portrait

“Do you mind if I smoke?” asks German photographer Wolfgang Tillmans with a laugh during a recent video call from his home in Berlin.

As he lights his cigarette, he looks every bit the renegade artist he is known for being. At 57, Tillmans is in the midst of staging his 10th exhibition in Los Angeles since the mid-1990s at Regen Projects. He is one of the most celebrated photographers of his era, with a practice that collapses the distance between fine art and the pulse of street culture, spanning epic abstractions and the familiar textures of contemporary life.

At the same time, Tillmans has another life as a serious electronic musician, recording a series of experimental albums, including his most recent, 2021’s “Build From Here.” He is deeply connected to the music world, and photographed the cover for Frank Ocean’s acclaimed “Blonde,” making him a rare artist to be in major museums while genuinely engaged with popular music and the club scene — a bit of a rock star in his own right.

The official opening of his Regen show, “Keep Movin’,” attracted a line that wrapped around the building. Fans are drawn to his varied strands of work, which move instinctively between disparate approaches and subject matter, from famous faces to images sensitive to light and shape, in subjects as simple as the curve of paper folded softly over itself.

A security guard, right, stands near the work “Robin Fischer, Dirostahl, Remscheid 2024” in German-based photographer Wolfgang Tillmans’ current exhibition, “Keep Movin’,” at Regen Projects.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

During an early walk-through for a few dozen invited guests, Tillmans held forth on his personal cosmos, surveying pictures from the experimental to the deeply intimate. Portraits, politically charged tabletop collages and quiet photographs that capture the simple vibrance of daily life are strewn across Regen’s 20,000 square feet of gallery space.

“I see my work evolve more in evolutions, rather than in revolutions,” Tillmans said, gesturing to a conceptual wall-sized image created with a photocopier.

His Regen show, through March 1, also features short video works and the abstractions of camera-less images he considers “pure photography,” created in the darkroom by shining light directly onto photosensitive paper. There are pictures relating to human sexuality and images from nature. Each subject and approach is an ongoing concern left intentionally open-ended, and never contained within a single project, title or grouping. They are all inseparable in his own mind, free from categories or a finite series of pictures.

“I am aware that these art historical categories exist in my oeuvre, but I’m not seeking them out,” Tillmans explained after the walk-through. His practice is not about “working through one series or genre and then moving on to another.”

Installation view of Wolfgang Tillmans’ “Keep Movin’” at Regen Projects.

(Evan Bedford / Regen Projects)

On his trip to Los Angeles, Tillmans made a long-planned visit to the Mt. Wilson Observatory to satisfy his lifelong interest in astronomy. He used the giant telescope to capture the twinkling of Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky. This preoccupation resurfaces at Regen in a large-scale print of 2023’s “Flight Honolulu to Guam,” revealing a star field above the clouds.

Tillmans’ interest in stargazing goes back to his adolescence, and images of the moon and cosmos recur in his work. “It gave me a sense of not being lonely, seeing the infinite sky and universe,” he says. “I always felt it was a very grounding experience that all humans share. I always got something from this — besides the beauty and the formal marvel of it all — this sense of location and locating myself.”

His depiction of the heavens is just one of many threads and themes that run through his decades of work.

A piece of work personally hung by photographer Wolfgang Tillmans in his current exhibition, “Keep Movin’” at Regen Projects.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

Early in his career, Tillmans began shooting for the British street style magazine i-D, creating portraits of the famous and unfamous, while also documenting club life and gay culture. In 1995, Taschen published his first book, which made a stir with portraits of soft, indirect illumination, emphasizing naturalness. By avoiding the dramatic lighting and exaggerated special effects often seen in pictures of youth culture, he landed on a distinctive visual style.

“I felt the heaviness of life and the joy of life,” Tillmans says. “I saw myself as a multifaceted complex being, not just as young. So I experimented with lighting and film — how can I photograph my contemporaries in a way that approximates the way that I see through my eyes? And that was stripping back anything effectful, almost taking away the camera.”

He continues to do assignment work for magazines, which he considers part of his artistic practice. Several recent portraits are at Regen, including a foundry worker in Tillmans’ hometown of Remscheid and another of actor Jodie Foster. The editorial work brings him into contact with people and places he might not otherwise meet.

In 2000 Tillmans became the first photographer and first non-British artist to win the prestigious Turner Award. Tate Britain staged his mid-career retrospective in 2003 and the Hammer Museum in Westwood mounted his first major U.S. retrospective that same year, which traveled to Chicago’s Museum of Contemporary Art and the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden in Washington, D.C.

Coming after major retrospectives at the Pompidou Centre in Paris last year and the Museum of Modern Art, New York City, in 2022, the Regen show dispenses with the retrospective frame while quietly performing a similar task — taking in the main currents of Tillmans’ work over the past two decades, and a few images dating to the late ‘80s. His relationship with the gallery began with his first Los Angeles exhibition.

