ART SPACES: Guggenheim Bilbao, Puppy, Man From Naples, and The Matter of Time
“This is what we call Shitty Mitty,” our native Basque tour guide gestures to the misty rain which flurries around us. We’ve been in Bilbao for all of an hour, and I’m already regretting my choice of a short skirt for today’s exploration. The streets of Bilbao are covered in puddles, and the homes surrounding us are painted in varying colors that remind me of a Studio Ghibli film.
Bilbao felt like a mole on the collarbone of Spain to me—perhaps obtrusive, but sticking out and demanding attention. After plenty of Pintxos and wine, our tour guide drops us off at the Guggenheim Museum, an architectural feat of beauty that does not contain a single straight line. The exterior of the museum is metallic, shaped like a boat—an apt design for Bilbao, an industrial port city that receives a lot of rain.
It was in this misty weather that my mind descended into the Guggenheim Bilbao, my mind ready to be ravished as my taste buds had just been. The pieces I found within the curved walls bridge time, permanence, and memory in ways that tantalize and melt beautifully beneath the “shitty mitty” of the city which surrounds it. Puppy by Jeff Koons, Man from Naples by Jean-Michel Basquiat, and The Matter of Time by Richard Serra embody the unintended effects of permanence—both love and resentment.
Puppy: Warmth, Love, and Memory
Warmth, affection, and endurance: Puppy by Jeff Koons stands as a proud figure in front of the Guggenheim. Its installation was never intended to be permanent, but the locals loved it so much that they demanded it remain after the grand opening of the museum. Now, a team of florists maintains the flowers by season, keeping the statue as alive and vibrant as the day it was erected.
The constant maintenance of Puppy highlights the fragility of memory and affection, as continuous effort is required to preserve the cherished symbol. Beauty is a decaying element, and with time, we must focus on maintaining it, or it will wilt. The flowers on your nightstand must be trimmed, fed with sugar water, and whispered affirmations to thrive. Puppy is the embodiment of nourishment, as tourists and locals alike feed the sculpture with love at every glance.
Though the flowers that are replaced may be temporary, the paradoxical idea of holding on to the fleeting warmth of love, and its constant stance outside the Guggenheim, holds true. The demand for its stay by locals is a testament to the need for nourishing and affirming love, which requires maintenance to endure.
Man from Naples: Eternal Resentment
Inspired by a trip to Italy in 1982, Man from Naples by Jean-Michel Basquiat is a mashup of misspelled words, graffiti-styled across the canvas. The piece reflects the bad feelings Basquiat had about his Italian patron, whom he called a “pork merchant.” The many misprints on the piece highlight Basquiat’s dissatisfaction with Italy, as he spoke Italian, intentionally marking his trip with resented misrepresentation.
Memory and time are not always about hugs and love; they can also be reflected in scratches and marks that seethe from the canvas, as in Man from Naples. Despite familiarity with a culture—even fluency in its language—we can remember things with such a sour taste that it results in misprints and mis-renderings. This piece feels like a shout, a scream of distaste and dissatisfaction with his Italian patron, and perhaps larger parts of Italian society.
The Matter of Time: The Endless Passage of Life
Richard Serra’s The Matter of Time offers an immersive experience where the viewer is challenged to physically engage with the massive sculptures, representing the passage of time. In order to fully view the work, you must move through space, and due to its grand size, the slow march mirrors our slow, inevitable march with time. The sheer perceived weight and heaviness of the work evoke permanence, suggesting both constant movement and stillness within the passage, all at once.
The space created by this piece emphasizes how our perception of time evolves with age. Serra’s work is physically and monumentally enduring, reflecting the idea that even large forms are tied to the endless passage of time. Time constantly changes shape, redefining our reality as we consume it. Even the most imposing, grand pieces of art challenge our perception of permanence—this permanence does not need to be marked by love or hate, but can simply be a passage without judgment.
Conclusion
The design of the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao is the perfect setting for housing these works, which challenge reflections on memory and collective identity over time. The captivating curves of its architecture demonstrate how art preserves and reshapes our understanding of both time and memory. I will always remember Bilbao for "shitty mitty," the delicious Pintxos from El Globo, and Kalimotxos—symbols of love and endurance despite the fleeting single day I spent on its wet streets.
The tension between permanence and transience reveals how we interact with time and the inevitable decay of what we cherish and what we despise. In either case, everything around us is constantly slipping through our fingers, urging us to reflect on how our relationship with memory and impermanence shapes our lives. Through these works (and cities like Bilbao), art serves as a means of engaging with existential themes, prompting us to reconsider what we truly remember in the fleeting moments of our existence.
