A tale of two tours

I recently had the pleasure of being guided through two museum exhibitions before their public openings, one at the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum and the other at the just-opened New Mexico History Museum. That's the power — or rather a little perk — of the press. Both experiences proved to be interesting, but for different reasons.

One tour was a small, formal affair with fewer than 10 folks attending, and the other was jammed with close to 50 people, including at least two camera crews. One place put on a breakfast spread of morning nibbles, juice, and coffee: all very proper and nicety-nice.
The other venue had a table of afternoon cheese platters and crackers with, of all things, wine! The working stiffs — like yours truly — could only sip from afar and imagine what it would be like to get a buzz on while working. The job should be buzz enough (uh-huh).

The staff of the O'Keeffe Museum rarely, if ever, does anything that might be construed as impromptu or functioning by the seat of the pants (or skirts). The timing of that tour was gauged to the minute, with security on high alert, and the dialogue was more lecture than sharing of information. And that's OK. But this time around I got the impression that what curator Barbara Buhler Lynes had to say was more filler than new material.

Jimson Weed Returns From the White House is hardly a title, let alone a concept, for an exhibition in and of itself. In fact, the show consists of only three pieces: the painting, a graphite drawing of the flower, and a Steuben plate etched with the flower in the center. If you add to the count two faded pictures of the president's dining room displaying the painting in situ, that nearly doubles the objects on view for this exhibit.

So just how much can one expound on yet another flower painting, regardless of its presidential provenance? Did we really have to hear yet again the tiresome story about the plethora of sexual interpretations of O'Keeffe's work by the press more than 80 years ago and the artist's downplaying of such ruminations?

Now don't get me wrong, Jimson Weed is, indeed, an iconic painting in O'Keeffe's portfolio of floral imagery. Its presence on the wall — any wall — is stunning. And if you want to meditate on the work's sexual connotations, that's your business. Even to alert the local media of the painting's return to the museum after a six-year hiatus seems sensible. But to bill this smattering of stuff as an exhibition is a stretch. The Mona Lisa in Santa Fe would be reason for a single-painting exhibit, as would Munch's The Scream — any one of its five versions. But Jimson Weed doesn't warrant that level of fanfare. In fact, I found O'Keeffe's unassuming but superb drawing of the flower the real highlight. Her draftsmanship never ceases to amaze me.

Running concurrently (through Sept. 20) with the Jimson Weed exhibit is Georgia O'Keeffe: Beyond Our Shores, which, according to museum press material, "is a selection of seldom-seen O'Keeffe works that were inspired by her travels outside the United States." A series of charcoal drawings and paintings make up this show of 19 pieces based on the artist's trips to Hawaii, Bermuda, Peru, and Japan. It's always a treat to see stuff by O'Keeffe that isn't readily accessible, even if most pieces are less than blue-chip work. All in all, the tour was well managed; I expected nothing less. What I was not expecting was departing director George King's final greeting to the press before he leaves the museum for the urban jungle of New York City. I wish him well.

The tour of the new state history museum before its public opening was, as Mr. Spock would say, fascinating. The excitement — and stress — of the tour guides was palpable from their introductory remarks down to their comments through the winding pathways of the exhibits. That's not a criticism, just an observation. What was also obvious was the amount of work to be completed by opening day, which was less than 52 hours away. Yikes and double yikes! I can't imagine how director Frances Levine seemed so cool and collected when she addressed the media that day. I would equate the situation with having the never-before-met in-laws due for dinner in three hours and you haven't shopped for groceries or even vacuumed the house!

Being led through the building, we were repeatedly reminded to stay with the group and to watch our step for fear of tripping over electrical cords, toolboxes, or one of the many workers who were doing their damnedest to complete their nth-hour tasks. Stray bolts, nuts, screws, clamps, and nails were strewn along the miles of protective dropcloths like a littered New Mexico highway. In short, it was still a construction zone rather than a museum zone.

For those not privy to the incredible — and seemingly insurmountable — amount of work that goes into putting on an exhibit, let alone opening a new museum, the tour must have been an eye-opener. So I sympathized with our harried tour guides that day; their best-intended spiels were less than perfect, the walk-through was a bit rushed, and beads of sweat were shared by all, as the air conditioning was not running to full capacity.

So whatever took place between that Thursday, May 21, afternoon and the Saturday-night gala on May 23 can only be called a miracle; if not, 10,000-plus weekend visitors were all duped by a tremendous sleight-of-hand done with trapdoors and mirrors. Whatever the case may be, director Levine and her staff deserve a week in Bermuda and/or bonus checks — or, at the very least, our gratitude for a job well done.