http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/06/10/AR200506100
0942.html

Indian Museum's Uneasy Presence Bespeaks Troubled Past

By Roger K. Lewis
Saturday, June 11, 2005; F05

Whenever someone asks me what I think of the National Museum of the
American Indian, I always give the same answer: It is one of the few
museums I was eager to leave after a relatively short visit.

I find the museum's design flawed in many ways. Some of its flaws reflect
in part the contentious process by which it was designed, in part the
complexity of its challenging mission and in part the unique aesthetic
credo of Native American architect Douglas Cardinal, the man responsible
for the museum's design concept.

Best known for his design of the Canadian Museum of Civilization in Ottawa,
Cardinal's compositional ethos is predicated on expressing in architecture
the organic patterns of nature. Using circular and curving forms, he
persistently eschews the angular and the rectilinear.

At first glance, the museum is a visually arresting, an unconventional work
of architecture sitting on a prominent Mall site. It grabs attention with
its fluid, curvilinear geometry, dramatic cantilevers, horizontally
undulating surfaces of amber, rough-hewn Kasota limestone and ribbons of
undulating dark glass that separate stone-faced tiers, making them seem to
float. It looks natural, yet at the same time, structurally unnatural with
its wavy, weighty bands of suspended stone.

The museum's symbolic form, color and texture clearly recall the
extraordinary geological formations -- undercut canyon walls and cliffs --
found in the plateau regions of the Southwest, places once inhabited by
Native Americans, in particular the Anasazi tribes. Mesa Verde and Chaco
Canyon come to mind.

Evidently the Smithsonian and Native American stakeholders from all parts
of the Americas, plus the Commission of Fine Arts, were convinced that this
southwestern imagery, representing a particular regional landscape and thus
a particular Native American culture, would be appropriate for this museum
at this site.

But why employ this highly specific metaphor and exclude others? Why were
landscapes and architectural traditions of tribal groups in the Northeast,
Southeast, Northwest and center of the continent not made manifest? In
fact, not every Native American traditional structure is curved or
circular.

There may be several rationales, but for Cardinal, embracing southwestern
geology and cliff-dwelling imagery undoubtedly enabled him to more easily
continue imposing his beloved curvilinear geometry.

Given the extraordinary diversity of Native American cultures, of natural
environments and building traditions, it seems profoundly wrong-headed to
make a Native American museum in Washington that embodies or expresses
architecturally only one of those cultures.

A better strategy would have been to create a compelling urban edifice
befitting its special place on the Mall. Without sacrificing the potential
for dynamic curb appeal, the building could have been more transparent,
both symbolically and literally. Instead of saying "Southwest" so
assertively, it could have made an architectural statement about being
comprehensive and inclusive, about being home to all of the Indian cultures
of the Americas.

The museum's interior is equally problematic. The soaring, 120-foot-high
rotunda -- the "Potomac" -- adjacent to the east-facing entrance exudes an
emptiness that makes it seem too vast, purposeless and misplaced. Intended
as an event space, most of the time it serves as a gargantuan entry foyer.

The Potomac could have been more central to the building, with galleries
orbiting around it. And it didn't need to be a pure circle capped by yet
another D.C. dome. Flooded with light from above, it could have been a
grand, animated domain connected to exhibits, a space of recurring
orientation for visitors as they traverse from one gallery to another.

The galleries themselves, mostly windowless with ceilings darkened, are
spatially disorienting, hard to navigate, cluttered and organized in ways
that defy comprehension. Like many who have questioned the exhibition
strategy, I was uncomfortable with the didactically incoherent collection.
"Science yields to stories" was the Post's characterization in September
when the museum opened, but stories have narrative structure, and I could
never discover or decode the structure.

Because many of the artifacts on display are not as light-sensitive as
paintings or drawings, galleries could have been greatly enriched by
introducing filtered natural light and providing more views to and from the
outside world.

Perhaps this museum was destined to be aesthetically compromised,
considering its troubled history.

In 1993 the Smithsonian Institution selected Cardinal as lead designer, but
as a subcontractor to the Philadelphia firm GBQC, the executive architect.
Not surprisingly, disputes arose between the two architectural firms as
well as between the architects and client. The project bogged down, and the
Smithsonian subsequently fired GBQC and Cardinal for missing deadlines and
failing to fulfill other contract obligations. Disagreements about money
also spoiled relationships. (At one point Cardinal retained me to help
settle one of the disputes.)

Nevertheless, Cardinal's initial concept had been approved by both the
client and the Commission of Fine Arts, although the Smithsonian wanted the
design edited. A new team of architects and landscape architects -- James
Stewart Polshek & Partners, the Smith Group, Jones & Jones, EDAW -- took
over the design process and the scheme, made revisions (some of which were
rejected by the commission), and finally got the project built.

During all of this, design implementation was further complicated by the
nature of the client, officially the Smithsonian. But there were really
hundreds of clients. The programming, conceptual content, internal
arrangement and exhibition strategy of the museum were substantially
determined by a sizable group of Native American tribal representatives.
Thus, it was not just design by a committee, but design by a very, very
large committee.

In the end, having been unceremoniously discharged and claiming to have
done work for which he was not compensated, an embittered Cardinal has
disclaimed design authorship. Last September, he refused to attend the
museum's opening and dedication and has condemned all those responsible for
bastardizing his design.

Yet the resulting edifice, while departing somewhat from the original
concept, is still very much a Douglas Cardinal building. Whether a Douglas
Cardinal building was the right building to house this extraordinary
collection at this unique site remains in question.

Roger K. Lewis is a practicing architect and a professor of architecture at
the University of Maryland.

© 2005 The Washington Post Company