After internationally acclaimed architect Rafael Vinoly was hired to design an addition for the Cleveland Museum of Art (CMA), the facility conducted three public dialogues with him between October 2001 and May 2002. The president of the museum's board said in the Cleveland Plain Dealer, "If we don't engage the public in the process, we're damn fools." Tampa is another story.
After Vinoly, the architect chosen from a field of 33, presented his design concept for the new Tampa Museum of Art (TMA) on June 14, he invited public response. Though there has been no interactive public forum, responses did come via e-mail to the architect's New York office, to daily papers and in a comment book at TMA. There were also closed-door meetings between city and museum officials and Tampa's Downtown Partnership, which hosted Mr. Vinoly at its annual meeting.
This means that aside from Cyberspace and museum comments, the general public has not had a viable conduit to share ideas in an open forum.
But don't blame the architect.
Consider this: On Feb. 12, a thousand people arrived at Cleveland's Ohio Theatre to witness Vinoly turn in a virtuoso performance. Sponsored by Cleveland Public Art, Vinoly generated a history-making public debate, a stunning risk-taking adventure for the museum and their architect. It was also a rare joint exercise in aesthetics and creativity. The Plain Dealer architecture critic, Steve Litt, described how Vinoly seemed to create the design before the audience's eyes: "(He) stood at a drafting table and sketched on white sheets of paper with thick crayons. A camera projected his drawings on a large screen."
"I thought it was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen," said Jeffrey Kipnis, an architecture professor from Ohio State University.
Cleveland's new paradigm values citizen input and the free exchange of ideas. Litt says "the museum has taken a stand in favor of a new civic culture in Cleveland, based on openness and transparency."
He sees symbolism in Vinoly's liberal use of glass: "By pursuing a transparent design process for a transparent museum, the art museum is expressing confidence that it can involve the public without creating controversy that could hurt the project."
With more public meetings planned, civic virtue is the winner in Cleveland.
Two cities. One architect. Same time period. Why the difference in process and style?
In part, it's attributable to the CMA's not-for-profit status as a privately owned institution beholden only to its board of trustees. The Tampa Museum of Art is city-owned, a city with well-intentioned do-gooders and a habit of paying lip service to the general public.
TMA director Emily Kass says the museum is a full partner with the city, and insists that the public has been given ample opportunity to suggest ideas. She says, "We shouldn't let the public design the museum. That's what we hired an architect to do."
Yet, with hundreds attending the Tampa Downtown Partnership meeting, one wonders how political and business acumen should translate so easily into museum-savvy aesthetics. We can't fault this — inviting the architect was an intelligent move; Vinoly gave out his e-mail address and invited comments.
The mayor invited the rest of us to a well-publicized luncheon at Tampa Convention Center on June 14. The articulate Vinoly first unveiled his design by leading us through a methodical process that aligned his thinking with the city's. But it wasn't publicly interactive.
Are these issues questions of style, habit or calculation? Last year I described the city's pre-museum process in the Weekly Planet cover story "Renaissance Plan" (May 10, 2001) where I said that the general (and arts) community was not properly informed about public meetings aimed to solicit ideas for the new cultural arts district. Some had four days' notice; others, four hours'.
Does "civic" have a different meaning in Tampa than in Cleveland? Ironically, one would suspect the reverse would be true in terms of openness, with Cleveland's private museum holding decision-making close to their chests, and Tampa's city-owned institution treating the general public as its highest priority.
Vinoly's final plans for the enormous Cleveland project will not be revealed for two years. So what's the rush here?
One major difference is that Mayor Dick Greco's political clock is winding down in anticipation of his December term-limit exit. Though he and Kass deserve enormous credit for their passion, leadership and delivering this much-anticipated museum, increasing public debate would have scored far more than surface symbolism. On the other hand, such discourse could cause more delays. Clearly, Greco wants to tuck the new TMA into his mayoral legacy.
It's a question of style.
The BuildingIn a perfect world we'd all design the art museum of our dreams. We'd remember marvelous museums that seduced us, or the way an architectural flourish or fleeting light source touched us. We'd recall how we discovered our aesthetic center when we first saw a Giotto or "The Sleeping Gypsy," or how a Gauguin can literally take our breath away.
In this era of museum building, each urbanized, marbleized, glassed, steeled prima donna exclaims the promise of instant culture. In our haste to express the grand architectural statement, we sometimes forget that the best museums offer intangible mystical experiences of art and architectural form.
Vinoly, the Uruguay-born Argentinean architect enjoying international star power, is designing the new Tampa Museum of Art. It's still in the tweaking stage. Charged with implementing the Cultural Arts District Master Plan, his six-level, street-hugging building fronts a 28-block area west of Ashley Drive and faces the downtown business district.
