ART REVIEW : AN ARTIST’S ‘PAVILION’ MEMORIALIZES HIS FATHER

There’s a wistful innocence about Michael McMillen’s work, a child’s love of dusty, discarded treasures salvaged from vacant lots. It’s a sensibility he learned from his late father, scenic designer Lawrence McMillen. Both of them are first-class pack rats.

When the elder McMillen died last fall, Michael McMillen felt an aversion for Western burial rites and chose instead to commemorate his father with a mixed-media installation, “The Pavilion of Rain,” on view through March 20 at Cal State Northridge.

It seems a bit callous to apply the usual aesthetic criteria to an artwork addressing the theme of a recent death, but “The Pavilion of Rain” gives one a good idea of what Lawrence McMillen was like.

The gallery has been divided into two separate chambers, the first of which features a generous array of Lawrence McMillen’s prized possessions, a number of his artworks, a collage of wonderfully unusual family photographs and a few pieces by Michael McMillen done in a spirit his father would no doubt appreciate.

The second room--and the exhibition’s centerpiece installation--is a full-scale replica of a ramshackle houseboat in a riverfront shantytown. An overhead irrigation system rains down on this makeshift dwelling, which sits at the center of a large, shallow pool and appears to be fashioned out of spit, string and rusting debris.

McMillen uses everything but the kitchen sink for his vagabond’s castle: An old sewing machine serves as part of the roof, along with hubcaps, dilapidated Venetian blinds and an antique bird cage. The viewer is encouraged to cross a rickety drawbridge and spend some time in this cozy tin nest equipped with a hammock and a radio, listening to the rain and taped sounds of birds, insects and a distant foghorn. A small dinghy bobs alongside the houseboat and a massive assemblage of junk sits at the far end of the room.

It all makes for a meditative setting of peculiar qualities. “The Pavilion of Rain” resonates with the roaring hush of a church, yet there’s something warm and eccentric about it. The installation feels like a poor man’s temple designed for stubborn iconoclasts determined to do things their own way.

Lawrence McMillen was born in the South in the early part of this century, the son of a military man. From an early age he gravitated toward art, the theater in particular--a taste his strict father found most unsettling. When he came of age he migrated to the bright lights of New York City, then relocated to Los Angeles where he put down roots. After trying his hand for a spell as a character actor, he was hired as a scenic designer for KTTV, where he worked from the early ‘50s until the mid-’70s.

Throughout his life McMillen took a child’s pleasure in the fantasy world of toys, dolls, puppets and magic. He fashioned a large chicken of papier-mache, made a life-size, stand-up cutout of Dagwood Bumstead, built puppets and invented things. He did these things for his own entertainment, neither gaining nor seeking recognition for his creations. However, his influence can clearly be seen in the work of his son.

Michael McMillen speculates that his father would have liked “Pavilion of Rain,” adding, “He would’ve built it a lot more neatly than I have, though.”

McMillen recalls that, during the last few months of his life, his father slipped with increasing ease in and out of the fantasy world where he found his greatest pleasure, until he finally vanished completely one day last October. And the dreamer becomes the dream.