Los Angeles Artists Use Keffiyeh to Adorn Noguchi Sculptures in Protest

The article you’ve provided is a powerful reflection of an ongoing protest and movement within the art world, revolving around the recent controversy at the Noguchi Museum in New York. It brings into focus the intersection between art, politics, and human rights, as well as the art world’s responsibilities amid these intersections. Below, I’ll provide an organized and informative article based on the gist of what you’ve shared:

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### Protest Over Keffiyehs at the Noguchi Museum Raises Larger Questions About Politics in Art Institutions

The art world has been shaken recently by the dismissal of three workers at the **Noguchi Museum** in New York for wearing **keffiyehs**, traditional checkered scarves commonly associated with Palestinian solidarity. The museum staff had been barred from wearing these scarves under a newly enforced dress code that prevents “political statements.”

This action has ignited significant controversy, provoking a community of artists, writers, and activists to speak out, questioning the boundaries between personal identity and political expression within institutional spaces. Prominent voices, including **Pulitzer Prize-winning author** Jhumpa Lahiri, have already turned down awards in solidarity with the fired employees, adding fuel to the ongoing debate about the role of political neutrality—or the lack thereof—within art institutions.

However, this protest has extended beyond words. Artists **David Horvitz** and **Ali Eyal** undertook a highly symbolic and moving gesture by placing keffiyehs on various public sculptures by the celebrated Japanese-American artist **Isamu Noguchi**. Through these acts, the artists sought to draw attention to this unfolding incident and create a visual protest directly tied to Noguchi’s legacy—a subject laden with cultural and political significance in its own right.

#### Key Symbols of Solidarity

Between October 3 and 4, 2024, the streets of Los Angeles bore witness to this poetic protest. Visitors to several locations housing Noguchi’s sculptures, including **California Scenario** in Costa Mesa, were greeted by the sight of keffiyehs placed on or near the artworks. The intervention resonated deeply; Noguchi was not only a transnational artist, but his life bore witness to trauma and displacement—he voluntarily self-interned during World War II in protest over the treatment of Japanese-Americans and the war’s political climate.

The keffiyeh itself, often used in a contemporary context to symbolize **Palestinian solidarity**, has historically embodied resilience and resistance. The gesture was an effort to align Noguchi’s own experiences with today’s struggles regarding freedom of expression and cultural resistance—particularly in light of how personal symbols like the keffiyeh can be stifled under the guise of “neutrality.”

#### The Role of Public Space and Art in Political Movements

One of the most distinct aspects of this protest was its placement within the public sphere. Honoring tradition and sentiment, Horvitz and Eyal carefully hung the keffiyeh on or near Noguchi’s sculptures without touching the artworks directly—signifying both reverence for the art and respect for the keffiyeh. They spread their protest across sites like **Noguchi’s Spirit of the Lima Bean** (1980) in Costa Mesa and the **Los Angeles County Museum of Art**, where Noguchi’s sculpture **Cronos** (1947/86) is displayed.

In taking this respectful but unsanctioned public action, the two artists turned these sculptures into more than just static art objects—they became critical elements within an ongoing social dialogue about repression, identity, and cultural expression. The key point that emerged from Horvitz and Eyal’s demonstration was the pressing need to hold institutions accountable amid wider sociopolitical dynamics, challenging where and how art institutions draw the line between human rights and political “neutrality.”

#### The Personal Becomes Political

For **Ali Eyal**, the act was deeply personal. The keffiyeh he used in the protest was passed down by his father, an Iraqi-born man who never returned after being abducted by a militia in 2006. Eyal inherited this keffiyeh, a rare item that’s been his only memento from his father. His journey from Iraq to Los Angeles, through countries like Lebanon and Europe, echoed the diasporic narratives that colored Noguchi’s work, making this statement not only a protest against institutional policies but also a form of personal and cultural reclamation.

“This is the right thing to do with this piece of fabric, to give it a voice,” Eyal told **Hyperallergic**. “To show support for Palestine and add to the history of the keffiyeh.”

For his part, **David Horvitz**, a fellow LA-born artist with Japanese heritage, felt similar connections to Noguchi’s legacy. Both had grandparents who were interned in Japanese-American concentration camps during World War II. Recently, Horvitz discovered that his grandfather was held at **Poston**, Arizona, the exact same