As we walked around, searching for the entry, I moaned how I liked the look and scale of the old De Young. A man who works there agreed with me, but says it grows on you. It didn't grow on me today, but maybe it will in future visits. The building feels out of scale to me and I thought if I saw one more circle I would throw a dart through it. What is this? Bull's eye heaven?
San Francisco is a dainty city, filled with nooks and crannies. It looks small, naked, and exposed from the top observation floor. It was exciting to see the bay and the headlands from the park, but they, too, look small. How much more delightful to see both sides of the bay's expanse from the Golden Gate Bridge, or the trails wandering around the Cliff House and the Legion of Honor. I understand this is a different view. I just wonder if every outlook needs a view. Isn't there a place to tuck?
I do not understand the purpose of wide overhangs through which rain can pour. The dining room is so inefficient as to be a joke. We ate lunch at 11:10 so as to avoid the crowds. I lost track of how long we stood in line. The jumble of people and the noise was unsettling. I did enjoy the outdoor sculpture garden and the landscaping is lovely.
When my book group went to the modern Tate in London, we had trouble orienting inside the building developed by the same architect. I felt that way in this building. Where to go? Is it obsolete to offer direction? I admit I am an old fogey and a traditionalist. I like things to fit to scale. I like the building material to fit the surroundings. I tried to imagine the copper when it turns green competing with the natural green of the trees.
From the top of the observation deck, looking down on the building, it looks like an aircraft carrier. I wish it were, so it would sail away.