a permanent home, in a former citrus packing plant a few blocks away, is ready. (See artist's rendering above. When complete, the renovations will include a library, a café, and other amenities.)

The Hilbert Museum's temporary home

Dong Kingman, Dockside (1950s)

The Hilberts began collecting ‘California Scene’ painting some 25 years ago, eventually acquiring over a thousand watercolors and oils that date mostly from the 1930s through the ‘70s. These are not gauzy post-Impressionist landscapes or (merely) pretty pictures, but visual records of social history: Breughelesque narrative featuring cars and buildings, factories and freeways; seedy city streets and homely country roads.

Even when the landscape is the primary feature, people are never far away.

Rex Brandt, On the Road to San Jacinto (1936)

Artists in this genre, many of whom achieved national recognition, were deft storytellers. This narrative quality is what first drew Hilbert and his wife to this kind of art and has sustained their interest ever since. (As an added bonus, these paintings were largely undervalued when they started collecting, making this sizeable collection a smart buy.)

Interior of Hilbert galleries. Millard Sheets watercolor at far right.

The current shows on view are “Golden Dreams: The Immigrant Vision of California;” “Out of the West,” and “Disney Production Art.” Each presents selections from the nearly 250 works the Hilberts have given so far. (Eventually, they plan to donate the bulk of the collection.)

Bella Notte, production art from Disney animated feature

To be honest, it’s hard to tell where one
show ends and another begins, with the exception of the Disney art. The coherence of the collection as a whole is, after all, its defining characteristic.

Why were so many artists living in California, at a time when there were far fewer people here than there are today? The movies, of course. During the Depression, the Disney studios were a magnet, offering good jobs working on various aspects of design and production. Many of the painters in the Hilbert collection were trained at the Chouinard Art Institute, the school that served as a breeding ground for Disney animators and later became the Disney-supported California Institute of the Arts.

Cropped view of Phil Dike, Regatta (1938). For a more complete (but logo-stamped) version of this painting visit cascenemuseum.org

Phil Dike, for example, was hired to coordinate the color throughout Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, Disney’s first feature length animated film.

Mary Blair production art for Disneyland's It's a Small World, not in Hilbert Collection but much like the work that is.

Mary Blair had many different roles at Disney—as an animator, a concept designer for attractions at Disneyland, and a color designer.

These two and many other artists in the Hilbert’s collection were Disney employees, working on their own stuff on weekends. Some are big names in ‘California art,’ according to the museum’s website—including Dike, Rex Brandt and Millard Sheets. There are some women as well, among them Joan Irving, Blair and Ruth Peabody.  

Preston Blair, Bunker Hill Cable Car (1938). Not a member of the Watercolor Society, Mary Blair's brother in law broke away from Disney in '41 and spent the rest of his career animating for rivals.

Many artists—Sheets, Emil Kosa Jr., Milford Zornes,  and Irving -- were also members of the California Watercolor Society, and the skillfulness of their work in that (all but lost) medium is marvelous. Oils, though less plentiful, are also executed with brio and great brushwork.

Edouard Vysekal, Intramovement (1918)

These include Edouard Vysekal’s Intramovement, showing the busy interior of the Boos Brothers Cafeteria in downtown LA. Painted in 1918, it’s one of the oldest pictures in the collection.

A railroad station by Millard Sheets (seen in the photo of the interior of the current galleries, above),said to be the Hilbert’s best-known work, is certainly striking in an Edward Hopper sort of way. But I liked Sheets’ strange, moody composition Abandoned even more.

Millard Sheets, Abandoned (1934), E. Gene Crain collection

A prodigy who won prizes for his watercolors while still in his teens, Sheets later became a hugely influential teacher at schools throughout southern California and an important designer of murals, mosaics and even buildings all over the country.

Marciano Museum showing Sheets artwork

The Scottish Rite Temple in LA that presently houses the Marciano Art Collection is graced by several Sheets murals, inside and out.

And a San Francisco Public Library Branch hosts this astonishing mural, dated 1977.

Millard Sheets, mural for Lombard St. branch of SF Public Library showing history of Sf. Though mural dates from the' 70s it does not show 20th century events, curiously.

But I digress. Let’s get back to the Hilberts. Interestingly, neither of them attended Chapman, but it seemed like the right fit when they began thinking about what to do with their collection.  And, really, they were right. By creating their own institution, they are able to make their paintings remain the primary focus, instead of running the risk of them getting relegated to the basement in a larger museum, as Hilbert himself put it in one interview.  Chapman is enthusiastic, grateful, and will cherish and support this addition to their campus. And thus, to the end of my story. I lean down and whisper in the little girl’s ear. “Museums come from rich people, honey. Aren’t we lucky?”