TALKING TREES, NEON VIRTUES, GIRAFFE NETS

Imagine a university whose young communications students mingle with ancient Buddhas who perpetually watch TV. A campus whose Arcadian groves have been infiltrated by “talking trees.” An institution of higher education with a flamboyant “Sun God” sculpture as its official mascot. A hall of learning said to have “giraffe nets” and Stonehenge-like “ruins” on its grounds. A state-owned facility expected to install a neon parade of virtues and vices atop a new building next year.

Students and faculty at UC San Diego have learned to take such oddities in stride during the four years that the Stuart Foundation has commissioned contemporary sculpture for the university’s 1,200-acre campus in La Jolla. Under an agreement with the Board of Regents of the University of California, the San Diego-based foundation has established the Stuart Collection of contemporary sculpture to “enrich the cultural, intellectual and scholarly life of the campus and the community, as well as to provide opportunities for artists thinking about new approaches to public art.”

The first of these new approaches flew in on the wings of Niki de Saint Phalle’s 14-foot-tall “Sun God.” The vividly painted, gold-crowned fiberglass bird perches on a 15-foot concrete arch near Mandeville Auditorium. Initially assailed as a vulgar intruder, the primitive creature soon was so warmly embraced by students that it inspired an annual Sun God Festival on surrounding grounds.

Countering the bold bird with characteristic subtlety, Robert Irwin then installed his elusive “Two Running Violet V-Forms” in a nearby eucalyptus grove. The two V-shaped forms of his sculpture--consisting of blue-violet-coated chain-link fencing mounted high on steel poles--present themselves in different guises depending on the light. From one angle the high flying fences are slices of intensified sky, brought down to float among the trees. From another they are shimmering ribbons of light that almost disappear.

Conceptually Irwin’s fences are obstacles that obstruct no one. But, as campus lore goes, they also function as “giraffe nets.”

“Do you have trouble with giraffes?” asked a visitor who was unfamiliar with Irwin’s art.

“Not any more,” came the reply.

Following these divergent examples of contemporary art came Richard Fleischner’s “La Jolla Project,” a stately arrangement of 71 pink and gray granite blocks sometimes dubbed “Stonehenge”--or “Revelle’s Ruins,” in honor of the sculpture’s location on the lawn of Revelle College. Far more crisply hewn than those monikers suggest, the architectural elements of the massive installation are rather like arches, windows, tables and benches. The stone “Project” has become a favorite outdoor gathering place for students who have discovered human proportions in the geometric configurations of posts, lintels and fallen beams.

While some youths sprawl on Fleischner’s imposing stone art, others discover Terry Allen’s “talking trees” tucked away in an otherwise mute grove. The multimedia artist pumped preservatives into three felled eucalyptus trees, wrapped them in patchwork coverings of lead, wired two of the trees with recorded sound and replanted all three (with the help of 14-foot concrete-and-steel foundations completely covered by earth).

One silvery tree spouts an eclectic assortment of music 24 hours a day; another tells stories and recites poems. The third lead-shingled eucalyptus stands silent on an incline among a group of pines, its wind-swept branches frozen into a lyrical stance. By now you may have guessed that the students have dubbed Allen’s trees “The Enchanted Forest” and have taken to carving their initials in the lead.

Meantime Nam June Paik, the Korean grandfather of video art, concocted a “history of television” around the Media Center at Third College as part of an installation called “Something Pacific.” One finds TV ruins poking out of a grassy slope, a reproduction of Rodin’s “Thinker” observing a Sony Watchman, a concrete television sculpture with a hole where the picture tube should be and three Buddhas contemplating the miracle of modern zombie-hood. Paik’s “ET Buddha” is transfixed by an antique Predicta TV minus its box.

This improbable assembly is strewn casually around the lawn as a metaphor for the careless way we watch TV, but inside the building Paik invites passers-by to take an active part in what they see. A control panel and instruction book accompany a bank of 24 television sets, allowing people to orchestrate kaleidoscopic spectacles of their own design.

These works have become a popular part of campus life with relative ease. But Bruce Nauman’s proposed installation of virtues and vices--to be spelled out in 7-foot neon letters--so incensed some university neighbors that the site was changed from a theater seen from town to a new facility for earthquake testing only visible on campus. According to Beebe, arguments against the sculpture became so irrational that some people claimed the artwork would ruin their lives and that the sight of neon vices would lead them to sin.

