Empty Met, Empty Promise


I recently went on the EmptyMet tour at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, and it was a real disappointment. The tour was a Christmas gift from my nephew, a college student who could hardly afford to part with the $125 the museum charges for this experience.

Now in the interest of full disclosure, I am a member of the Met, live within walking distance of the museum, and visit it frequently. In fact, over the past two years, I’ve literally seen everything they’ve put on display. Plus, being a freelancer, I am often able to visit the museum during off-peak hours, when the galleries are less crowded.

mtmet2The EmptyMet tour gives you access to the Metropolitan Museum before it opens to the public. The draw is the opportunity to wander through empty galleries and view the art as if it were in someone’s private collection. The reality, however, is far from that ideal scenario.

We had 25 people on my “private” tour, along with three staff members. Having taken numerous tours of the museum over the past two years, I know that they are more suited to informing and educating attendees rather than providing a chance to truly appreciate each artwork showcased along the way. Being in a large group like that, you have to wait your turn to get a close-up view and then are quickly shuffled off to the next gallery, so you don’t get much of a chance to examine and enjoy the artwork that was just discussed.

What drew me to the unique experience of an EmptyMet tour (beyond it being a very generous gift) was the opportunity to photograph the museum’s picturesque galleries without the crowds of people that frequent them. I love taking photographs, and the chance to snap some pictures of the interior of such a grand space was one I could not pass up.

As with most great museums, the Met is a fascinating structure. It’s actually a collection of different buildings cobbled together over the years. Plus, it’s filled with treasures. And while I can see those art treasures any time I choose, I cannot photograph most of them, and certainly not an entire gallery, without also likely capturing some slovenly oaf in a Green Bay Packers jersey and backwards baseball cap standing around looking bored shitless because he came all the way to New York to see the rectal spectacle of Times Square and then was dragged off to this giant old museum that doesn’t even have a painting of dogs playing cards.

mtmetquoteThe problem with the EmptyMet tour is that, while the museum is indeed empty, whatever gallery you happen to be in is crowded. Wherever we went, whatever artwork we looked at, I had 25 other people vying to see it – and to photograph it. That’s about as many people as you’ll have in a gallery during regular hours. And when I visit the Met at off-peak hours, rarely will I see that many people in a gallery – let alone huddled around a specific piece of art at any given time.

I tried to make the best of it, trailing behind the crowd in hopes of snatching a photo of an empty gallery when the crowd moved on to the next. It wasn’t easy, though, as our guide had a tendency to ramble, so we were always in a rush (frankly, I’ve been on shorter tours that showed more of the museum).

Fortunately, our “crowd” didn’t have a slovenly oaf in a Green Bay Packers jersey and backwards baseball cap standing around looking bored shitless because he came all the way to New York to see the rectal spectacle of Times Square and then was dragged off to this giant old museum that doesn’t even have a painting of dogs playing cards. But we did have this German guy who kept wandering off, causing much concern among our handlers. And, much to my frustration, he had a tendency to wander off into whatever gallery I was trying to photograph.

So what I’m trying to say is don’t waste your time and money on the EmptyMet tour. You can see more of the museum, and with less crowds, simply by wandering the museum during regular hours (ideally during the week). And if you do want to snap some photos of empty – or nearly empty – galleries, then arrive early, before the museum opens. The Great Hall is open before the museum itself, so you can check your coat and purchase your ticket. That way you can head straight into the galleries the moment they’re open, though it certainly helps to already know your way around and have a plan of which galleries you want to photograph before they fill up. In fact, that is how I took the photos accompanying this piece, by rushing around after my EmptyMet tour, before the galleries became filled with the day’s regular visitors.


The Marvelous, Monstrous Met

As I wandered through the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I stumbled upon masterpieces like Emanuel Leutze’s Washington Crossing the Delaware.

I mastered the Met. And that’s no easy task. The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City is the largest art museum in the United States.

Had I realized what a massive undertaking it was, I would have tracked my time – like counting the licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. But when I started exploring the museum with my new membership in January, I hadn’t a clue. I had visited the Met a couple of times over the years but never fully comprehended its vastness nor the richness of the treasures within. And its setting in Central Park, away from other blocks and buildings that could provide perspective, makes it hard to gauge its scale – 2 million square feet – from the outside.

Velazquez’s Juan de Pareja is one of those paintings I instantly recognized but knew nothing about.

My best guess is that I spent roughly (very roughly) 50 hours exploring the museum’s galleries. That’s based on the assumption that I did, in fact, visit the place once a week – with a few exceptions – and spent an average of about 2.5 hours per visit. In reality, though, I probably spent even more time there, as some weeks I think I went twice, and occasionally I’d last 3-4 hours before my feet began to ache.

