Elegant tranquillity

Renzo Piano has long been a darling of the international art scene. Since his completion of Houston’s Menil Foundation in 1986, the Italian architect has been revered for his ability to balance the needs of art and architecture with exquisite delicacy.

The new Nasher Sculpture Center, which opens to the public Monday, should only add to that perception. As architecture, the building cannot match the exquisite perfection of the Menil. Nonetheless, the Nasher’s elegant galleries are a tranquil place to view sculpture. With his extensive use of natural light, Piano creates a building that virtually dissolves into the surrounding landscape.

Piano first rose to prominence with the completion of Paris’ Pompidou Center in 1977. Designed with the London-based Richard Rogers, the Pompidou’s colorful high-tech facade -- with its famous escalators enclosed in glass tubes -- was a bold expression of a then-emerging pop aesthetic.

Over subsequent decades, the 66-year-old architect has increasingly turned to a more subtle -- even conservative -- architectural language. His best museum work is notable for its understanding of context and use of natural light.

The Nasher is the latest testament to that creative evolution. The center houses a collection of blue-chip sculptural works by such artists as Alberto Giacometti, Pablo Picasso and Richard Serra. The Dallas Museum of Art faces the building on one side; I.M. Pei’s Morton H. Meyerson Symphony Center is two blocks away. The soaring towers of Dallas’ downtown rise just across from the building’s main entry.

The building is conceived as a sort of psychological filter, drawing the viewer out of the surrounding urban context and into a more intimate, private world. A series of massive travertine walls is set perpendicular to the street, dividing the building into five parallel bays. The bays are enclosed in glass at either end, so that passersby can peer through the lobby and galleries out to a vast sculpture garden in the back.

That sense of flow slows as one enters the building, allowing the art to be brought into full focus. From the lobby bay, a series of portals is cut through the travertine walls, leading into the two main galleries, a bookstore and a cafe. Two broad staircases connect the lobby to the administrative offices, conservation lab and a 200-seat auditorium below ground level.

Long and narrow, the galleries are elegantly proportioned. But their beauty stems from the quality of the light. A series of low vaulted roofs covers each bay. The roofs are conceived as two independent membranes that are meant to take advantage of the fact that sculpture -- unlike painting -- can withstand a high degree of natural light without damage.

A grid of lightweight aluminum panels -- pierced by a series of small oval apertures -- forms each roof’s upper layer. The apertures are oriented to the north, protecting the interior from the harsher southern light. A second layer of clear glass is set below this panel system to seal each bay from the outdoors.

The result -- on most days -- is a remarkably soft natural light. What is more, the mood of the rooms changes depending on the weather and time of day, imbuing the artwork with a liveliness that one would otherwise not feel. One is made constantly aware of the natural world outside.

The roof design falls short, however, as a work of technical innovation. In its complexity, the roof echoes earlier Piano designs, such as the Menil and the more recent 1997 Beyeler Foundation Museum in Basel, Switzerland. These structures, in turn, were a response to Louis Kahn’s Kimbell Art Museum design -- a landmark of 20th century architecture in nearby Fort Worth. Like the Nasher, the Kimbell is organized as a series of long narrow bays, each covered by a vaulted ceiling. Light filters down through a narrow slot set along the ridge where the two sides of the vault normally meet to support its weight. The design defies structural logic. The effect is pure magic.

Piano seems to be reaching for a similar effect here. Because the Nasher’s vaults are too low to support their own weight, Piano has designed a complex cable system that creates additional support from above. The cables -- tied back to the heavy travertine walls -- are visible above the roof line. But the dual structural systems seem unnecessarily complex, and the lightweight cables seem at odds with the massive weight of the travertine walls. As a structural solution, it lacks the clarity -- and drama -- of Kahn’s.

If Piano’s design does not rank among the great landmarks of museum design that have preceded it, it is nonetheless an important work. This is especially apparent as one wanders into the garden. A broad granite terrace extends from the back of the building before stepping down gently to meet a vast lawn. Rows of live oaks and cedars divide the garden into a series of formal paths. An outdoor amphitheater is tucked out of view to one side, so as not to interrupt the unbroken expanse of lawn.

A stainless steel Cubist bust by Naum Gabo anchors one end of the terrace.

An enormous Mark di Suvero sculpture, made of interlocking steel I-beams, rises in the near distance.

More works spread out across the lawn from here. At its far end, the formal arrangement is punctuated by a black, tomb-like form that houses James Turrell’s “Tending, (Blue).”

The transition between inside and out is virtually seamless. At moments, fragments of the green lawn are reflected off the interior ceiling, further blending the work into its natural landscape.

Even the surfaces of the travertine reflect the subtlety of that transition. Inside, the walls are smooth to the touch; outside, they are left rough and unfinished.

As one moves deeper into the garden, the scene becomes more urban. A dense cluster of brooding towers rises up behind the center. Automobiles can be heard roaring by on the nearby Woodall Rodgers Freeway.

It is that context that differentiates the Nasher from the Menil.

The Menil was essentially conceived as a private house, its low, cedar-clad form set among sweeping lawns and quiet suburban bungalows. The Nasher is an urban museum. Its setting is more dynamic. As such, its bucolic aura is set in opposition to the chaotic energy that surrounds it.

If such unresolved tensions make this a less-than-perfect work, they nonetheless underline the sense of decency that has made Piano such a beloved architect in art circles. As Piano has aged, he seems increasingly concerned with creating spaces that stress the gentleness with which seemingly conflicting forces can be woven into a coherent architectural composition. His desire is to reveal the more delicate aspects of the human spirit. It is an aim worth pursuing, even when the outcome falls slightly short of expectations.