Archive for SF Public Library

Bay Area FAVs: Alice Aycock’s Functional & Fantasy Stair

Posted in Architecture, Bay Area Art Scene, Female Artists, Liz Hager, Sculpture with tags , , , on September 25, 2009 by Liz Hager


In these recessionary times when most Bay Area museums charge entrance fees in the double digits and scores of galleries have closed,  we highlight San Francisco’s commitment to art in public spaces in our ongoing feature—Bay Area Free Art Views (FAVs).

Alice Aycock—Functional & Fantasy Stair, 1996 SFPL

Alice Aycock, Functional and Fantasy Stair, 1996,
Aluminum and structural steel with painted steel sheathing,
approx. 24’ high x 32’ long x 20’ wide. San Francisco Public Library
(all photos © Liz Hager 2009)

Alice Aycock is a member of the group of artists (Laurie Anderson perhaps a better-known member) who came artistic age in the early 1970s, grappling with the stylistic transition from modernism to postmodernism.  Although her pieces feel architectural, they are not, as Aycock has said:  “… functional architecture, but architecture as an umbrella from which you could hang many things—psychology, history, or culture.”

Aycock has held a life-long obsession with the nature of reality;  that is to say, her work deals with various states of mind and body, sometimes real, but often fictional, sometimes downright peculiar. But always complex. Typically, her work mines a vast array of references—physics, psychoanalysis, literary, computer programming, mental disorders, even ancient languages.  This subject matter makes for intensely psychological environments.

Alice Aycock—Functional & Fantasy Stair (3), SFPL

Robert Morris, Donald Judd, Louise Nevelson, and even her father, a construction engineer, have been Aycock’s inspiration. She was drawn to the “land art” movement from early on, making site-specific works from earth, wood, stone, and other natural materials. In the 1980s, Aycock began to employ industrial materials like steel, with allusions to the growing presence of machines in our lives.

Alice Aycock—Functional & Fantasy Stair (5), SFPL

Aycock designed a spiral stairway between the fifth and sixth floors of the library, just off the suspended, glass-enclosed reading room that projects into the library’s great atrium space. A functional staircase is nestled inside an askew cone structure (it mirrors the shape of the atrium skylight).  Cyclone Fragment, suspended above, is its companion piece.
Alice Aycock—Functional & Fantasy Stair (2), SFPL

Stair contains some hallmarks of an Aycock work. The stairwell is an intriguing, if confusing, architectural space. Proceed up or down the functional stairwell and glimpses of the fantasy stairs (leading nowhere) are revealed through fragmented openings in the cone. (Multiple views of a parallel universe?) Overall the cone structure envelops, but the environment it creates (its materials complement those of the library) is sleek, shiny and cold, very cold. Further, the whole sculpture is hermetically sealed by the glass encasement of the reading room.

Alice Aycock—Functional & Fantasy Stair (1), SFPL

Stairs are a central and sustaining motif for Aycock. As early as 1974, she began incorporating them into her work with These Stairs Can Be Climbed.  As the (man-made) vehicle by which man ascends or descends, stairs signify movement, even progress. It’s the reason most monuments (to impressive men) are placed at the head of a set of stairs. In dreams, stairs are often interpreted as the states of consciousness—the lower levels equivalent to “facts,” the upper levels with higher consciousness. One set of the Library’s stairs do allow progress;  the other just ends in thin air. Is Aycock asking us to think about power versus impotence?

One is left puzzling the connection of this piece to the Library environment, indeed even whether there needs to be one.

Wider Connections

Alice Aycock

Land Art

Theories and Documents of Contemporary Art

The Truth of Who We Are: Images of Afghanistan at SF Public Library

Posted in Bay Area Art Scene, Central Asia, Fine & Decorative Arts, Liz Hager, Photography, Words & Symbols with tags , , , , , on January 4, 2009 by Liz Hager
. . . Humankind is being led along an evolving course,
through this migration of intelligences,
and though we seem to be sleeping,
there is an inner wakefulness
that directs the dream,
and that will eventually startle us back
to the truth of who we are. . . 
Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi, excerpt from The Dream That Must be Interpreted


Joseph Hoyt, The Great Buddhas of the Bamiyan Valley (destroyed by the Taliban March 2001), black & white photograph (© Joseph Hoyt 1979)

In early March 2001 the world was stunned by the news that the ruling regime in Afghanistan had destroyed the two giant Buddhas of Bamiyan. Claiming that these were idols and thus violated Sharia (Islamic law), the Taliban dynamited the 1500 year-old statues from their niches in the Hazarajat caves northwest of Kabul. The destruction of these exceptional and unique pieces of Buddhist art—despite worldwide protest and calls for moderation—should have been our wake up call about the ever-present danger inherent in the flash point that is Central Asia. Rather, for most Americans, the incident provided only a passing introduction to Afghanistan, a country so desperately poor and geographically remote that we failed to grasp the necessity of understanding more. We didn’t comprehend that a country, which has stood at a cross-roads of human history for millennia, has a rich culture. Alexander, the Silk Route merchants, Genghis Khan, Buddhists on their way from India to China all laid their specific cultural legacy on Afghanistan.  

Except for art historians, Buddhist scholars, and a relatively small number of concerned citizens, the event and the country were soon forgotten.   A mere six months later, however, Afghanistan roared violently back into the consciousness of every American. And little more than a year after that the country dropped from the radar screen once again, eclipsed by the US invasion of Iraq.