The one thing I am certain of, however, is that I still haven’t visited every gallery in the museum. Of the 440 galleries, 57 of them were closed during my visits. Of course, I visited some of them twice, as certain galleries feature temporary exhibits that rotate. And I returned to some simply to marvel at the treasures, and others because of fantastic events like Jazz & Colors at the Met.

I also can’t claim to have seen every object in every gallery. I have come close, though, as I meticulously worked my way through each, giving everything a look. But occasionally I’d come across am empty space marked with a note explaining that the item had been temporarily removed for one reason or another – cleaning, restoration, on loan elsewhere, etc.

The Met features art from all around the world, including Katsushika Hokusai’s Under the Wave off Kanagawa.

And the Met has a lot of stuff. A whole lot of stuff. It’s overwhelming. For example, the ancient artifacts are amazing, but shelves lined with chards of pottery can become mind-numbing while offering little insight beyond the realization that we pocketed everything from these archeological sites.

On a side note, that’s one of the disturbing aspects of the ancient treasures at the Met. What gave us the right to collect all this stuff, other than the fact that we had the foresight and finances? If you live in Cyprus, you’ll probably need to come to New York to learn about your past – and that doesn’t sit well with me.

The other art ad nauseam experience at the Met can be found in the European galleries, where you will be subjected to an infinite number of horribly similar paintings of religious subjects. If I see another portrait of the Madonna and Child I’ll crucify someone.

But there are treasures. Many, many wonderful treasures. Art and artifacts in every medium imaginable from every era and every corner of the world. You’ve got treasures from the ancient world – Egypt, Greece, Rome, and then some – including sculptures, sphinxes, sarcophaguses, and even a real, transplanted temple from 15 BC. There are tons of classic paintings along with a good collection of modern and contemporary art. And some unexpected finds, like an entire wing devoted to Africa and Oceania.

Among the many masterpieces you’ll find at the Met is Pablo Picasso’s At the Lapin Agile.

It may sound cliché, but there really is something for everyone at the Met – even folks who aren’t too crazy about art. You’ve got suits of armor and all sorts of guns and swords. Giant sculptures and carvings. Costumes, textiles, musical instruments, and even furniture.

Since few will have the time to tour the entire museum as I have, visitors need to decide what they want to see – what era, region, or art form they are most interested in. Or they can pick a wing and explore every nook and cranny of that.

I find that two hours is a good amount of time to spend in any museum. Visitors might want to linger a little longer in the Met, given its sheer volume. You can always take a break, as there are many benches and a couple of cafes. And while most of the food and drink options are as overpriced and underwhelming as one would imagine, the roof garden is worth a visit just for the views of Central Park.

Be sure to check out the Met’s Web site before you visit the actual museum because it is an exceptional resource. It offers an interactive map with overviews of each individual gallery, visitor tips and policies, and even some suggested itineraries. A little research and planning will go a long way, ensuring you get the most out of your visit to the marvelous, monstrous Met.

One of my favorite pieces at the Met is Winslow Homer’s The Gulf Stream.

The New Museum Triennial

NewMu4I wanted to like the New Museum. I really did. I’ve gone there a couple of times. I even considered becoming a member.

But it sucks.

OK, maybe that’s a bit harsh. But every time I visit the New Museum, I find their “art” more laughable than inspirational. It’s as if the mission statement of this museum is along the lines of “You can declare anything to be art, and we will revere it as such.”

I’ve gone-off about meritless art many a time on this blog (including here and here). And I’ve spared the New Museum my scorn simply because they weren’t worthy of it. Genuinely interesting art seems to be the exception in that place, so I stuck to taking jabs at other art museums where sham art is the exception not the rule.

But I thought I’d give the New Museum a third and final try when I saw they were having a triennial exhibit. After all, they have a boat hanging from the front of their building, so the place can’t be all bad, can it? And, in fairness, it surely won’t be my last visit because the International Center of Photography is opening up its new museum across the street this fall, and I’m definitely rejoining that institution.

The Try-ennial
I plowed through the New Museum’s triennial exhibit in hopes of finding some inspiration. Most of the stuff was what I call sham art – stuff that’s considered art simply because someone declared it to be art. But there were two gems that caught my eye.

The first was an aquarium. It had some convoluted meaning which required a long, rambling explanation on a poorly lit placard. But I really liked it because it gave you an up-close look at some beautiful soft coral. And I didn’t even have to don my dive gear.

