First thing’s first: yes, the museum has greeters. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I can talk a little bit about my visit to Crystal Bridges, the new American art museum founded by Alice Walton, daughter of Sam Walton, founder of Wal-Mart and one of the ten richest woman in America. (Alice: If you’re reading this, please feel free to send $25 to our Kickstarter.)

A view of the reflecting pond at Crystal Bridges.

Before the museum opened its doors in November of last year, it’d been at the center of all kinds of industry scuttlebutt. One, there’s the principal patron: Walton herself, a folksy, albeit uber-rich gal, who chooses not to run with the jet set in the Bermuda Art Triangle of London, New York, Berlin — instead preferring to buy her artworks while sitting on top of a horse. Then there are her aggressive collecting practices (as in: actively pursuing a collection belonging to a  university with a gallery and an ctive art department, which has earned her plenty of criticism). And of course, there’s the connection to Wal-Mart, a company renowned for its cheap goods, underpaid workers and, these days, a spectacular bribery scandal in Mexico. To be clear: the museum is a separate legal entity from the corporation. But it’s Wal-Mart money, directly or indirectly, that’s paying for all the art niceties. (For anyone who would like to get on their high horse about this, it’s worth noting that it was copper mining money — and lots of poor Chilean miners — that paid for Frank Lloyd Wright’s spiraling ramp at the Guggenheim. And oil money that made MoMA possible. And don’t even get me started about Henry Clay Frick, who was by all accounts, a terrific cad.)

Lastly, the other factor that has kept the museum on the tips of people’s tongues is the fact that it’s located in Bentonville — the sort of thing that has raised a few sneers of derision from people who think they need passports to visit New Jersey. (To that latter point I say: Why not Bentonville? I don’t see anyone in the art industry bellyaching about going to admire all that sparkling aluminum in Barfa Marfa.) All of which begs the question: What is the museum like? It’s a query I’ve gotten repeatedly since my visit, with a curiosity that often borders on the lascivious, as if I’d been admitted to be a guest in Liberace’s living room.

My answer: Crystal Bridges is damn good.

For one, the setting is lovely: 120 acres of Ozark forest set around a creek from which the museum takes it’s name. Two, even though Moshe Safdie’s buildings don’t exactly recede into the background, they are intriguing and work well as a museum. A series of structures shaped like armadillo shells surround a brilliant reflecting pond. You descend into the building rather than climb a grand staircase to reach the main entrance, making it feel earthy-humble. And the galleries are regularly interrupted by floor-to-ceiling glass panels that allow viewers to take a breather from all the art. Lastly, the collection is engaging, especially the galleries devoted to 19th century painting — with works by all kinds of brand-name artists such as Asher Brown Durand, Thomas Moran, Martin Johnson Heade, John Singer Sargent and Thomas Eakins. There is also enough weird stuff — a painting of a chimpanzee thinking — to keep things interesting. Personally, I’d go back in a heartbeat. Even if the collection falls apart after World War II. But whatevs. Lord knows I don’t need to go to northwest Arkansas to see Ab-Ex.

A view of some of the 19th century galleries, featuring a rare nude.

That said, the museum (at least for now) is definitely a feel-good, all-American experience. That’s probably not a total surprise given that the bulk of the collection is colonial and 19th century painting — a time when Americans (at least the white ones in power who were making and commissioning art) were feeling pretty good about themselves. The works on view reflect lots of wide open landscape. Oodles of promise. A sunny sense of purpose. In its aggregate, it channels the optimism of the Westward Expansion — cue the Aaron Copland — which shouldn’t be entirely surprising, since Arkansas lies right in the path of that history. There are portraits of Indian leaders (yet no visual acknowledgement of the violence and loss they endured) and while a couple of pieces hint at slavery, none of them even begin to match the sense of foreboding of, say, Winslow Homer’s Gulf Stream. Overall, it’s a safe, clean-cut environment — channeling an American wholesomeness that never existed. In fact, in a conversation I had with artist Chris Albert about the museum for an upcoming podcast, he pointed out that he’s counted exactly two works that feature nudity.

Sam Walton's office, as he left it, preserved in the Wal-Mart Visitor Center and Museum.

All of this brings me to Bentonville’s historic center — home of Sam Walton’s first five and dime, and the cradle of all things Wal-Mart. Unlike the historic districts in many smaller American towns, this one is being used by a mix of restaurants, cafes and a bike shop. Right on the plaza lies Walton’s 5-10, with a red Ford F-150 — just like the one that Sam drove — parked out front. (See the last image in this slideshow.) It is a perfect picture of the all-American Main Street. Except it’s really an illusion. Walton’s original 5-10 is now a museum with a gift shop that sells vintage candies and Coke in glass bottles. Nobody is doing their real shopping there. Just like nobody is driving the red pick-up truck parked out front. It’s just a prop. The real action is at Wal-Mart Store #100, on the main business thoroughfare just west of downtown, a vast concrete warehouse that is surrounded by an ocean of parking — where folksy Americana gives way to the reality of made-in-China Batman underwear. The two parts of the city are a stunning juxtaposition: the behemoth that helped destroy Main Street presenting its own trapped-in-amber version of Main Street, complete with Ford pick-up.

