The Burnham Pavillions: Impressions from a Casual Observer

When art installations are temporary (and isn’t this nearly always the case with contemporary art?), I like to try to see them while they're around. If you're into art at all, I’d recommend viewing the Burnham Pavilions in Millennium Park before they’re disassembled and disappear at the end of October.

Last Wednesday, I finished work and had a few hours to kill before I headed over to the Joffrey, so I decided to grab a smoothie and head to the park. A friend of mine had mentioned to me that the Zaha Hadid pavilion had just opened and since it is part of the Burnham series designed to mark the Centennial Celebration of the Plan of Chicago, I was eager to check it out. I’m glad I approached it from the south side. In my opinion, the best view of the structure is standing at the southern entrance, facing northwest, where the widest mouth of the pavilion awaits your entrance. I heard one viewer characterize the pavilion as a conch shell, and, although not a conch, I don't think “shell” is too far off the mark.

The official description of the pavilion materials are “aluminum…dressed in a tensile fabric.” Whether or not “tensile fabric” means canvass is unclear, but as you approach the art piece, that familiar tent smell overtakes you. Stepping inside, you feel a sense of being indoors and outdoors at once. Long slats covered in a clear material (canvas again?) allow the sun to penetrate the structure, and you can peer out to see clouds and building tops. Small blue lights accent the ridges created by the incorporation of the slats. Combined with the fanned-out views of sky, they create a pleasing aesthetic effect.

As I wandered about with my point-and-shoot camera (yes, I’m a total amateur), trying to find the best angles for photographs, I couldn’t help but notice the dirty hand and footprints along the insides of the pavilion. Why white?, I wondered. Probably because white had a nice, reflective effect with the sun shining through the structure, and I’m sure it makes an ideal backdrop for the colorful lights that illuminate the pavilion at night. It's just such a shame that the structure had been open only one day and it was already looking dingy.



When I headed out of the Zaha Hadid, toward the UNStudio pavilion, I stopped to get a picture from the north side of the white canvas structure. The shell suddenly became a spaceship, looking somewhat similar to the one used in Flight of the Navigator. I decided that I preferred the inside.



Heading toward the UNStudio Pavilion, and dodging heavy concentrations of tourists along the way, I immediately noticed two kids climbing on the art piece. As I grew closer, I saw large, exposed patches of gray, where the paint had rubbed off, and a prominent sign asking that no one climb on the structure. I felt a sinking feeling not unlike the one I felt when I saw the footprints inside the "shell." And I was amazed at how long it took the kids’ parents to come up and tell them not to climb on the art work. But I did like the fact that, like the Zaha Hadid, the UNStudio welcomes you to walk through it. It’s interactive in that sense. I decided that, although the exposed gray patches and dirty footprints changed the face of the artwork, people had been taking part in the art by doing more than just staring at it. And I think there’s something to be said for that.

I won’t sit here and pretend that I’m some kind of art snob, or that I even have a solid grasp of art history. I just like to look at beautiful things and notice interesting angles and effects. If you want to know what the artists were trying to do with these pavilions, visit the Burnham Pavilions page, or pick up one of the programs at the information booths in the park. Both pavilions relate to the city of Chicago: one uses lines to mimic the diagonal streets of Chicago (the Zaha Hadid); the other, inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright’s Robie House, reaches out to accentuate the Chicago skyline (yes, I read the program).

I think I walked around taking pictures and observing for about half an hour. I felt very uplifted after examining them, and jotting down a few notes. So, even though I probably won’t remember the details I read about the artists or how long it took to install the pavilions and may even forget some of the artists’ intent, I will remember the smells and the view, and how it felt to walk through each one, and how I felt afterward. And those details are important to me.