Turning the Tables on the Concept of Art for Masses

As a former habitue of MacArthur (Westlake) Park, I read with interest a story in the Sunday Calendar section about two new works of art that were to be installed in the park that very day.

“Let’s drive out to the park and take a look,” I said to my wife. “We can have lunch at Langer’s.” Langer’s is a very good deli at 7th and Alvarado that has survived the deterioration of the neighborhood.

The sidewalks were teeming with what appeared to be immigrant Latinos. We had lunch and crossed the street into the park. Strangely the benches in the southeast corner were almost empty. They were usually crammed with derelicts--drug peddlers, addicts, alcoholics, panhandlers, prostitutes. Maybe the beefed-up policing of the park had really driven them out.

It was family day. Beautiful little children ran wild. Families picnicked on the grass. As we neared the west end of the lake I saw one of the new artworks.

The paper had said it was “Broken Line,” by Paul Boettcher--a line of white plastic rectangle boxes containing sod. The boxes--17 of them--stretched across the lake at intervals of 15 or 20 feet. Quoting the artist, the paper had said that “the line represented the ‘separativeness and reconciliation’ of the park in terms of the many new immigrants that regularly gather there.”

“Is it supposed to mean something?” my wife asked.

“Yes, of course,” I said. “It represents the separativeness and reconciliation of the park in terms of the many new immigrants who regularly gather here.”

We strolled on. The other work of art, “No Picnic,” was said to be on the underside of a picnic table behind the bandstand. Mariachi were playing in the bandstand, con mucho gusto. Families filled the seats. The air was festive. We walked behind the bandstand. There were several picnic tables, but no one seemed to be looking at the underside of any.

The paper had said “No Picnic,” by Steve Hurd, was a copy of Manet’s revolutionary masterpiece “Picnic on the Grass.” Hurd said he was painting it on the underside of a table so viewers could “consider the relationship between the picnic table and the masterpiece, and the corresponding relationship between the public and the private elite.”

“Evidently,” I told my wife, “he wants to show that art is inaccessible to the masses.”

I wondered if “No Picnic” could be on the underside of any tables within sight. If so, it was inaccessible to me. I didn’t care to get down on my hands and knees looking for a copy of dubious merit.

Dozens of children were playing on playground equipment in the little fenced-off children’s section. I wondered what all those children would do for recreation if it were not for the park. We walked through the tunnel and passed the old boat house. It is now a police substation. The lake was remarkably clean. There was little litter on the walks. A black and white drove slowly around the lake.

Monday I called the Recreation and Parks Department to see if I could find out what happened to “No Picnic.” Kathy Polston, a woman in the Metro region, said the artist was frustrated by the show in the bandstand and had taken a table top home to paint his copy on it. He would install it in a day or two.

I asked if the department had issued permits for the two works. “Yes,” she said. “We thought it couldn’t do any harm. We didn’t have a good reason to say no.”

She said she thought the intent of “No Picnic” was to dramatize the inaccessibility of art. (As far as I’m concerned, it certainly was successful in that.) “He was making a statement,” she said. “Dotted Line” was a statement about the socioeconomic differences between east and west. (I assume that means East and West Los Angeles.)

According to The Times, the works were placed in the park under the auspices of the Foundation for Art Resources’ Outside Art Work. Perhaps MacArthur Park was selected for this boon because it is bereft of community pride and is thought to be beyond embarrassment. As Polston said, it couldn’t do any harm.

Certainly “No Picnic” and “Dotted Line” are no less inspiring than that bronze statue of Gen. MacArthur standing stiffly at attention above a bone-dry miniature South Pacific in the southeast corner of the park.

Maybe there is some message in these two new works. Maybe they will suggest to the people of MacArthur Park that someone outside their neighborhood is aware of them and cares about them. Someone, that is, besides the police.

In a day or two I’m going back to the park to look for “No Picnic.” If I don’t find it, it will simply mean that the artist has made his point.

Anyway, it’s another excuse to have a pastrami and Swiss at Langer’s.