Visitors walk through photographer Wolfgang Tillmans’ exhibition, “Keep Movin’,” at Regen Projects in Los Angeles.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

As ever, the images are displayed in a startling range of shapes and sizes: framed and unframed, huge wall-size prints hang alongside tiny, snapshot-scale pictures. One of the largest, “Panorama, left” (2006), spans nearly 20 feet and hangs only from bulldog clips. Smaller pictures are simply taped to the wall, but nothing is meant to indicate hierarchy.

“The biggest may not be the most important, and the smallest might be overlooked,” he explains. “It’s a little bit like projecting the way that I look at the world.”

In his first decade of exhibitions, he had no frames at all. “I taped those photographs to the wall, not as a gesture of disrespectful grunginess, but as a gesture of purity,” he adds. “That sense of immediacy — and not imbuing something with outside signifiers of value — lets the fragile piece of paper speak for itself.”

One of the current show’s larger conceptual pieces, “Memorial for the Victims of Organized Religion II,” fills a corner with 48 rectangular portrait-sized photographs, all of them solid black or dark blue. It’s a near-replica of a work shown at the Pompidou with the same solemn title, created to recognize those “physically maimed or mentally harmed” by doctrine and intolerance.

“I myself have a spiritual side,” says Tillmans, still grateful for positive experiences attending a Lutheran church in his youth. “But over the years I’ve become ever more distrustful of organized religions and seeing the role of religion in government. I find it incredibly immodest for humans to tell other humans what God wants.”

When he’s not exploring his spirituality and creativity visually, he focuses his energy on the music world. It’s a natural setting for Tillmans, who is increasingly active releasing his own electronic-based pop music. He’s occasionally worked as a DJ, and has been involved in acid house, techno and other electronic music. Despite his notoriety in the art world, he has no concern about hitting the charts.

“This is part of my work. I’m doing it the same way that I’m doing a photograph. I’m not doing a photograph to be peak popular in two months’ time,” Tillmans said. “It’s there and it’s still there in 24 years.”

Last Tuesday, Philip Glass withdrew the delayed premiere in June of his latest symphony, No. 15. Originally meant to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in 2022, it is a portrait of Abraham Lincoln, but the composer decided the values of the current Kennedy Center were “in direct conflict to the message of the symphony,” which is inspired by Lincoln’s 1838 Lyceum Address.

In rebuke to Glass, Kennedy Center spokesperson Roma Daravi’s quick response was: “We have no place for politics in the arts.”

Two nights later, the chairman of the Kennedy Center board (who also happens to be president of the United States) hosted at the “no place for politics” center a bevy of Republican politicians and donors for the gala premiere of “Melania,” a documentary about and produced by his wife, the first lady.

Three days after that, the president, with no warning to Congress (which administers the Kennedy Center), center staff or the public, announced on his social media platform that he would close the facility July 4 for two years to undertake a major renovation. This may get the center off the hook for putting together a new season, what with all its departures (voluntary and not) of competent artistic directors, but it also means the center’s one remaining major institution, and its crown jewel, the National Symphony, is suddenly homeless.

The fact is, the Kennedy Center has always been political. The same goes for orchestras. And Lincoln’s seeming role as a symphonic football is nothing new, either.

But political doesn’t — or, at least, once didn’t — necessarily imply partisan. In March 1981, two months into his presidency, Ronald Reagan turned up at the Kennedy Center for the premiere of a new production of Lillian Hellman‘s “The Little Foxes,” and was photographed happily congratulating a smiling Elizabeth Taylor backstage. Also present was the gruff playwright.

Hellman, who had been a member of the Communist Party and was called up in front of the House Un-American Activities Committee in 1952, and Reagan, an avid anti-Communist, couldn’t have had much use for each other politically. But there they were, soaking up art and glamour (if maybe not in that order) together. It was also in 1952 and thanks to Sen. Joseph McCarthy’s Communist witch hunts that the first inklings of a national performing arts center in Washington, D.C. developed.

Aaron Copland’s “Lincoln Portrait,” for speaker and orchestra, written in 1942 in the wake of the Pearl Harbor attack, had been slated for a performance at Dwight D. Eisenhower’s inauguration in 1952. Complaints about Copland’s leftist leanings pressured Eisenhower to cancel the performance, but left inklings in Ike’s mind that the nation needed a performing arts center in Washington, D.C. In 1955, he instituted a District of Columbia Auditorium Commission and that led to the National Cultural Center Act of 1958.

