My Personal Moby Dick - MoMA

Picking through the bones...

I’m still cleaning like crazy as summer comes to an end. This critique of the sorta recent renovation/expansion of the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) caught my eye. Until last summer, MoMA was my Moby Dick of museums.

Having a passion for museums and access to a cheap bus to New York, I’ve beetled to the city many times. Between the hypnotic allure of The Metropolitan Museum of Art (The Met) and MoMA’s inherent obstacles (long lines, inexplicable closures, etc.), my attempts to enter this shrine were always defeated by lack of time or will.

But, finally, I tamed the white, stony beast and wandered its halls taking in the Olafur Eliasson exhibit Friday, June 6, 2008. I was ultimately disappointed. I’m not sure it could have lived up to the hype in my mind, but my experience lacked a bit of the usual ZOOM POW! that occurs when I’m in a great space.

Reading Campbell’s critique from 2005 was a revelation. His main points of why the building is not a complete triumph:

“There isn’t any architecture.”

“There’s no parti.”

Campbell describes the galleries as “an endless rabbit warren,” which is true. It’s very hard to know where you are when traipsing through exhibits. The Museum of Fine Arts (Boston) has the same problem. I’ve been visiting the MFA repeatedly for years, and I’m disoriented as soon as I lose sight of the rotunda. This was my first trip to MoMA, of course, so a bit of directional wobble is to be expected. It still wasn’t pleasurable to be lost at MoMA. Not like it is at The Met.

53rd St. Display Window

And, the galleries really didn’t have flow. There was the Eliasson exhibit crammed in one corner; the contemporary representatives were stuffed over there; the masterpieces of Modern were jumbled in the turret; and the design watersheds were plopped next to the main points of access. It resembled a crazy attic of art that made me feel itchy and ready to leave.

“The air-to-art ratio is too high.”

Campbell points out that the expanded walls and ceilings have diminished the artwork whose intent was to dominate their space. I agree. Artists chose those huge canvases with regular gallery walls in mind. Now their “Fuck You” is just a faint raspberry in the din created by those gigantic walls. However, there is a weird lobby/sitting area on the second floor (I think) of gigantic proportions. When I was there, the space was well-used and cleverly defined by an Eliasson installation of a swinging fan (see video below). The fan swung in wide and unpredictable arcs stopping barging tourists in their tracks. I thoroughly enjoyed that, but I can’t imagine what fills up that space when special exhibits move on.

“There’s no daylight.”

I can’t speak to that as I don’t recall any lack of light. The Eliasson show was my targeted destination, and I headed promptly to his curation of the senses—the most prominent one being sight. His use of saturated light, strobes, and flashes stimulated and overwhelmed my eyes. I stumbled into a dark mixed-media installation by Sigalit Landau. Her installation encompassed two rooms of cool darkness, the perfect antidote to Eliasson’s visual landmine. It was also a stunning piece of work and definitely the best part of my trip.

Sigalit Landau. DeadSee. 2005. Video (color, silent), from Cycle Spun (2007). Image courtesy Galerie Anita Beckers, Frankfurt am Main

“It’s rude to the city.”

Well, I’m sure the city has been rude right back. It’s New York. Get over it. I had a Woody Allen moment at MoMA. How more New York can you get without body fluids? There was a line to step into some cube of mirrors Eliasson had set up to present themselves infinitely. I had to listen to some blowhard behind me tell his female companion that photography was all well and good, but he didn’t consider it art. I so wanted to turn around and slap him. Or, in keeping with Allen, to have Sontag enter from stage right and acidly explain his opinion was nothing but poseur bullshit.

“It makes Modern art into a period piece.”

Aaah. After an extended period of wandering and soaking up art, I sat down under that swinging fan. I had finally landed this white whale only to discover it was more bones than flesh. Fossilized. That was the word that floated through my mind. This is not the destination for those looking for brash energy and cutting innovations. I thought it was just me, but Campbell keyed on it three years ago:

“It’s revival architecture, a replication of the old MoMA at a larger scale. A considerable effort was even made to match the exact shade of white of the older museum’s gallery walls, in the manner of a preservation technologist on an archaeological site. An unintended message is broadcast: Modern art was then, not now.”

Yikes. Now, this lady captain must find another slippery creature to pursue towards the horizon. Varmint, is your name Louvre?

Robert Campbell, "What's Wrong with MoMA: Disappearing Architecture and a Sense of the Unreal," Architectural Record, 193, 1 (2005), pp. 67-69.