I was up in New York a few weekends ago, mostly for work, although I did fit in some exploration, too. My main activity (before heading back to my hotel room to eat New York cupcakes in my pajamas while watching Seinfeld re-runs) was a visit to the Museum of Modern Art.
The big event at the MoMA right now is the Matisse exhibit on the top floor, featuring his famous cut-outs. Pictures were prohibited, but it was too crowded to have been able to snap anything good anyway. For what it’s worth (and I know it’s not much, because I’m not what you might call an “expert”) I thought the Matisse exhibit was fabulous, over-crowding and all.
It was, however, a relief to escape to the lower floors, where there was more room to breathe and sit and think. I went at my own weird, erratic pace, and it felt like a luxury.
As is my M.O., I went in hoping to learn about one or two new artists – my educational hopes are modest – and I came out just barely smarter than when I went in so I’m chalking up the visit as a success.
I went away with a plan to look up Anselm Kiefer, artist of the below piece, and Sam Gillian, of the above.
Aside from pieces by more known-to-me artists like Gaugin and Picasso, these were my takeaways of the day, because that’s about all the art section of my brain can handle (I have to leave a lot of room free for celebrity trivia and the jokes in minor English comic novels).
When I arrived at the MoMA (or is it just MoMA, without the article?), the crowds in Midtown had gotten to me, and I was a little on edge. But even at the also-crowded Matisse exhibit, just slow-walking around while looking at lovely things seemed to take the edge off. It was a pleasant afternoon, reminiscent of our time in Germany, when DH spent his days at libraries and archives, and I explored museums mostly alone, learning very little but feeling cultured and superior nonetheless. But still, it was nice to go back to my hotel room, where I ate food in bed and watched re-runs, comfortably low-brow.