The second was a virtual reality thing. Apparently some guy (or guys) digitally mapped a small section of the Brazilian jungle. And by “small” I mean about a 10-yard radius. This exhibit had its own separate room, with a pair of goggles tethered to the high ceiling. And there was a line. Normally I wouldn’t bother with a line. But since I found little else of interest, I figured I’d stick around and have a look.

One of the highlights of the New Museum's triennial exhibit was the stairs, which were lit in green and a lot faster than the elevators.

One of the highlights of the New Museum’s triennial exhibit was the stairs, which were lit in green and a lot faster than the elevators.

When my turn came, I slipped the goggles over my eyes and was surprised by what I saw. I was told that it would be a 3D image of the Brazilian rainforest, which I expected to be in full-color (it is 2015, after all). Instead, it was black and white. In fact, it wasn’t an image but rather dots of white light – like stars in the night sky – that formed the outlines of plants and other features. More of a sketch than a picture.

At first I felt a little disoriented. I looked up to get my bearings and saw that I was in some sort of tube or vortex. Too small to be a clearing in the canopy, I thought. Then I realized I was standing in the middle of a tree, looking up through its trunk. I stepped out and walked around a bit. It was pretty cool – like the Matrix, but with patterns of white light instead of green.

I told the attendant, who was there presumably to keep order in the line, that the only thing missing was a member of the indigenous population running out of the darkness with a machete after five minutes. That, I explained, would prevent people from bogarting the goggles. Though it would also be quite the buzzkill for anyone who was high, and that’s probably the best way to experience such an exhibit.

In fact, being high is probably the only way the New Museum is worth the price of admission. Yes, they deserve credit for taking chances, like an “exhibit” in which visitors can follow an “artist” around the East Village (I prefer to trail random people in the East Village). And I am glad someone is taking chances, as it offers opportunities for new artists and encourages established ones to try new things.

Other Options
The Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) has long been the innovator in the city’s museum scene. Its busy midtown location, which they are planning to expand yet again, probably draws more tourists than locals. But, in an attempt to attract more of that new money (and even more tourists), they have shamelessly been pandering to all of the wrong young people. As a result, they’ve only managed to shoot themselves in the foot. In fact, MoMA even made Bjork look decidedly uncool (which is no easy task). And this pandering to Main Street USA may attract tourists, but it also makes MoMA the Cats of the New York City museum scene.

Fortunately, there’s also MoMA PS1 over in Long Island City. That’s where MoMA keeps its edge sharp. Like the New Museum, exhibits at PS1 tend to be hit or miss. But with the backing of MoMA, they seem to have better luck landing the hits.

Again, experimentation is good, especially in the art world. But I don’t have the kind of deep pockets to consider myself a patron of the arts. Maybe (hopefully) someday I will. But until then, I go to museums for inspiration and – if possible – enlightenment. And having devoured the New Museum’s triennial exhibit, I found little of either.

The New Whitney Museum

Visitors relax and enjoy the views of the Hudson in the new Whitney Museum.

Visitors relax and enjoy the views of the Hudson in the new Whitney Museum.

Change is rarely well-received. And we often have a false sense of nostalgia for institutions of the past. Take New York City, for example. Everyone seems to long for this idyllic New York of the 70s, filled with cheerful working artists and affordable mom-and-pop shops. In reality, those were junkies and shitholes. The city used to be a dirty and dangerous place back then. There were some neighborhoods where you just didn’t go, and certain times of night when you’d be ill-advised to travel on the subway or side streets.

Those times have changed. New York City may be more expensive. And our neighborhoods may be dotted with chain stores. But you can still find some color. You can still find an edge. And you can now do so with minimal risk of being stabbed in the eye by some crackhead.

New York City’s cultural scene has undergone a similar transformation. The Whitney Museum of American Art was established in the West Village in 1930. In 1966, it relocated to the Marcel Breuer-designed building on the Upper East Side, at Madison and 75th. It was considered a fairly fashionable location back then. And when it opened, the building itself was savaged by critics for its brute, fortress-like appearance. Breuer’s building lacked “character.”

These days, what lacks character is the Upper East Side. From Midtown East up to Yorkville, it’s a wasteland of the soul. In fairness, things do get a little more colorful the further you get from Fifth Avenue, but there’s not much to do other than sleep and shop in that area – and that’s assuming you can afford to. Once a haven for the best the city had to offer, the Upper East Side’s sky-high rents have sucked the neighborhood’s soul dry.

One of the new Whitney's outdoor sculpture gardens, overlooking the Meatpacking District.

One of the new Whitney’s three outdoor sculpture gardens, overlooking the Meatpacking District.

