Monolith Mural in Need of a Face-Lift

A monolithic public artwork has become a cultural irony in downtown Los Angeles.

Despite its size, it is easy to miss by passersby.

When it was erected in 1962, the 80-foot by 20-foot mosaic mural in front of the Los Angeles County Hall of Records stood as a glittery testament to the region’s booming growth.

Today the mural -- a highly stylized topographical map of Los Angeles County fashioned by one of the nation’s best-known mosaic artists -- is dingy and decaying.

A chunk of its polished slate face has fallen off, the top is streaked with black water stains, and a once-flowing streamlet that was integral to the artwork is now a receptacle for rancid water, leaves and trash.

The mural’s creator, now 85, is saddened to see the piece falling into ruin. But he says the residents of Los Angeles County are more shortchanged than the artist when a civic artwork is allowed to languish.

“The public paid for it,” said Joseph Young of Los Angeles. “My job is to do the work, and the public’s job is to see it and, if they like it, defend it.”

As it turns out, the mural at 320 W. Temple St. has a powerful defender in the county Arts Commission, and because of a new arts policy, it might soon be rescued from its gloomy state.

“I think it’s a particularly striking and magnificent piece. It needs tender loving care,” said Laura Zucker, the commission’s executive director.

In December, after a six-year effort, the commission persuaded the county Board of Supervisors to set aside 1% of the cost of new county construction projects for public artworks. There is no estimate on how much repairing the Hall of Records mural would cost.

Zucker said county-owned art in open settings, including the mosaic, will get new attention and long-sought maintenance.

“Public art is as essential as parks and libraries,” she said.

Zucker predicted that the Hall of Records mural would be rehabilitated within two years.

Young was thrilled to hear the news from a reporter. “Public art has been a part of every civilization on Earth,” he said. “It should be kept as originally intended.”

Pat Gomez, who manages the city’s public art collection said art plays a unique role in softening the harshness of busy places.

“It’s hugely important. It can reflect the people, their values. Aesthetically, it adds to the value of the landscape,” she said.

Young drew his inspiration for the Hall of Records piece from the property deeds stored in the building.

The slate-and-tile mural depicts an abstract view of the county’s geographic features: black for mountains, brown for valleys and blue for water.

Young included miniature bronze fountains on the vertical face to represent the county’s water resources -- lakes, rivers and reservoirs -- which enabled thriving development to occur in the 1950s and ‘60s. The fountains fed into a large tiled pond and lent a pleasing murmur to the noisy streetscape.

“I intended to make the public consider appreciating water -- everything vital for living,” Young recalled.

But that crucial kinetic element evaporated in the 1980s when the county decided to save money by shutting off the flowing water.

“That was outrageous,” Young said.

The map is not the only Young creation at the Civic Center to have maintenance problems.

Another massive sculpture of his, the Triforium, drew much scorn from sidewalk critics and newspaper columnists after it was erected in 1975 near City Hall. It was derided as “the Trifoolery” and “the Psychedelic Nickelodeon.”

The six-story, three-pronged tower’s two main features -- dancing colored lights and computer-generated music -- haven’t worked for years.

Overall, Young’s career was marked by acclaim. Books and articles cited him as a nationally recognized mosaic artisan.

More than two dozen of his works are sprinkled throughout Los Angeles, including a massive mosaic in Los Angeles’ Parker Center police headquarters and a much-praised Holocaust monument in the Fairfax district’s Pan Pacific Park.

Though public art sprang from the lofty ideal of making surroundings less sterile, one hard lesson government agencies have learned is that it requires upkeep.

As Young’s Hall of Records mural illustrates, that goal sometimes falls short.

“It’s important that these works be maintained,” Gomez said. “These were put out by artists who were important, and they were put there for the public’s enjoyment.”

But on a recent day, scores of pedestrians ambled by on busy Temple Street without so much as a glance at Young’s stone canvas at the Hall of Records.

“It looks like something someone started and never finished,” said Erick Cruz, 34, a law clerk who passes by every couple of days but said he never noticed it. “They should replace it with something more catchy.”

Another impromptu critic surveyed the piece with an eyebrow cocked in uncertainty. “It’s not the best piece of art I’ve seen,” said Louis Jimenez, 56, who sells antiques in Beverly Hills.

Asked if he could tell what it depicted, Jimenez said he “never would have guessed” that it was a map of Los Angeles County. “It could be, yeah,” he said, pausing for a closer look.

“There’s the ocean, the rivers,” he said, suddenly brightening. “Yeah, it’s kind of nice-looking.”