Fragile art takes a hit in an interactive world
Can the public love public art to death?

Yes, it can, particularly if the art isn't ready to take the kind of pounding that goes with being displayed in a raucous public place rather the refined confines of a museum.

That is what's happening in Millennium Park, where the Burnham Plan centennial pavilion by Amsterdam architect Ben van Berkel and his UNStudio will close this week for desperately needed repairs.

Ever since Van Berkel's pavilion opened June 19, the human urge to climb has boldly asserted itself. In scenes out of "Lord of the Flies," little kids have run up the pavilion's scoop-like curves, gouging openings in its glossy white surface and exposing underlying plywood. Skateboarders, older and heavier, have left track marks. On July 3, adults climbed the scoops and clambered onto the pavilion's flat roof to get a better view of the fireworks. The pavilion had to be shut down lest anybody fall off and crack a skull.

Once sleekly sculptural, Van Berkel's design now resembles a beaten-up jungle gym. It will be out of commission for four days, beginning Tuesday.

"Why is this a surprise to anybody?" said Harriet F. Senie, an art history professor at City College in New York and the author of several books on public art. "The first thing people do with public art is they climb on it."

Meanwhile, the other Burnham pavilion -- a podlike structure by London architect Zaha Hadid that opened Tuesday -- is having problems of its own. All too predictably, parkgoers stepped onto its ground-hugging fabric walls, leaving footprint marks. Stanchions were installed to prevent the fabric from being ripped.

It's easy to point fingers at Van Berkel and Hadid for creating dazzling pieces of sculpture that failed to anticipate how people would behave. Yet it is also true that star architects need tough clients to say no, when they come up with designs that are beautiful but impractical.

In this case, the client consisted of a committee organizing programs to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Daniel Burham's Plan of Chicago and the City of Chicago's Department of Cultural Affairs. The pavilions, which are scheduled to come down Oct. 31, are meant to draw attention to the centennial activities.

"We have never done this before," said Emily Harris, executive director of the Burnham Plan Centennial Committee. "Pavilions like this have not been built in free, open public venues in Chicago and other major American cities. It's all a learning experience. Expert designers were coming up with something that seemed reasonable. There are lots of things I would challenge harder next time."

In hindsight, the troubles were easy to anticipate, especially because Millennium Park's Cloud Gate (also known as the "The Bean") and Crown Fountain are different from old-fashioned sculptures of generals on horseback.

They do not stand on pedestals, demanding that we gaze at them respectfully. They are products of a less formal time, the interactive age of the computer. They invite participation, not veneration.

New York sculptor Ursula von Rydingsvard, who has designed public art and visited Millennium Park last month, said from her studio that the architects should have done more to anticipate how this atmosphere of interactivity would affect their work.

"I think that Zaha putting the cloth on the ground just begs to be stepped on," she said. "I don't think you can do that in a public place."

The problems of the Hadid pavilion can be easily fixed with railings that will keep parkgoers away from the fabric. Such a solution is being discussed, according to Harris. Hadid was not available for an interview Friday.

Ironically, her pavilion's insubstantiality -- it consists of tent fabric stretched over curving aluminum ribs -- may be helping to protect it. The design suggests to parkgoers that the pavilion is fragile and shouldn't be climbed on, said Jon Pounds, executive director of the non-profit Chicago Public Art Group.

In contrast, Van Berkel's pavilion resembles a permanent building (Mies van der Rohe's masterful Farnsworth House) with its parallel floor and roof slabs. While the pavilion is undergirded with steel, it is covered in plywood, which has been unable to stand up to the beating dished out by the assorted climbers. Had the building been permanent, rather than temporary, the architects clearly would not have used it.

"It was not anticipated that visitors would be interested in climbing the structure to the extent that they have," UNStudio's Karen Murphy wrote in an e-mail Friday. "[W]e are very pleased that the pavilion is being visited by so many people. ... We do, however, apologize that the materials are not holding up as we had anticipated."

To prevent the problem from recurring when the pavilion reopens, there will be increased security, Harris said. The scoops may get a slippery finish to discourage climbing. The clients even are discussing affixing vinyl letters on the scoops that read, "Do not climb."

One wonders, given Millennium Park's global popularity, if such a message would need to be spelled out in other languages as well as English. Without doubt, the warnings would represent an ugly Band-Aid -- and a symbol of how top architects and their clients failed to adequately address one of the fundamental issues posed by putting art in public places.