Packing Meat
Change is everywhere, though. And as one neighborhood flounders, another flourishes. Take the Meatpacking District, for example. Twenty years ago it was still a dicey place, perhaps best known for its lively after-hours transsexual prostitution scene. Incidentally, that’s not how the area got its name. The day-time activity was centered around a hub of businesses that processed and packed meat for the city’s supermarkets and restaurants.

I had the pleasure of working in that neighborhood at the turn of the century, before any national retailer would have dared to set up shop there. It still had an edge back then. But a lot has happened over the past 15 years, and now the Meatpacking District is one of the most vibrant and commercial spots in the city. It’s a destination for locals and tourists alike, drawn by the shops, restaurants, and clubs along with attractions like the High Line and Chelsea Market.

Which is surely why the Whitney relocated to its brand new building down on Gansevoort Street, in the southwest corner of the Meatpacking District. Designed by Renzo Piano, the nine-story architectural wonder doubles the museum’s exhibition space, with 50,000 square feet indoors plus three outdoor galleries.

The move is brilliant on the Whitney’s part. It represents a cultural shift in the city, from the old money of uptown to the new money of downtown. Amazingly, though, not everyone is happy. There are always those who resist change.

The new Whitney building, designed by acclaimed architect Renzo Piano, can be considered a work of art.

The new Whitney building, designed by acclaimed architect Renzo Piano, fits in well with its new surroundings.

Death to Dinosaurs
I was at the Metropolitan Museum of Art a few weeks back (the grand dame of the city’s art museums will be renting the Whitney’s Breuer building, to better showcase their own modern art collection). During my meander through the Met’s current modern art display, I overheard a gaggle of old ladies, fossils from New York’s near past, blathering about the Whitney’s new location and how it’s so far from any public transportation. I was tempted to remind them that the Met, in which they were standing, is literally twice as far from the nearest subway as the new Whitney is. But I figured they’d be dead soon, so I saved my breath – a gamble the Whitney has quietly taken as well.

The other critics have come from the established art world. They’re either nostalgic for the Breuer building, which they once loathed, or they object to the relocation of the museum to such a tourist-friendly neighborhood, forgetting that the Met is in Central Park and MoMA is in Midtown – historically two of the most touristy parts of the city. Hypocrisy on display!

Location aside, people have been equally unfair about the design of the new Whitney. I think it fits well with the aesthetic of the neighborhood. In fact, I’d go so far to say the thing is beautiful. Of course, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

The galleries in the new Whitney have plenty of light and space for the art.

The galleries in the new Whitney have plenty of light and space for the art.

Jewel on the Hudson
I had a chance to see the new museum before it opened to the public. I recognized many of the works, as the opening exhibit (entitled “America is Hard to See”) is really a showcase for their permanent collection (the impetus of the move was to give them more space to display their growing collection). However, in the new building, I saw these works in a different light – literally and figuratively.

With the new Renzo Piano building, the difference between the new Whitney and the old is like night and day. The new Whitney is open, airy, and bright. It lets the light in through skylights and floor-to-ceiling windows. Even the reclaimed wood floor makes it feel brighter, warmer.

Don’t get me wrong…I have always loved the Marcel Breuer building. In fact, the reason I first went to visit the old Whitney was because of the similarities between the Breuer building and that of the Dana Arts Center (also opened in 1966, it was designed by Paul Rudolph, who – like Breuer – was heavily influenced by the Bauhaus movement) at Colgate University, the one and only museum of my youth.

Beyond the building, the new neighborhood makes every visit to the new Whitney a potential adventure. Near the old Whitney, there were few fun options besides eating at Unlimited, the in-house restaurant. Sure, I could wander over to the Meatball Shop, way over on Second Avenue, but that was about it. No nightlife. Not even any daylife!

But the Meatpacking District is loaded with options. There is, of course, the new Unlimited at the Whitney, as well as a Studio Café (located on the eighth floor, with outdoor seating). But you also have the new Gansevoort Market, Chelsea Market, High Line options, Bubby’s, the Standard Biergarten – and that’s just off the top of my head. The options are endless.

Yes, the new Whitney will attract a lot more tourists. And, because museums need money to operate, that’s a good thing. Yes, it’s a lot harder for me, living in Upper Yorkville, to get down to the new Whitney (I could walk, albeit a long walk, to the old Whitney). But that’s fine, because it’s in such a cool area that I won’t mind the trip. After spending a few hours at the museum, taking in both the art and the views, I can then grab a bite to eat, meet some friends for drinks, take a walk on the High Line, or all of the above.

