I’m very sick today. Unfortunately, I’ve stayed home all day without a will to do anything. In the midst of all the sniffles and sneezes and reliving my childhood by watching thirteen year old Degrassi episodes (those good ol’ days!), I found myself thinking about Giacometti’s artworks…again. 

What is it about Giacometti that absolutely drives me insane?

Let me make a list:

And the list goes on and on…

I think it’s safe to say that Giacometti is in my top 5 of greatest artists that ever lived! 

I actually wrote an essay on Giacometti’s use of space and void in his post World War II sculptures. You can read it here. [ps. I love this journal because it is the inaugural edition of the Art History Department’s journal and my friends wrote some amazing pieces for it too!] Yes, that was me shamelessly advertising our writings…

Back to Giacometti.

I closed my eyes and remembered LACMA’s collection of Giacometti’s sculptures. Now, LACMA does not allow photographs, because they do not own the collection (bummer); however, you can search “Giacometti LACMA” in Google and you’ll be able to see exactly what I mean [some awesomely sneaky people took pics!].

In my opinion, it is a very beautifully curated room. I’ve seen one of Giacometti’s sculptures in Norton Simon and MOCA as well, but I find LACMA’s choice to group them all on a “stage” is such an interesting display choice. [On a side note, I should mention this is clever because Giacometti had an obsession with stages and the theatre.] 

When we go to a museum, we observe artworks. We stare at them, with the knowledge and comfort that these objects have absolutely no way of responding to us. Even though the Mona Lisa and other like works, who’s eyes always follow the viewer, seems to stare back, she’s still framed off by the traditional use of a frame. Giacometti’s sculptures in LACMA are framed off as well, but they’re grouped on a stage, as if they were real figures or body parts petrified in that moment. No longer are we watching them; they are watching us. 

We enter gallery spaces, view art, critique them, and leave feeling quasi-cultured and somewhat satisfied. Giacometti’s sculptures don’t allow that; they critique us, as if to say, “Who are you to enter my space and judge how a mastermind has chosen to depict me?” This makes me think twice about how I look at art. Of course, a lot has to do with the curatorial decision to place the sculptures on an elevated stage, but it’s the vision of Giacometti that the curators are helping convey. Giacometti’s thin, sickly figures tear into my soul and completely take over my thoughts.