海角大神

California became the first state to institute a lockdown last March, and for nearly a year, museums in Los Angeles have been closed. Unlike every other large city in the United States, this cultural capital has not opened museum doors since the pandemic restrictions began. Not even temporarily. Not even to a limited number of visitors, though the outdoor spaces are allowed to open.听

Which is why I jumped to make an appointment to see the paintings of German artist Gerhard Richter after I听read a review听about them. The exhibit is at the Gagosian gallery in Beverly Hills. Galleries, it turns out, are an exception to the museum听pandemic restriction because they are commercial entities. No matter that I knew very little about Mr. Richter, one of the world鈥檚 greatest living painters. No matter that the predominant color of the massive paintings was described as gray. It would match the pallor of my soul, which has been starved for art.

Museums the world over are struggling during the pandemic. But it鈥檚 particularly acute in LA, a global center for contemporary art hit hard by the pandemic. Its scene of artists, galleries, and museums is exploding with new activity 鈥� or was听in early 2020. Museum directors are especially frustrated because other indoor spaces, such as shopping malls, are open. The California Association of Museums has appealed to the state to allow reopening with safety measures and limited capacity, and many in the field describe museums as an oasis of inspiration and healing.听

鈥淰isitors have been ecstatic听not only to see art in person, but specifically听to see these masterpieces by Gerhard Richter,鈥� writes a Gagosian spokesperson in an email. The paintings were part of a retrospective at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York that was cut short due to the pandemic. 鈥淎rt is always a balm in eras of crisis,鈥� adds the spokesperson, 鈥渁nd now is no different.鈥�

I can attest to that.

Apart from the standard art history class in college, I never studied art. But I grew up on museums in Washington, D.C., and gallery-going is an integral part of my life. I travel for art 鈥� a family reunion at a Van Gogh show in New York as a young adult; another trip to New York, decades later, to walk beneath Christo and Jeanne-Claude鈥檚 saffron 鈥淕ates鈥� in Central Park; an unforgettable few days in San Francisco with my husband to see 鈥淎 Bigger Exhibition鈥� by David Hockney 鈥� my all-time favorite contemporary artist.

To make up for the pandemic art deficit, my husband and I have visited outdoor sculpture gardens. A friend has a colorful piece in a public space overlooking the ocean in Newport Beach. And UCLA is known for its comprehensive sculpture garden by 20th-century greats. On a Sunday afternoon last summer, picnickers听among the works created their own lazy scene like听the famous one听by 19th-century French pointillist Georges Seurat at the Art Institute of Chicago.

I even watched a webinar about Michelangelo鈥檚 women in the Sistine Chapel. But nothing beats coming face-to-face with six giant abstract canvases, as I did at the Gagosian on Feb. 23.

The space alone lifted my spirits 鈥� a large white room the size of a barn, with a soaring ceiling of open rafters, and one long wall of frosted windows admitting a gentle light.

And the paintings themselves were such a surprise. Printed in the Los Angeles Times review, one of the exhibit鈥檚 more colorful pieces appeared dull and flat, while in person it鈥檚 brushed with lime green. Even the high-quality presentation on the听gallery鈥檚 website听could not do justice to the rich colors, topography of layered paints and grooves, and reflective surfaces that a viewer could only realize in the room itself. These paintings actually surged with action 鈥� wide swaths and narrow lines moved up, down, and across an inexact grid.

Mr. Richter based this series, the 鈥淐age鈥� paintings (2006), on John Cage, born in Los Angeles and an influential, avant-garde composer and philosopher of the 20th century. But for the viewer, art is subjective. I love to hike, and what I saw and felt was nature everywhere. Each painting was like going for a walk, or flying over or through a landscape. The predominant green of 鈥淐age 1鈥� appeared to me like a bed of beautiful, soft moss. I wanted to jump into the canvas and lie down in it. Fiery red exploded like a volcano in 鈥淐age 4,鈥� and a silvery section in 鈥淐age 3鈥� beckoned me to swim, as I would in a freshwater lake.

Part of the wonder of going to an art exhibition is also learning about the artist. It was the headline on the review that made me realize I knew some of Mr. Richter鈥檚 work, even if I could not recall his name on my own. He is 鈥渢he squeegee鈥� artist (and much more than that).

Wanting to learn more, I emailed a cousin in London who has worked professionally in the art world for years. He shared a story of visiting Mr. Richter once in his art studio near Cologne, Germany. The artist showed how he created his largest abstract works, often starting with a farbfeld听鈥� one of his grids of different colors 鈥� which he then scrapes with an enormous, window-scraper type of tool. My cousin described Mr. Richter, who is nearing 90, as profoundly skilled, authoritative yet kind, with very little ego.

I responded to all of this at the exhibition, announcing aloud several times, 鈥淚 love these. I just love these!鈥� to no one else but my husband. We were all alone in this glorious space. During the pandemic, the gallery has followed county capacity limits by setting up an appointment system, which allows private viewings 鈥� initially to a selective group. It鈥檚 been averaging about 30 visitors a day.听

On March 2, Gagosian opens to the public, still by appointment, so more people can experience the release from all things pandemic, politics, or whatever else may be weighing them down. May the museums soon follow.