Change is good. Especially when it’s done as well as the Whitney has done it.

Additional images of the new Whitney can be seen here.

On Kawara – Sham

KawaraShamThe latest exhibit at the Guggenheim Museum here in New York City is unbelievable, and not in the good way. It’s hard to believe that someone could pass off such half-ass shit as art, let alone earn good money and critical acclaim in the process.

The exhibit, On Kawara – Silence, takes up the museum’s entire rotunda. Though that’s way more space than it frankly needs – let alone merits. It is overwhelmingly underwhelming. And even though The New York Times called it “enthralling,” I call it “absolutely ridiculous.”

On Kawara was a “conceptual artist” (meaning, if the artist says it is art, than it is art…no matter how ridiculous the claim may be) and this is supposedly his first comprehensive exhibit, representing every category of his work since 1964. However, I couldn’t help wondering how his early rubbish paved the way for his later rubbish? Didn’t anyone catch on? Didn’t anyone notice the man had no talent? That his art was but a ruse?

I have complained about sham art – scam art – before (Modern Art, Or Not), but this exhibit really takes the cake. Sure, the curators offer up all sorts of vagaries to try to justify it. They say the “work engages the personal and historical consciousness of place and time” and transforms the rotunda into “a site within which audiences can reflect on an artistic practice of cumulative power and depth.”

I think it fucking sucks.

Dissecting the Disappointment
What exactly is in this exhibit, you ask? The biggest waste of space are Kawara’s “Date Paintings.” These are dates painted onto squares and hung on the wall. Yes, the painting of text specifying a date. Sometimes that’s all that there is. Other times the date will be accompanied by a corresponding shallow cardboard box, usually in a nearby glass-enclosed horizontal display case, with nothing more than a newspaper clipping from that date – as if to say: I have scissors and a calendar, therefore I am an artist. Or, to be really artistic and convey a cumulative power and depth, sometimes he would forgo those burdensome scissors so the shallow cardboard box would contain – get this – nothing at all. Brilliant, huh?

There’s also 108 telegrams (yes, I was so bored I actually counted them) that the artist sent with the same simple message: “I am still alive.” I’d like to think that the recipient, around the time of the 100th telegram, was really hoping the artist would die (which he did, last year…in case you didn’t get that telegram).

Beyond lacking any real artistic merit, this repetitive telegram ploy isn’t even original. I recall a recent exhibit at one of New York’s modern art museums (it might have even been the Guggenheim) in which another artist, obviously attempting to engage the personal and historical consciousness of place and time, repeatedly sent the same telegram to the same recipient. Even Kawara’s stupidity is banal.

And speaking of repetition and a shameless lack of originality, there was an exhibit at MoMA PS1 last year that showcased the postcards of an artist, sent repeatedly to the same person over the years (another unfortunate soul). Well, it seems Kawara did that too. I couldn’t bring myself to count them all, but this Guggenheim exhibit features glass displays of all the postcards the artist sent over an 11-year span informing the recipient of the exact time he awoke that morning. Such a clever boy, ain’t he?

Now before you start to wonder if the exhibit is sponsored by Western Union or the US Postal Service, there was one last treasure on display. Kawara made volumes, literal volumes, of pages that are filled with either dates or numbers. No particular meaning, but just dates and numbers packed on page after page after page. Yeah.

Overall, the Guggenheim’s On Kawara – Silence was sickening. Such a half-ass effort. Creation without meaning. Repetition for the sake of repetition for the sake of repetition for the sake of repetition. Annoying, isn’t it?

Fortunately I’m a member of the Guggenheim, so I didn’t feel like as much of a chump as the people who shelled out $25 to see that shameless charade. I did learn two things, though. First, that artists are nowhere near as clever as they think they are. Second, that curators are nowhere near as intelligent as they think they are.

And in case you are wondering, no, I am not going to see the universally panned Bjork exhibit at MoMA. I’m a member there, too, but I ain’t stupid!

Modern Art, Or Not

One of Joe Bradley's more sophisticated paintings in MoMA's Forever Now exhibit.

One of Joe Bradley’s more sophisticated paintings in MoMA’s Forever Now exhibit.

This certainly isn’t the first time I’ve gone off on a rant about art, and it likely won’t be the last. But during a recent visit to the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York City, I encountered some “art” that I felt compelled to share.

I was at MoMA to see the wonderful Matisse exhibit. I’ve probably seen it six or seven times now. It’s that good. I could spend hours there…days.

Another of Joe Bradley's paintings currently on display at MoMA. Yeah, that's a line.

Another of Joe Bradley’s paintings currently on display at MoMA. Yeah, that’s a line.