Apparently the university has no such fears. When Nauman’s piece is installed next fall, the paired words Temperence/Gluttony, Anger/Fortitude, Lust/Faith, Envy/Hope, Sloth/Charity, Pride/Prudence, Justice/Avarice will march around a strip of windows at the top of an edifice. Vices, placed in a slanted position, will run counter-clockwise in opposition to upright, clockwise virtues. This 14-color message, which Beebe likens to “the pillars of Western civilization,” will be delivered in 6,000 feet of neon, to be lighted between 5 and 10 p.m.

With major works by five artists already in place, upcoming projects by Nauman, Siah Armajani, William Wegman, Jenny Holzer, George Trakas, Jackie Ferrara and Ian Hamilton Finlay and with proposals by Maria Nordman, James Turrell, Martin Puryear, Alexis Smith and Alice Aycock under serious discussion, the Stuart Collection has the potential of becoming the world’s best permanent installation of contemporary sculpture specifically designed for its site.

Many institutions buy large-scale sculpture and display it on their grounds. Some, such as UCLA, amass vast gardens of superior modern and contemporary works. But what distinguishes UC San Diego’s growing collection--in addition to the art’s aesthetic excellence and captivating wit--is that it contains no pre-existing works. Instead, the Stuart Foundation commissions artists to develop proposals that will stretch their ideas to fit the university’s intellectual environment and physical space.

The unusual project is the brainchild of James Stuart DeSilva, a San Diego-area resident who made a fortune in the tuna business and decided to make an adventurous contribution to the young university’s rapidly evolving complex.

Instead of choosing the work by himself he set up an advisory committee including James Demetrion, director of the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden; Anne D’Harnoncourt, director of the Philadelphia Museum of Art; public art consultant Patricia Fuller; Newton Harrison, an artist and professor at UC San Diego; Italian art collector Giuseppe Panza di Biumo; critic Pierre Restany, museum administrator and curator Pontus Hulten and artist Robert Irwin.

The committee invites carefully selected artists to the campus. Mary Livingstone Beebe, director of the Stuart Collection, then works with them to find suitable sites and to keep the whole project in tune with the university’s aggressive building program. The committee reviews the artists’ proposals and, upon endorsement, sends them on for campus administrative review. Chancellor Richard Atkinson gives the final nod.

According to Beebe, about $1 million has been spent on the five existing works. Sufficient money remains to finance currently commissioned projects, but the foundation is spending principal (not a percentage of an endowment), and additional funds must be raised to perpetuate the project.

Beebe and Assistant Chancellor Patrick Ledden seem undaunted by the fuss that periodically arises over new additions of art. Insisting that there has been no strong resistance to the project as a whole, Ledden said that public relations work has been mainly concerned with “correcting a stereotype.” As Claes Oldenburg has told artists becoming involved with public sculpture, “No matter how much they say they love and want your work, what they really have in mind is a medium-size Henry Moore.”

“The project has been a spectacular thing for us. It has made this a richer place for all,” Ledden said. A professed art enthusiast who calls himself “a mathematician out of his depth,” he has served as a high-level liaison between artists and the administration and faculty.

If nothing else, the Stuart Collection has made students alert to their campus environment. “When they see something new going up, they ask, ‘Is that a sculpture or a building?’ ” Beebe said.

“They ask, ‘Are those trees real? Is that art or life? Do I have to like it? Is it OK if I do like it?’ ” Ledden agreed.

The questioning is likely to continue during coming years as Nauman installs his neon, Jackie Ferrara engineers a terrace and George Trakas turns a canyon into an environmental artwork. One characteristic that may prove ingratiating is that most future projects will have a functional aspect. Ian Hamilton Finlay will provide benches with an ocean view and a literary twist when he engraves large stones with different arrangements of unda , the Latin word for wave. Siah Armajani’s sheltered porch and garden will be an intimate meeting place with a spectacular view at the Scripps Institute of Oceanography, while James Turrell’s crater may double as an occasional amphitheater.

But William Wegman has a different idea about making his art relevant to its site. He envisions a “photo opportunity”--a traditional panoramic viewpoint equipped with binoculars and a bronze relief map. “Instead of overlooking the coast, the viewpoint will face a sea of development to the East,” Beebe explained. “You can see California history being made before your very eyes.”

A gregarious administrator who formerly directed the Portland Center for the Visual Arts, Beebe seems to be in her element when interpreting the artworks. “I’m just so proud of them,” she confessed.

“I tell people that this art is not about matching the sofa or conforming to personal taste. It’s about paying attention and experiencing the universe around us,” she said. “The works are like people you get to know for different reasons. There are some you like better than others, and your opinions about them might change over time. But all of them are legitimate; they are not to be dismissed.”