I did not manage to take a photo of what I wore for today, but if it's any consolation, it's exactly the same outfit I wore to Disneyland. My pathetic excuse would be because my phone died on me in the evening while we were still out, and by the time I've recharged it, I've already changed into my jammies. The reason for the swift depletion of the battery would be because of the innumerable photogenic locations throughout the Getty Center, which lured me into snapping away. That and I forgot to charge my handphone the previous night.
This next picture is one of my favorite photographs of the day:
If only the water arcs were slightly more visible, and if lighting conditions were much more camera-phone-friendly, this shot would've been prefect. A harmonious blend of nature and architecture. Richard Meier at his best. Go figure, it's his signature Meier white tiles in the background. But Meier was also noted for another thing:
Notice how symmetrical this area looks and feels. Though bare, the trees look imposing; whose upward, twisted branches contrast the sharp and sleek design of the museum. Yet, somehow, it all looks harmonious. Here are some more of Meier's demands for order and symmetry:
Most of the trees displayed are separated very precisely, as if planted on a grid itself, a reflection of Meier's tiles. But this perfect world of Meier's was challenged by an artist. Chief designer of the Central Garden, Robert Irwin, was not a landscape artist. Although he was an Installation artist, he was by no means a horticulturalist. As soon as he received the assignment, he quickly immersed himself into gardening books and invested hours upon hours into learning different plants. His idea was simple: See a plant he likes on a page, then plant them.
Irwin opposed everything Meier stood for. He championed chaos. Even his aligning and matching of plants were never considered by avid gardeners. A South American foliage might be placed right next to flora native to Spain. Yet, it was through his peculiar vision that the garden was possible:
This last picture above shows Irwin's design for a ripple, seen in the shapes of the hedges. Below are more random pictures of foliage that I took around the center:
I had such a good time taking pictures of everything green and grassy that I only had enough battery life for one sculpture inside the museum:
This is a family portrait. The mother, dressed as Athena, shields her son from metaphorical harm. The young son, approximated to be about fourteen, symbolizes the classical notion of beauty through youth and nudity. The father, on the shield at the bottom, signifies wisdom, for his profile compares to that of a philosopher, with a matching toga wrapped around his shoulders. Though it is odd to have a marble sculpture identified to be a portrait, the ingenious thing about it is the sculptor's virtuosity with marble itself. The drape hanging over the son is so thin that it's almost transparent to sunlight. Just imagine... a single crack, and it's a complete do over.
Well, I hope that visual journey was rewarding to you as it was pleasurable to me. Until tomorrow then~
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