Soon, Afghanistan once again will colonize our consciousness. With Barack Obama committed to expanding military operations in the country, our notions, misconceptions, and prejudices of it are bound to surface. 

Operating on the theory that a picture is worth a thousand  words, those inclined to greater understanding of Afghani culture will want to see two San Francisco exhibits before they close this month—Joseph Hoyt’s Afghanistan 1970-1975: Images From An Era of Peace  (until Jan 18) at the Public Library and Afghanistan: Hidden Treasures from the National Museum, Kabul (closes Jan 25; reviewed in separate VR post) conveniently located next door at the Asian Art Museum.  

Joseph Hoyt arrived in Afghanistan in September 1970, solely on the strength of a fireside conversation in Crete. Thinking he would merely pass through the country, he ended up staying for nearly a year. Over the next five years, Hoyt spent nearly 40 months in the country. 

I loved being there. Travel was cheap, safe, and easy. The people were friendly, open and generous beyond their means. The sounds, sights, and smells of everyday life were exhilarating. The contrasts were amazing: the deserts ran on seemingly without end. The mountains concealed green oases of vineyards, lush gardens, and apricot and mulberry groves. Even the names of the mountains were intoxicating: the Koh-I Baba, the Hindu Kush, the Pamirs. This was indeed a different world. It seemed I could not leave.. . The more I saw and experienced, the more taken by the people, the landscape, and the culture I became.


Afghanistan (click on map to enlarge) 

Hoyt shot hundreds of photographs during those 40 months, some 50 of which are included in the exhibit. All of the photos were taken before the Soviet invasion in 1979, at a time when the country was at peace and comparatively properous. The everyday shots in markets, on buses, and teahouses depict the Afghanis as a joyous, almost carefree, people.  


Joseph Hoyt, Nineteen boys cram a back-street shop to laugh and study the Koran in Kabul, black & white photograph (© Joseph Hoyt 1979)

The exhibit includes some stunning landscapes as well—in particular, the shot of hundreds of domed gumbazee structures rising from the dirt in the remote village of Lash-e Jouayn is mesmerizing in its strangeness.  Although they aren’t as engaging as the shots of people and landscapes, the several photos of the Bamayan Buddhas are interesting as cultural records. More interesting than the pictures themselves is Hoyt’s narrative about the excursion, for it evokes some of the specialness of the giant figures:

It was already quite cold as we were traveling in mid-October.  We arrived in Bamian quite late—probably after 2am—and were met by a tea house owner who showed us a place to put our mats.  To awaken and walk outside in the morning and be at the foot of the immense statues was stunning.  I spent the day climbing the cliffs and exploring the caves.  The two Buddhas are (were) quite far apart – it seems maybe nearly a mile from one to the other.  It was possible to actually climb through a series of caves to a room at the head of the larger Buddha where you could see out small opening and view the remains of the polychrome paintings of seated Buddhas and other scenes.  Some of the cave were quite large as I recall—high ceilings with openings looking out over the Bamian Valley and to the mountains beyond.

As I heard and read of the impending actions by the Taliban back in in 2001 I thought and hoped it was simply a publicity stunt.  As the days went on it became apparent they were serious.  To me it was unimaginable these uneducated religious thugs would go through with it.  How many generations had those massive figures dominated so benignly that lovely valley? 40? 50?

Regrettably, this era of peace in Afghanistan is virtually unknown to the the world at large; happily we have Hoyt’s record of it. His pictures are fragments in the larger truth of Afghanistan. And greater understanding of the Afghanis, their complex history, and rich culture, as Rumi observed, will eventually startle us back to the truth of who we are.

Note: According to tradition, Rumi was born in BalkhBactria, in contemporary Afghanistan, which at that time was part of the Persian Empire. The hometown of his father’s family; however, some Rumi scholars believe that he was born in Wakhsh, a small town located on the river Wakhsh in present-day Tajikistan. As a young adult Rumi fled to central Turkey to avoid war in his homeland.  In Konya, he founded the Mevlevi Dervish Order, also known as the whirling dervishes.  

More on Rumi.

Wider Connections

Joseph HoytImages of Afghanistan

Douglas Powell’s images of Afghanistan (1970s)

Obama’s Afghan Hurdles (Robert Kaplan, Atlantic Monthly)


Further Reading

Rory Stewart—The Places Inbetween. Just after the Taliban were deposed (2001), Scottish journalist/historian Rory Stewart ventured on a dangerous and seemingly impossible journey—walking across Afghanistan. He survived by using his wits, his knowledge of Persian dialects and Muslim customs, and the hospitality for which the Afghanis are well-known. In recounting this trip, Stewart meditates on the forces of tradition, ideology and tribal allegiance that shape life in Afghanistan’s countless places “in between.”

Greg Mortenson—Three Cups of Tea. An uplifting tale of how one person does make a difference. Mortenson, seriously lost in northeastern Pakistan’s untrammeled Karakoram Range, stumbled nearly 60 miles down a glacier to the Muslim hamlet of Korphe, where he was inspired to make a life-changing promise. This is the engaging story of how that promise became a reality. 

Robert Kaplan—Soldiers of God: With the Mujahidin in Afghanistan. Kaplan reports first-hand on the Afghan resistance to Soviet invasion in the 1980s. 

Steven Coll—Ghost Wars: The Secret History of the CIA, Afghanistan, and Bin Laden, from the Soviet Invasion to September 10, 2001

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