Two of Vinoly's brilliant architectural solutions preserve our view of UT's beloved minarets by lifting the lower floor onto thick functional columns. First-floor glass walls provide unobstructed views.
The museum will sport industrial high-tech elements that the architect used with acclaim in Tokyo's International Forum and Philadelphia's Kimmel Performing Arts Center. The most distinguishing feature is what he calls an urban canopy. Mocked as a glorified carport, it has spawned the most public reaction. Supported by slender steel poles, this 100-foot-tall, flat-roofed steel grid hovers over the building, extending beyond the rim in every direction. When Vinoly introduced the concept to an enormous Tampa Convention Center audience, he said he was inspired by the mayor's plea for a "wow" factor — whatever the meaning of "wow" is.
Consider this. Tampa's art legacy could be forever defined by a fairly modest-size building encased in what is ostensibly a steel cage. Former TMA director Andy Maass sees this as "attempting to create a signature building in downtown Tampa. But it isn't a signature building." He's right. The building itself won't be the star attraction without its cage-like cousin.
Vinoly likens his gridded structure to a trellis, saying he took his cues from Ybor City awnings used in the 1920s and '30s. Connecting it visually with the 100 Ashley Drive cubes (two small square buildings on the corner of Kennedy Boulevard and Ashley Drive), was meant to diminish an overpowering tower presence. Ironically, the grid competes visually with the ordered busy-ness of the tower windows, perhaps drawing even more attention to downtown's isolated "beer can building."
My strongest objection is on philosophical terms. The canopy undercuts the museum's potential power as a free-standing cultural institution that needs to impart powerful symbolism of its own. Connecting it to the existing cubes and thus with the tower, suggests the museum is a subsidiary of a business building. If integrating the museum with other buildings on the property is a priority, this could also be accomplished by winding paths, landscaping, and large trees.
Still, the cage has its merits. It's the kind of monumental, tourist-attracting structure that takes on a life of its own — a free-standing sculptural object, like Louise Bourgeois' giant bronze spider (albeit without the organic quality). From the river, or the Ashley Drive perspective from the north, projections indicate a glorious view of the museum at night. Dramatic lighting creates a noble theatrical essence while indulging the architect's penchant for sophisticated technology.
As the sun moves, the steel grid will create shadows reducing the temperature beneath it by 10-15 degrees. Preliminary museum plans show eastern and western exposures with mostly glass walls, so cooling schemes are critical. Kass explains that museum officials concerned with protecting art and preventing oven-like temperatures are waiting to be convinced about the plan's effectiveness.
In addition, outer glass walls will inevitably decrease wall space, which should not be shortchanged or dependent on interior movable walls.
Kass says many people question the steel poles and grid with regard to the area's lightning storms. World-class lightning expert, Martin Uman, a University of Florida professor and former Tampa resident, says proper grounding will eliminate risk.
Another problematic feature is the grid's steel poles intended for Ashley Drive's center median. This placement rejects the Master Plan proposal for a grand boulevard with a pedestrian-friendly, tree-lined greenspace.
About the awkward pole placement and the median, Steve Schreiber, USF's Architecture Department chairman, suggests that "when the (the street) grid is disrupted — the clarity of the city is compromised. My favorite kind of cities are the kind that respect the grid."
As proposed, the canopy compromises the promise of a natural environment on the museum's east side. One solution would be to move the museum west another 15-20 feet, providing a more adequate drop-off area in front. It would also increase curb appeal, something it sorely lacks now. This would bring the grid edge even with he museum's sidewalk. By moving the building close to the street, though, Vinoly created a decent-size park between the building and the river.
Another issue: the curious issue of museum orientation — why it parallels Ashley Drive, and why the building is so long and relatively narrow. One reason for its length is the overlapping horizontal elements, much like the present museum (also featuring a long ramp to the right). But the museum footprint is actually determined by the width of the cubes; thus the resulting rectangular configuration could inhibit innovative interior gallery spaces.
This means that despite an enormous plot of land, the entire museum blueprint owes its dimensions to an incidental building: the cube.
Other cues to the architect's thinking (and the Master Plan) are his assurances that from inside the museum we'll have constant views of the greenbelt park on the river side and the city on the east. I'd rather be assured of adequate wall space for future Chagalls or Warhols than of unobstructed views of Tampa's business district.
With little time left until the first backhoe hits the ground, there's still much to ponder.
Groundbreaking is set for late 2002 or early 2003, with ribbon-cutting in 2004. I'll be there with the crowds — proverbial bells on my toes — clapping enthusiastically while local officials herald a long-awaited cultural moment. And we'll all be grateful.
That will be then. But this is now.
E-mail Mr. Vinoly at rvinoly@rvapc.com.
Adrienne M. Golub can be reached by e-mail at adrienne.golub@weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in Aug 7-13, 2002.