Bipartisan support became a no-brainer. Kennedy was an enthusiast and, in his presidency, both First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy and former First Lady Mamie Eisenhower worked together to support the cultural center. In 1963, just days before his assassination, JFK hosted a White House fundraiser for the center. A year later, President Lyndon B. Johnson broke ground for what was to become “a living memorial to John F. Kennedy” with the gold-plated spade that President Taft had used for the Lincoln Memorial.

President Lyndon B. Johnson lifts a shovel full of dirt during ground-breaking ceremonies for the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in 1964 while members of the Kennedy family look on.

(Bettmann Archive / Getty Images)

The Kennedy Center proved political from Day 1. Leonard Bernstein was commissioned to write a theatrical piece for the center’s opening in 1971, which turned out to be an irreverent “Mass” — musically, liturgically, culturally and, most assuredly, politically. Most of all it was an unmistakably protest against the Vietnam War. In his own protest, President Nixon stayed home.

“Mass” was ridiculed by critics and sophisticates. And so was the Kennedy Center in its monstrosity. But the composition ultimately came to be seen as a precursor of musical Postmodernism and possibly Bernstein’s greatest work, a monument in its own right. The Brutalist monumentalism of the Kennedy Center also grew over time to be loved, increasingly bringing cachet to a diverse nation’s artistic needs.

All of that has, however, been called into question by a new administration noisily remaking the center as partisan and politicizing even renovation and Lincoln.

You don’t take on renovation of a single concert hall overnight, let alone an entire performance center with several theaters, including a major concert hall and opera house. This requires architects and acousticians deeply schooled in theaters, and each has its own acoustical needs. You touch anything, and it will affect the sound. Both the opera house and concert hall could use acoustical work, but that is a very big deal. If this sudden renovation comes as a surprise to staff, that means there have been no consultations, no proposals, no models, no feedback. Best to add to the budget some hundreds of millions of dollars to fix mistakes.

Before even considering anything else, a space has to be found for the National Symphony. It is possible to create temporary structures or renovate existing buildings into acoustical wonders, as architect Frank Gehry and acoustician Yasuhisa Toyota have proved. In Munich, the temporary Isarphilharmonie, which has Toyota acoustics, is so successful that some are saying the city doesn’t need a new concert hall after all.

So, given the timing of this precipitous announcement, it is hard to believe that something isn’t also going on with attitudes toward Lincoln and Glass’ displeasure with the Kennedy Center administration. For what it’s worth, Presidents Ford, Carter, George H.W. Bush, Clinton and Obama have all narrated Copland’s “Lincoln Portrait.”

Lincoln has been central to Glass’ work for more than four decades. The composer first used Lincoln in Act V (known as “The Rome Section”) of Robert Wilson’s 12-hour opera, “the CIVIL warS: a tree is best measured when it is down” (a prescient title for current Kennedy Center thinking), which had been intended for the 1984 Olympic Arts Festival in L.A. but was never produced here for lack of funds.

Lincoln shows up in Glass’ 2007 opera, “Appomattox,” commissioned by San Francisco Opera and later revised and expanded for Washington National Opera in 2015. The opera offers a look at how the Civil War ended with high-minded statesmanship. The first act of Glass’ 2013 opera, “The Perfect American,” about the last days of Walt Disney, ends with a flashback of Walt, who idolized Lincoln, visiting Disneyland and getting into an argument about slavery with the animatronic Lincoln, which gets so worked up it attacks Walt.

Politics are rarely far away from orchestral or operatic life. At a recent appearance of the Chicago Symphony at the Soraya, Italian conductor Riccardo Muti followed an impressively grand performance of Brahms’ Fourth Symphony by telling the audience how the arts keep us honest and played as an encore the overture to Verdi’s “Nabucco,” as an example of how an opera could motivate public support for Garibaldi’s nationalist movement. Garibaldi also makes an appearance with Lincoln in the Glass/Wilson “Rome Section.”

A few days later at the Renée and Henry Segerstrom Concert Hall, the thrilling Orquesta Sinfónica de Minería from Mexico City revealed an inspiring model of Latin American cooperation. On the program was Cuban composer Paquito D’Rivera’s “Concerto Venezolano,” featuring the fearless improvising Venezuelan trumpet soloist Pacho Flores. The concerto also featured solos on the Venezuelan cuatro by Héctor Molina, but his name was only announced last minute, due to current travel uncertainty.

One of the greatest recordings of Shostakovich’s Fifth Symphony, his grab-you-by-the-gut answer to Stalin and celebration of Russia, is by the National Symphony under Mstislav Rostropovich, recorded in 1994 at the Kennedy Center. Stalin saw the symphony as his deification. Rostropovich exuded, in the Kennedy Center aura, the expression of an overwhelmingly triumphant celebration of the end of the Soviet repression. You can take the symphony and the opera out of the Kennedy Center, but you can’t take the essence of the Kennedy Center, the living memorial to the ideal of something larger than political ego, out of the symphony and opera.