An allegorical painting (c. 1872) by John Gast depicting 'American Progress.' (Courtesy of Wikipedia.)

My parents are from South America, from cultures that always seems to live with one foot stuck firmly in the past. Where people always talk about things being better before the Conquest, before the war (pick one), before the dictator, before the C.I.A. got involved.One of the distinct aspects of Carlos Fuentes’ novel Aura is that past and present seem to co-exist at all times. This is one of those traits that I’d always considered distinctly Latin American. Conversely, I’d always thought of the United States as a place where shit got done: where railways were laid out, cities built and gold mined, where people always looked to the future. But the trip to Bentonville made me realise how we have a become a culture that prefers to look backwards — from the faux vintage wallpaper and 1930s cocktails served at every hipstery Brooklyn eatery to the Fox News anchors who pine for a return to Main Street values (whatever those may have been). There seems to be a consensus that there was a time when things were good and that time is definitely in the past. At a point when things are contracting economically, Americans seem to be in love with the idea that we are still a nation of Manifest Destiny. And Crystal Bridges, bursting with can-do pioneer spirit, couldn’t more perfectly channel the national mood.

Crystal Bridges is open every day except Tuesday and admission is free. My conversation with Chris Albert will appear as a podcast of the Dead Hare Radio Hour. Stay tuned.

At the entrance to the museum: Roxy Paine’s 2011 sculpture Yield stands before a stark colonnade.

An overview of the Crystal Bridges campus. Visitors enter the museum from up top, then descend into the principle structures.

After passing the greeters, the visitor gets a straight-on view of Eleven, the Crystal Bridges restaurant. Planted in the middle is Claes Oldenburg’s Alphabet/Good Humor.

The galleries are arranged chronologically. First up: colonial art.

Moses Levy by Gerardus Duyckinck I, painted ca 1735.

Detail of the Levy portrait. Love this crazy looking whippet.

In this painting, portraitist Gilbert Stuart (known for his canvases of George Washington), depicts William Smith, the first provost of the University of Pennsylvania.

For 20 years in the first half of the 19th century, the U.S. government commissioned Charles Bird King to paint portraits of Indian leaders paying visits to Washington for treaty negotiations. King produced over a hundred of these, including the two above — of Wai-Kee-Chai, Sanky Chief, Crouching Eagle and Ottoe Half Chief, Husband of Eagle Delight. There’s something operatically tragic about commissioning formal portraits of people you’re in the process of ruthlessly displacing…

The museum has a stunning collection of 19th century landscape painting. There is no way to do this work justice in a photograph (especially a bad one like this). But suffice it to say that the light on that Martin Johnson Heade’s haystack is all kinds of amazing.

Look familiar? This 1820 painting by Francis Guy, titled A Winter Scene in Brooklyn, shows what was then the intersection of Fulton, Front and James Streets. (Roughly the location of present-day Grimaldi’s.)

This view of St. Louis (from East St. Louis), was painted by Leon Pomarede ca 1832-35. This is what you’d see from roughly the same vantage point today.

Overall, the collection of 19th century art is pretty darn impressive and full of Hudson River pastoral-ness. But there were a few outliers: such this 1885 painting by James Henry Beard, which is almost as amazing as dogs playing poker.

Looking luscious: Basket of Peaches, ca. 1885, by Joseph Decker.

A wide view of one of the 19th century galleries at Crystal Bridges.

From left: Thomas Eakins The Art Student, from 1890, and John Singer Sargent’s Portrait of George Henschel, 1889.

Anne Page, 1887 by Dennis Miller Bunker.

This was an interesting piece to be able to see: a portrait of Robert Louis Stevenson and his wife by John Singer Sargent, from 1885. It was one of a number of works painted by the artist in the wake of the scandal ignited by his 1883-4 painting of the alabaster-skinned Madame X. After the portrait of the good Madame was ridiculed in Paris, he retreated to London and stuck to painting friends and acquaintances.

Transitioning to the 20th century galleries.

George Bellows’ Excavation at Night, from 1908, depicts the construction of Penn Station in New York.

I love everything about Walt Kuhn’s 1947 painting Dragoon: the crazy sense of proportion, the lady’s sultry eyeliner, the bra and epaulettes outfit and the bizarre, feathery headpiece. The sort of painting that desperately needed more wall text.

A study for Slow Train through Arkansas, ca 1929 by Thomas Hart Benton. You can see a lithograph of this piece here.

Greenland Landscape, 1932-33 by Rockwell Kent.

A pano view of the reflecting pond from outside the 20th century galleries.

Madawaska-Acadian Light-Heavy, 1940 by Marsden Hartley.

There is little representation of Abstract Expressionism, largely because these types of works were out-of-control expensive by the time Walton started collecting. Shown here: Untitled, 1952-58 by Joan Mitchell.