But, as I always do, I made sure to explore the other exhibits as well. And one of the new additions is The Forever Now: Contemporary Painting in an Atemporal World. On display are works from 17 artists “whose paintings reflect a singular approach that characterizes our cultural moment at the beginning of this new millennium: they refuse to allow us to define or even meter our time by them.”

What does that tell me? Their work has something in common, and it’s reflective of this current time. And that common theme is that we cannot define our current time by their art.

What? Do these people even read the shit they write? It “characterizes our cultural moment” yet we cannot “define or even meter our time” by it? It captures the here and now, but yet it doesn’t. It is, but it isn’t.

I wonder if this applies to my membership dues? I paid, but I didn’t. How artistic of me, right?

In fairness, there are some interesting items in the exhibit. A lot of crap, but a few pieces make it worth a visit.

The ones I wanted to share, though, do not fall into the “worthwhile” category. In fact, they’re what spurred this little rant of mine.

Two more from Bradley. A cross. And the number 23. Yup, art.

Two more from Bradley. A cross. And the number 23. Yup, art.

The artist (and, in this case, I use that term generously) in question is Joe Bradley. I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know dick about Bradley. Maybe he’s made some incredible things over the years. For all I know he has a massive body of work that would curl my toes. But the stuff he has on display in The Forever Now exhibit is nothing short of ridiculous.

MoMA describes them as “paintings of radically simplified forms.” Apparently the museum included these pieces in this exhibition because they are modern interpretations of ancient pictographs. In other words, they are both ancient and modern at the same time. Is and isn’t.

Or, you could say they are stick figures and Roman numerals taken from the notebook doodles of a seven year old. They are fit to hang on your refrigerator door, yet they are fit to hang on the walls of a museum. Again, is and isn’t. You be the judge.

On Art & Museums


Last I year I finally became a member of several art museums around New York City: the International Center of Photography, Guggenheim, MoMA (which includes PS1), and Whitney. I say “finally” because it’s something I planned to do when I first moved here nearly 25 years ago but just never got around to actually doing.

I’m no art buff. At least not in the conventional sense. I enjoy art. I find it interesting and often inspirational. Sometimes it’s even enlightening. But I don’t do the audio tours of the exhibits. I rarely attend the lectures. And often times I won’t even read the exhibit descriptions, favoring instead to let the art speak for itself. As I once told a perplexed museum staffer, “I’m here to enjoy the art, not learn about it.”

Tapping the Treasures
DSC_0010Whenever I travel to other cities, I tend to check out a few museums during my stay. I’ve found some great ones over the years, like the Deutsches Museum in Munich and the Kunsthaus in Zurich. I even dug the Getty in Los Angeles, though more for the setting than the art. And then there’s Amsterdam, a city with as many museums as my own. A few of my favorites include FoAm, Huis Marseille, and the Van Gogh Museum.

But I rarely spent time in any of New York City’s world-class collection of museums. For starters, they are always around, so it’s easy to put off a visit when there’s so much else to do. But the real obstacle, I’ve found, is the price of admission. Most of the major museums in New York charge between $14 to $25, even for locals. Yes, the Metropolitan Museum of Art only has a “suggested donation,” albeit $25, but my mother was so damn cheap that I never could stoop to paying anything less. Though I did recently attend the New Museum’s free night (Thursdays from 7:00-9:00 PM) to see if it is a museum I might be interested in joining (it was not).

When you become a member of a museum, though, there is no admission charge. And suddenly you are incentivized by your tax-deductible investment ($75-85 for the basic individual membership) to visit the museum. Plus, you start receiving mailings alerting you to new exhibits and events – reasons to repeatedly visit the museum and, therefore, make the most of your investment. Yes, folks, even art has a ROI.

For example, by not having to pay admission, most of my memberships paid for themselves within 4-5 months. Though the International Center of Photography rotates their exhibits so infrequently that becoming a member will actually cost you more than paying the regular admission fee (and their idea of membership events are high-priced classes or book signings which require you to purchase the book through them at a hefty mark-up). By the way, why is it the International Center of Photography and not the International Center for Photography? Is it really the center of all things photography, or a center dedicated to photography?

Tapping the Pleasures
IMG_0561As you can probably tell from the above list, I have a fondness for modern art. Though I often think so much of it is nothing more than a brilliant scam perpetrated upon the art community. And maybe that’s part of the appeal. The idea that I could take a giant white canvas, mark a black dot just left of center, sell it to a collector for several thousand dollars, and see it hung in a prestigious museum as my “commentary on the Democratic Party at the dawn of the 21st century” is nothing short of hysterical. It warms my proverbial cockles.

