The Broad holds a special place in my heart in LA.
From the energetic impact of the collection on view every time I return to it to the laidback “I will choke a patron” vibe of the arthead guards (who, 9x out of 10, are always working artists, photographers, or art historian heads), it reminds me of the creative mayhem vibrationally afoot in the contemporary galleries at the Cleveland museum of art growing up.
There wasn’t a non-wild eye amongst those who clamored to stand in the hallowed halls of this subset of artists that came to and carved out a mountain top of their own in Cleveland. The Art gallery guards of CMA were a smartly suited retinue ready to pop a wildchild off camera 5 minutes after said kid forgot what their sock-footed lil asses had gotten away with. You learned to avoid those blind spots they slid in and out of once you’d embraced being the lil arthead ruffians the museum inspired us to be.
And you were raised knowing that, as fun as it was, CMA’S contemporary wing was just an outpost of the true arthead xanadu up in NYC.
It was never the be seen part for me as an artist. It was always the edgy run through, the concept that wild thoughts slashed across canvases running alongside one’s heart was the norm in a life well-lived. & that being nurtured is what led to me in Soho, bona fide fashist tho I was by the time I got there.
Until Deitch moved out here , there’s no place like home murmuring from the center of my chest was only quelled at the Broad.
It was alive, not like a warmly lit mausoleum for art that seemed to be a presentational trend here.