Other Ab-Ex artists were represented by early works, such as this piece by Jackson Pollock: Reclining Woman, c. 1938-41.

Greek Tragedy, 1941-42 by Mark Rothko.

Rough Ain’t It, 1949, by Grace Hartigan.

Moving onto the ’60s: Wayne Thiebaud’s Supine Woman, from 1963.

A series of smaller galleries adjacent to the main spaces contained smaller, themed exhibitions — such as this one on portraiture. Portrait of Martha Graham, 1977 by Marisol, is shown above.

Also in the portrait show, Oscar Bluemner’s 1933 self-portrait.

I like the way this sculpture played with the outdoor space: Big Red Lens, by Frederick Eversley, from 1985.

The collection was weakest in contemporary art — but nonetheless included some interesting pieces, such as Lynda Benglis’s Eat Meat, 1969/75, in the foreground. Kara Walker’s A Warm Summer Evening in 1863, from 2008, is to the rear.

In the modern galleries: a view of Gene Davis’s striped painting Black Balloon, from 1964, is in the rear.

Breaks in the architecture provided sculpted views of the creek and forest.

The gift shop merch was sedately boring (the sort of thing my mom would like). But I did like the ceilings.

In Bentonville’s main square: the original Walton’s 5-10, chock full of vintage candies and a Ford like the one Walton himself drove — the type of American Main Street that barely exists.

This past December, I spent several days in northwestern Honduras, visiting the Mayan ruins at Copán, among other sites, and the village of Copán Ruinas. I can’t recommend this area enough: beautiful, low-key, not entirely saturated by tourism.

Surely this latter photo is evidence that the Maya musta been stoners. (More photos from Honduras can be found here.)

• MUST. READ. A stunning 1988 essay by Joan Didion on our political “process” and its coverage in the media, and how it bears absolutely no resemblance to reality. Though I’m still trying to figure out what the hell “housemaid Spanish” is. (@citizen_kahn.)
• Why solar energy is not as green as we might like to believe. A good reason to stop air conditioning shit to death.
• “There are now more people under ‘correctional supervision’ in America—more than six million—than were in the Gulag Archipelago under Stalin at its height.”
• Men in trucks: The photography of Alejandro Cartagena.
• Jeff Chu on his round-the-world tour of Damien Hirst’s spots, an excellent opportunity to catch up on his reading.
• Is the theft of virtual goods considered stealing? It is by the Dutch Supreme Court. (Kyle Chayka.)
• The Day in Art Merch: A Sol Lewitt yarmulke. Awesome.
• A Christian app for viewing art.
• How Facebook and other businesses are using you.
• And why the U.S. should consider a digital privacy law à la Europe.
• Werner Herzog, on interviewing men on death row. God help me, Herzog could be talking about taking out the trash and I’d tune in.
• Vintage Iranian “Barbie” dolls.
• No idea what this is about but give me more: A Turkish Star Trek spoof. (@jmcolberg.)
• Pac Mondrian.

The road to Monteverde: milk truck wedged into a narrow mountain road. No one has any idea how this could have possibly happened.

I heart my job.

Hey y’all, San Suzie — the Art Nurse otherwise known as Rosa Lowinger — is quoted all over a story in the September issue of Vanity Fair on the history of Havana’s Tropicana nightclub. Unfortunately, the article is only available in the print magazine, but it’s worth the newsstand price for the anecdote about the 18-inch penis. (Seriously.) In addition, the photos are by none other than William Eggleston. Speaking of which, if you haven’t picked up Lowinger’s highly-readable book on Tropicana, this is as good a time as any.

Random Linkage

• Sort of related: Julia Cooke on black market dining in Havana.
• Must-read piece by Peter Oborne in The Telegraph on how Britain’s upper class is no different from the rioters who have made off with TV sets and designer clothes. An instructive piece for the American oligarchy, too.
• Christopher Hawthorne looks at the World Trade Center’s design-by-committee.
• This makes me want to get a fake moustache and a cable knit sweater: The STASI plays dress-up.
• “Art is too serious a thing to be made by artists.”
• I’ve really been enjoying the “These Americans” photo essays put together by American Suburb X — collections of images from public photographic archives that cover a range of subject areas. These include topics that are horrifying and necessary: segregation, mental illness and a staggering set of images devoted to lynching. But there are lighter subjects, too. Some of my favorites include 1960s strippers (the hair!), 1980s wrestling (um, wow) and roadside Americana. The latter set just reaffirms my love of the Mitchell Corn Palace.
• “[Joan] Mitchell regarded Pop as ‘all money and no cathedral’; she accused a friend who owned two cats and a David Salle painting of animal abuse.” — Lance Esplund reviews Patricia Albers’ new bio on Mitchell, Lady Painter.
• Spatial anomalies in Kubrick’s The Shining.
• Christopher Knight gives those Art of the Streets attendance numbers a thorough going over.
• The Day in Art Merch: $2,000 Roy Lichtenstein dresses edition.
• Sad Etsy dogs. (Thank you, Sabine.)