THE exuberant, blossoming, titanium-clad museum designed by architect Daniel Libeskind is a brilliant container for art and a stunning work itself.
The Denver Art Museum’s new Frederic C. Hamilton Building opened Oct. 7, and has achieved national prominence with attention from the likes of Time, Newsweek, Vanity Fair and The New York Times.
This project is the most important structure to open in the Mile High City since its predecessor, Gio Ponti’s original museum building, debuted 35 years ago.
Other buildings have attracted attention, from the white peaks of Denver International Airport to the multicolored Denver Central Library. But for importance in terms of a big step toward a new regional design maturity, the $110 million Denver Art Museum project wins hands down.
It’s fitting the institution that hired a noted Italian architect to create his only North American building would, 35 years later, retain another intellectually vigorous designer to add a structure that not only extends the space, but complements its intent, mission and aesthetic.
The Hamilton Building is all about joy, possibility and connection. It works with its neighbors, neither dwarfing nor disrespecting Michael Graves’ library nor Ponti’s original museum building.
There have been only a few changes since Libeskind unveiled his design. There is less glass and the building is now completely titanium: In earlier descriptions the architect had discussed using both titanium and granite in the building.
Some elements take time to appreciate — including the fact that at street level there are no real views inside, except at the entry and the first-floor mini-prow (into a space called the director’s lounge).
The bridge linking the old and new buildings provides a great vantage point for watching traffic, viewing new public art on the Hamilton Building site and enjoying the mountains to the west. It also provides a way into the addition from the original structure.
But that’s not the entry that offers major impact: The museum has a new front door, off the plaza, that leads into one of its most intriguing spaces. First, there is a visitors’ services area: An intimate, pure-white area that serves as pause before moving into the spectacular volumes of the 120-foot-high El Pomar Atrium.
The atrium staircase — at times wide, narrow and, not surprisingly, angular — leads in a twisted path to the three floors above, bold yet human-scaled at the same time. It is an unforgettably powerful, yet peaceful, space, with the contrast of dark gray granite pavers set against stark white walls. It’s augmented by the lighted components of the Percent for Art piece installed up and around the atrium walls.
The first floor also contains one of three special exhibition galleries, with the other two on the second floor. All three have identities and have the flexibility needed for imported shows. They manage to mix the building’s angular forms with standard exhibition practices.
The largest, on the second floor, will open with a massive show from the Kent and Vicki Logan Collection of contemporary art.
The first floor sets the paradigm for the relationship of art and architecture throughout. Yes, there are specific galleries, behind large glass doors. But the play of light from the skylights that ring the slanted atrium “roof” and various slitlike openings also offers unexpected places for pieces to be installed, while offering up architectural elements up as art objects, too.
The staircase leads to landings/walkways on each floor that provide a chance to look up and down into the atrium. It’s a view both captivating and precipitous, and at times surprising, because from an angle some of these broad expanses of drywall look almost wavy. But Libeskind has put us inside an iceberg, and we like it.
The second floor, which is where visitors pass between the buildings, is a mix of activity and calm. The two special exhibition galleries have their own discrete entrances and can be connected to accommodate a larger show.
An equal draw is the second-floor galleries for Western art, centered on a “Main Street” type of connector that flows from the bridge. Some of the museum’s strongest works reside here, pieces that speak to the region, its beauty and challenges.
But the place is bland. Color plays a role in that: Walls that reflect structure, designed by Libeskind, are white, while walls or panels added to display art are tan. I understand keeping this differentiation, though it has not been followed in other galleries. But I miss the range of colors, from buttery to coral, in the old seventh-floor Western galleries in the Ponti building. Somehow the all-white spaces on the first floor and floors three and four seem more lively than that somber mix of white and tan.
Visitors will find that galleries on the third and fourth floor hew closely to the exterior form, soaring spaces for modern and contemporary art (especially on the fourth floor) that seem to cradle each work while providing room to breathe.
The Oceanic and African galleries on floors three and four, respectively, face a challenge. They are smaller offshoots from the main galleries with complicated angles with which to deal. The African gallery is awash in cabinetry (again, tan), making things seem more complicated than they need to be, while the Oceanic space is more traditionally installed.
The modern and contemporary floors are linked by an interior stairway, as well as the placement of an Alexander Calder mobile. It’s a nice touch to hang that here and not in the atrium, a la so many museums. And it’s an example of how Libeskind worked with making places for art and the curators worked with architecture to tie things together.
The Hamilton Building has prompted discussion about what a museum — really, what a building — should be. In one camp are those who revel in the flamboyance of a building by Libeskind or Frank Gehry, the neo-expressionism that pushes the technology of construction as well as our conception of our built environment.
On the other are those looking for more restraint and severity, in the realm of neo-modernism, a David Adjaye, perhaps, or Tadao Ando or Yoshio Taniguchi. The building may be beautiful, but it must also serve more as wrapper than architectural object — certainly not as showpiece.
It’s too much to ask everyone to agree to disagree, since both viewpoints are valid. But this much is clear: The Hamilton Building is an outstanding achievement, no matter your perspective.
