Hammons, Salcedo, and Puryear at MCASD

I particularly enjoyed a couple of permanent collection installations when I was in California last month, none moreso than three related works at MCASD:

The more David Hammons I see the more David Hammons I want to see. MCASD's downton 1001 Kettner space (I know, it's confusing -- here's a map. The new MCASD Downtown is at the train station; 1001 Kettner is nearby.) MCASD had up a small collection show called Material Actions. It featured abstract sculpture inspired by the body.

Hammons' 1989 Champ (right) is impeccable and clever, beautiful and sad. The materials are simple: inner tube, (silver) duct tape, and boxing gloves (with laces hanging down). Hammons smartly mixes a deflated sport with deflated materials to examine the role of the prize fighter in American culture, especially black culture. Before the NBA was a dreamed-of escape-valve for urban youth, boxing offered the bruising, difficult way up. Fighters such as Jack Johnson and Joe Louis were heroes to black America, fighters who crossed-over and had success in mainstream society. But with success came tragedy: Louis died broke, his funeral paid for by German rival Max Schmeling. The tragedy went beyond individual figures: Countless young black men hoped boxing would provide a way up but instead were merely pummeled, used as entertainment, in match-fixing schemes, as disposable cogs in brutal entertainment.

I also think about Champ through the prism of what was happening in the sporting world in 1989. Hammons had to be influenced by what was happening around him: Mike Tyson was on top of the boxing game, destroying every in-ring opponent in sight, the most prominent athlete in America. But signs of Tyson's soon-to-be-messy-end were everywhere: In late 1988 Tyson's wife, Robin Givens, accused him of beating her. Tyson broke his hand in a much-publicized street fight with boxer Mitch "Blood" Green and wrapped his BMW around a tree, which the New York Daily News reported as a suicide attempt. "Real freedom is having nothing," Tyson said at the time. "I was freer when I didn't have a cent. Do you know what I do sometimes? Put on a ski mask and dress in old clothes, go out on the streets and beg for quarters."

In 1989 Tyson continued to dominante opponents in the ring, but struggled outside it. His divorce from Givens was finalized. He was accused of fighting with an LA parking attendant. And early in 1990 he'd lose his heavyweight title to unknown Buster Douglas in one of the greatest upsets in boxing history. In 1991 he was arrested on a rape charge. Tyson's sport has never recovered from the damage he did to it -- and to himself.

So Hammons' Champ feels right. There are wounds on the 'fighter,' a melted patch on the left side, and 'stitches' on the right, near the top, where the head might be. The duct tape holding the gloves to the inner tube looks old, almost inert. Like boxing, Hammons' tired Champ won't be coming back to life anytime soon. (Of course Champ is a near-relative of MoMA's terrific 1990 Hammons, High Falutin'.)

Across the gallery from Champ was Martin Puryear's Vault. And in La Jolla MCASD was showing their nice 1995 Doris Salcedo. Vault, a crafty-cave, is just big enough for a human to fit in. Salcedo's cement-filled cabinet is seven-feet tall, also big enough for a person. Each comes with a set of associations: Intentionally or not, Puryear's Vault conjures an Underground Railroad hiding place. Salcedo's work brings to mind people who have disappeared, possibly been tortured. Seeing the three in the course of a morning was the good kind of haunting.