A piece of the heavens on Earth

In 1959, French artist Yves Klein (1928-62) was invited to participate in a group exhibition in Antwerp, Belgium, but arrived at the opening empty-handed. In lieu of the monochrome paintings for which he was then best known, he stood in the space allotted to him and offered a single line from the philosopher Gaston Bachelard: “First there is nothing, then there is a deep nothing, then there is a blue depth.” He recounted the experience several months later at the Sorbonne in a lecture titled “The Evolution of Art Toward the Immaterial,” which went on to outline what he viewed as the next logical step: the eradication of not only the painting but the wall it might have hung on.

He called the project “Air Architecture,” and it dominated the final years of his sadly short career. This little-known, rather wacky facet of Klein’s oeuvre is the subject of a fascinating exhibition now at the MAK Center.

The master plan explained here through the artist’s drawings, photographs, films and writings involved the transformation of entire neighborhoods into climate-controlled bubbles of communal life. Facilities such as kitchens, bathrooms and storage units would be moved underground, leaving the surface of the earth free of buildings and all private property.

A massive canopy of air, projected from the outskirts, would provide shelter from the elements, while strategically placed fountains of water and fire would regulate the temperature. Furniture, where necessary, would be made from banks of pulsating air. The goal was nothing short of a new Eden, where humanity would be restored to a state of direct contact with nature and where the restrictive trappings of traditional society could be abandoned.

“The concept of secrecy,” for example, “still common in our world, has disappeared in this city, which is flooded with light / and completely open to the outside / A new atmosphere of human intimacy prevails / the inhabitants live naked / The former patriarchal structure of the family no longer exists / The community is perfect, free, individualistic, impersonal / The main activity of the inhabitants: leisure.”

It was not, of course, an especially practical project. As architect Claude Parent recalls in the show’s excellent catalog, “I must say that never in the least did Klein have a true relationship with architecture.”

He proceeded doggedly, however, enlisting the assistance of more technically minded individuals (German architect Werner Ruhnau, with whom he collaborated on the decoration of the Gelsenkirchen opera house in 1958, was his initial partner), as well as securing patents and performing experiments. Among the show’s highlights are two silent films representing the latter.

One is a grainy, black-and-white depiction of faucet water being laterally diverted by a steady blast of air (the idea behind the air canopy), the other a dimly colored collage of various gas jets. Though documentary in nature, both are beautiful to watch. (A screening of other films by the artist -- one of half a dozen events planned in conjunction with the exhibition -- is scheduled for July 1 at the American Cinematheque.)

In addition to the various historical objects, curator Francois Perrin, himself an architect, has enveloped the space in an installation that puts several of Klein’s concepts into action. A weather station on the roof monitors local conditions and communicates the information to a computer, which then activates a network of humidifiers, heaters, misters and fans in an attempt to moderate the climate of the Schindler House -- the none-too-efficient Modernist domicile in which the MAK Center is located.

Plastic curtains hang across entryways to block heat, low foam benches approximate Klein’s close-to-the-earth air furniture and a translucent canopy offers shade from which to enjoy the very pleasant courtyard. A recording of Klein’s 1949 Monotone Symphony -- 20 minutes of a single, reverberating chord alternating with 20 minutes of silence -- provides a surprisingly soothing auditory element.

Ultimately, the curious overlapping that results -- Perrin’s vision laid over Klein’s laid over Schindler’s -- becomes the show’s most compelling aspect. It transforms what might have been a dry presentation of theories and artifacts into a genuine living environment.

MAK Center, 835 N. Kings Road, West Hollywood, (310) 651-1510, through Aug. 29. Closed Mondays and Tuesdays.

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Pomp and strange circumstances

Moving through Julie Heffernan’s exhibition at the Paul Kopeikin Gallery is like following the painter through an art historical funhouse. Landscapes quiver and melt into battle scenes; still lifes reorganize into costumes; cities spill across drawing room floors; and baubles tumble from rococo ceilings in torrents -- all around Heffernan’s slight, partially nude form, which remains planted at the center of nearly every recent composition.

