Having sat in a Los Angeles criminal courtroom while reporting in that gang-infested city, and having lived blocks from the Oakwood area of Venice and the regular carnage, seeing suspects' weapons brandished by prosecutors and interviewing some reformed gang members, I can attest to the fear these weapons and their handlers inspire.
Beck's stand-in, LAPD spokesman Patrick Gannon, bluntly told the crowd that there have been more than 4,000 murders in South L.A. since the 1990s. Gannon, who worked the area for 35 years, apparently was instrumental in providing Zayas with the means to make this kind of chilling art.
"I knew of the artist's studio and café, and that he taught art to the kids in the neighborhood," Gannon said. "A friendship grew, and a year ago he [Zayas] said he'd like to do a series with guns. We have gun buy-backs twice a year, and he was able to turn these instruments of death into beautiful art forms.
"He captures the victims and pays tribute to them."
But can deadly weapons really inspire art, or, even further, "symbolize peace" as the museum press materials promise?
For me, sadly, no.
They still resemble what they are: machines of destruction. In fact, an occupation for many at the opening was to decipher the muzzle of this gun and the handle of that one in the mesh of metal, welded together and refashioned, but just barely.
The Mexican-American artist apparently got the idea to use guns that were voluntarily surrendered in "buy-backs" sponsored by the LAPD because his studio is in an L.A. neighborhood where guns are part of the backdrop of his life, according to guest curator Gregorio Luke, who also spoke at the reception.