But I do enjoy most of it. And I do like museums – the solitude in the middle of a bustling city, and the feel of a well-designed place. And that latter fact cannot be under-estimated. Museums tend to give architects a little more freedom – a chance to really shine. And therefore you usually end up with a structure that’s as artistic as much of the art it holds.

Turrell at the Guggenheim
DSC_0005The Guggenheim is an excellent example of how innovative architecture enhances the art experience. And the recent James Turrell show not only takes that to a new level with the marriage of the space and the art, but it is also a good example of my love/laugh relationship with art. I have already visited the exhibition three times, which is unusual for me. The first time was at night, as part of members-only preview (yet another perk). The only real piece that impressed me was the massive transformation of the museum’s famed rotunda, the centerpiece of the Frank Lloyd Wright-designed building.

Turrell closed it off from the spiraling galleries and created a series of progressively smaller open ovals all the way up to the ceiling skylight. These are then illuminated with colored lights, slowly migrating from one deep color to the next. Words cannot do it justice. It must be experienced.

I took numerous photos of this massive piece with my Mesolithic-model iPhone, but I wanted to come back and try to capture it with my Nikon 35mm. Plus, there was one Turrell exhibit up on the 5th floor that I had not seen because there was a line (in general, I try to avoid lines).

IMG_0544So a few weeks later I got up early on a Sunday morning for another member preview, thinking that most folks would have already seen it – or prefer to sleep in on a Sunday morning. Fortunately the line was considerably shorter, but the piece itself was a disappointment.

They only let a handful of people in at a time into this dark room. At the far end, there was a brownish/greyish rectangle on the wall. Sort of blank canvas. To the right of it, two lights shined against the side wall. And to the left of it, another light shined against that side wall.

As I stared at it, the wall on which the rectangle was hung seemed to distance itself from me, as if extending into a corridor with the rectangle acting as a window onto something, though I wasn’t sure what. I decided to imagine it was the ocean. That illusion – which proved to be about as exciting as one of those “hidden image” paintings in the mall – was hard to maintain because I was not alone in that room. I was with other people…museum people.

Museum People
IMG_0545People who go to museums tend to fit into three categories. There are those, like me, who go to see and, when possible, experience the art. We generally keep quiet and respect the space of others, doing our best to avoid blocking anyone’s sightlines.

Then there are those who go to be seen. They are always talking, but never about the art. They go to museums because they feel obligated to do so, because it makes them feel cultured or cool.

Finally you’ve got the museum nerds. These people are also talking, always talking, trying their best to impress anyone they can with their knowledge about the piece, the artist, the exhibition, or art in general. It’s as if they are jealous of the art, and demand that we focus our attention on them instead.

Naturally, I had all three types in that room with me at the Guggenheim. There were those who had waited on line only to stare at their smartphone screens in the corner, oblivious to the work at hand. And there were others happy to step right in front of me, blocking my view while barking out insipid questions or sharing vapid observations in the dark. Once again, jealous of the attention the art is receiving, they did their best to say “look at me…look at me.”

I made my way back down to the first floor, to once again gaze up at the gradual light show in the rotunda. I managed to take a few photos with my Nikon before the security guard suddenly decided that photography was forbidden (a ban which is still being enforced) and laying on the floor was also forbidden (a padded mat has since been installed so that people may recline in approved areas). The guard’s decisions occurred at the same time the museum opened to the public, leading me to believe that membership may have more privileges than I realized.

The Torture of Talkers
IMG_0547I’m compelled to note that the Guggenheim guards are far better than those at the Whitney. In fact, the Whitney gets my pick for the worst security guards. They have a tendency to talk loudly amongst themselves, often griping about something at the museum while standing right in front of a piece of art you’d really like to see.

Of course, the chatty guards are nothing compared to the gabby attendees. As I already mentioned, there are plenty of people who insist on stealing the spotlight from the art on the walls. And then you have your people who only visit the museum to check it off their to-do lists. They end up chatting about anything but the art, as if their time in the museum was just another chore like shopping for groceries.

And watching Turrell’s light show in the Guggenheim rotunda invariably showcases one of the more annoying human intrusions. When the lights become a deep blue, you can be sure the little old lady sitting next to you will turn to her husband, silently enduring this repeated offense, and say “look, it’s turning blue” as if he, and the rest of us, hadn’t been able to see that. This, of course, goes on for every color change until you get up and leave (or, with the surprising cooperation of her husband, drag the old lady across the street to a desolate spot in Central Park and bury her, alive, in a shallow grave while she repeatedly exclaims, “look, I’m being covered in dirt!”).