“Self-Portrait as Stone Woman,” “Self-Portrait as Two Headed Queen,” “Self-Portrait as Night Spot,” “Self-Portrait as Flame” -- she has multiple identities and draws her props from the tradition of painting, with occasional forays into natural history and popular culture. In one especially Baroque picture, she is bedecked in pink roses, her hair piled high in taut orange loops (representing the tip of the aforementioned flame). In another, her skirt is a cloud of multicolored beads, while several chandeliers’ worth of crystal drapes her head and shoulders from above. Marie Antoinette should have been so lucky.

Elements of violence course through the work as well, tempering the pomp. A giant octopus attacks two deep-sea divers in the background of one piece. A burning city substitutes for the artist’s body in another. A crumbling domed building recurs in several more.

They’re deliriously appealing paintings -- generously conceived and lusciously rendered, full of mystery and delight, but with a solid grounding of artistic intelligence. Heffernan has been showing for more than a decade in New York and Chicago, but this is her first exhibition in Los Angeles. Here’s hoping it won’t be her last.

Paul Kopeikin Gallery, 6150 Wilshire Blvd., Los Angeles, (323) 937-0765, through July 2. Closed Sundays and Mondays.

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A personal iconography

The centerpiece of Daniel Martin Diaz’s exhibition at La Luz de Jesus Gallery is what one might call a contemporary book of hours: 31 drawings made in 31 days, each contemplating elements of Christian doctrine. It’s not the sort of project one often finds in a contemporary art gallery, but it feels surprisingly at home.

The works are steeped in traditional Roman Catholic iconography culled from Diaz’s Mexican American upbringing as well as medieval and Renaissance art. But the artist’s spin on this iconography, however shaped by his own faith, is also informed by the likes of Mark Ryden, the Clayton Brothers and other Lowbrow artists. It is broodingly personal and lends the work a compelling, esoteric edge.

In one drawing, called “Life,” we find a crowned Virgin Mary connected through an umbilical cord that stems from a cross around her neck to a free-floating, half-reptilian fetus (characterized elsewhere as Jesus). “Crown of Thorns” portrays an emaciated torso that gives way to tree roots below the waist, two severed arms, extended as if on a cross, and a single thorn-encircled eye where the head would be.

Trees, skulls, scorpions, flaming hearts and astrological symbols are other frequently repeating motifs, and Latin inscriptions (prayers and Scripture mostly) abound. Also in the show are nearly a dozen paintings, many of them based on drawings. Composed primarily in tones of rust and ochre and encased in beautifully crafted dark wood frames (also made by the artist), these works have a heavier presence but a similarly beguiling effect.

Diaz -- who is self-taught, his formal training being in classical music composition -- brings a steady, exacting technique to both media. That quality underscores one’s sense of the work as an enterprise of devotion.

La Luz de Jesus Gallery, 4633 Hollywood Blvd., Los Feliz, (323) 666-7667, through May 30.

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Into the heart of painted darkness

An elegant, if at times tryingly spare, exhibition of paintings by Alan Wayne at Hunsaker/Schlesinger Fine Art is a worthy supplement to this season’s several Minimalism-related exhibitions, demonstrating the continuing relevance of that movement’s aims. Square in shape and ranging from 20 to 60 inches across, the eight monochromatic works fall into three almost indistinguishable color categories: brownish-black, greenish-black and bluish-black.

At a glance, it’s easy to miss the differences altogether. With a moment of sustained observation, however, subtle tints begin to emerge and a faint grain appears.

This is the point where it gets challenging. Peering into these squares is a lot like peering into complete darkness. The harder you try to make something out, the harder it is to see anything at all.

The eyes begin to swim and leap at every possible variation, often to the point of inventing variations. For that reason, the last piece in the show -- the smallest but also the bluest of the lot -- comes as an almost startling relief, like the first real assurance of dawn after hours of murky night. Coming 40 years after the birth of Minimalism -- and more than 90 years after Kasimir Malevich first exhibited his black square in Moscow -- the work isn’t exactly cutting-edge. As an extension of those initial innovations, however, it is exceptionally refined.

Hunsaker/Schlesinger Fine Art, Bergamot Station, 2525 Michigan Ave., Santa Monica, (310) 828-1133, through May 28. Closed Sunday and Monday.