Under the Sun
New museum envelops the
realm of art in HawaiiEMACIATED frame covered in white sleeveless T-shirt, black jeans and black boots, he folded his arms and pushed out his lower lip before remarking to his equally thin, similarly clad companion that judging from what they'd just seen, art in Hawaii would never measure up to art "in the city."
"Oh, pooh," I said, eliciting raised eyebrows from the obvious poseur, surprised to hear a response to his overheard drivel.
I suppose I should have let his put-down slide, but I was peeved that on the opening day of the new Hawaii State Arts Museum, when all kinds of people were willing to rub shoulders literally to view the wonderful, diverse works of Hawaii-connected artists and when some of the artists themselves were there to share their special talents with all comers, this silly fellow thought he was being cool to rain on their parade.
Pooh, I said, because with what yardstick, what gauge, by what boundaries does anyone compare art created or displayed in one place against art in another? And to what end? What I saw Sunday was hundreds of people have a great time reacting to paintings and sculptures, hangings, ceramics, woodwork and photographs.
A couple of retired bus drivers in neatly pressed aloha shirts -- their "good clothes," they said -- chuckled at a pop-art interpretation of the Mona Lisa in Day-Glo green and red. A little girl clutching a Barbie doll peered nose to canvas at the rough textures of Takeo Miji's "Purple Passage" before lifting wide eyes to take in the whole of the painting. An African-American woman bent her knees to level her face next to a Gwen Lux's mask of Kamehameha to emphasize to her friend the similarity of their features.
The art elicited emotions from delight to dismay. A muumuu-clad woman turned tearful eyes away from a series of photographs by Mark Hamasaki that chronicled the excavation and construction for the H-3 freeway. "That's too painful to look at," she said in a tight voice.
Standing before Mamoru Sato's wall sculpture titled " 'Scape '86-2," a young father swayed his body to move the air near the rows of metal rectangles. They drifted from side to side, capturing the attention of the baby boy in his arms. "See?" he murmured. "See that?"
Outside on the lawn, weaver Pam Barton called to museum-goers to try their hand at making a simple basket. A couple of 20somethings followed Barton's straightforward directions to create shallow vessels from willow. Later, when they discovered the artist's work in the museum, they were amazed at the link from Barton's hands to theirs.
"That was her -- the lady who showed us how to make the basket," one of the young women declared, pointing to the gentle folds of cream-toned paper displayed near a window.
"Oh, yeah," said her friend with a smile.
The museum cost a pretty penny -- $22.5 million to acquire the 1928 Spanish mission-style building and $4.9 million for renovation. The works were acquired over the years through a 1967 law that set aside 1 percent of construction costs of new state buildings for art. The law was the first of its kind in the nation; since then other states and cities have adopted the program.
In lean times, art is often considered an extra and it can be argued that the money could have been better spent for schools and other pressing needs. But the law properly recognizes that art enhances our lives. It is part of the human experience that should not be measured with dollars, but with our senses.
I watched a balky teenager slouched through the first of the exhibits in his mother's tow. When he emerged from the displays to the sunlight on the museum's second-floor balcony, he blinked his eyes, shook his head and let out a whoosh of breath. As he refocused his eyes on the treetops and the sweep of cirrus clouds above, he seemed transformed and grudgingly admitted he had enjoyed himself. I don't know if he will seek out art exhibits if he is ever "in the city," but I'm hoping he will. He's already seen art in Hawaii.
Cynthia Oi has been on the staff of the Star-Bulletin for 25 years.
She can be reached at: coi@starbulletin.com.