Appreciating Art
IMG_0512I do understand that some people feel the need to “understand” the art. Though I prefer to experience it and, if possible, enjoy it first and foremost. Understanding is secondary. And if I don’t immediately “get” what the artist is trying to convey, then that’s not my problem – it’s the artist’s. But it seems that, in our ADD society, people are obsessed with analyzing art instead of simply appreciating it.

Look, I don’t care why Natalie Portman is beautiful. I don’t need an analysis of her symmetric features or well-crafted genetic code. I don’t need to know the how and why. I am just thankful that she is, and that I have an opportunity to gaze upon her and experience and enjoy that beauty every now and then. Others unfortunately can’t seem to enjoy such beauty, as they are too busy tearing it apart for meticulous study. Crazy.

Sounding Off at MoMA
IMG_0508I recently attended a members-only preview of MoMA’s Soundings exhibit. It’s an exhibit in which sound plays a key – arguably even predominant – role. Yet when I attended the preview – remember, these people are members…veteran museum goers – there seemed to be absolutely no inclination to curb the talking and give the sounds their rightful priority. And we’re not talking whispers but rather full-blown New Yorker conversations.

Whatever happened to whispering in museums? That’s how I was raised. Do they still whisper in libraries, or has our individual narcissism invaded that space as well? The movies certainly seem to have abandoned their no-talking policy. This summer I paid $13.50 to listen to morons trying to figure out the plot of Pain & Gain. Serves me right, I guess.

To help alleviate some of the annoying banter I’ve detailed here, the Guggenheim is actually offering members a chance to enjoy the Turrell exhibit on “quiet nights.” For an extra $15, you and 59 other members can view the exhibit in a chatter-free environment for an hour. I’m tempted to shell out the additional fee, but I doubt that people will actually be able to shut their yaps. I give it three minutes before someone turns to the person next to them and says, “it’s so nice being here when no one else is talking.” Idiots.

Stop and Smell the Art
IMG_0484Back at the MoMA Soundings exhibit, one piece – which, like many in the exhibition, was blocked off from the others in a separate enclosure – featured a Mondrian painting and a series of digital tones broadcast through small speakers. Some young guys came into the enclosure, following their upheld cell phone cameras to record videos of what they could be experiencing first-hand, and immediately started to whine about how they were not sure what the piece meant, what it was about. “I don’t get it.” Dude, put away the camera. Shut your mouth. Look. Listen. And if you still don’t get it – assuming that there is something to get, and that it even needs to be gotten – then read the caption by the entrance that explains it. Douchzilla!

When I returned to the Guggenheim for that Sunday morning preview, to take in Turrell’s rotunda light show for a second time, it seemed like something was off. Several of the colors, most noticeably the green, weren’t nearly as deep or as rich as before. My guess is that the natural light from the skylight (it had been dark when I first experienced it) was washing out some of the colors.

So when MoMA offered another members-only preview at night, I pounced on the opportunity. In fact, I waited until just before sunset to make my way over to the museum. And by that time, on a Friday night, the crowds were quite thin, especially since the exhibit had already been open for some time.

Temporary Analysis
IMG_0490Given that it was my third time around, curiosity got the better of me and I started to track the pattern of the lights. Over the course of 20 minutes, the rotunda shifted through the following colors: teal, sea green, black, red, orange, tangerine, yellow, gray, lavender, grape, purple, cobalt blue, blue, midnight blue, black, and then white. During the next 15 minutes, I saw gray, ginger ale, yellow, orange, blood orange, red, pink, plum, lavender, grape, purple, deep purple, gray, white, gold, lemon lime, yellow, and black.

Not only could I not discern a consistent pattern, but the various colors and shades of colors did not appear to be consistent either. So I quickly abandoned my attempted analysis and nabbed a spot on the floor to simply enjoy the rest of the show. I spent a good hour and a half staring up at Turrell’s light display. Not only was it beautiful, but it was also mesmerizing. The colors start to play tricks on your eyes. That night, I even dreamt about it. Amazing.

I’ll close this piece near where I started it. I am no art aficionado. If you go to museums to make yourself appear cultured, then I thank you for your support. And if you spend your time in museums thoroughly studying, deconstructing, and analyzing every aspect of the art, well, more power to you. All I ask is that you do so quietly, with abundant respect for fellow museum goers.

Art, like life, is what you make of it. And just as you hopefully would be reluctant to take life away from others, I hope you will be just as reluctant to take away our art – and our opportunity to appreciate it – as well.

“The purpose of art is to inform and delight.” – Horace