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Turns out the Met is closed on Mondays -- bad planning on my part. So instead of the Met and the Guggenheim, today was the Guggenheim and MoMA.
I really liked the Guggenheim. As a building, I mean. Which is awkward for me, because I'm much more comfortable dismissing FLW as an over-hyped hack whose roofs leaked. But, I've really got to admit it, the Guggenheim was one of the best museum experiences I've ever had. It was just lovely. To maintain some level of curmugeonlyness, I'll just point out that the floors were that horrible 50s inlaid sparkly concrete that makes the inevitable cracks stand out so nastily. It always makes me think of dying strip malls or other unpleasant institutional places, and blech. So there.
While I was there, the most charming thing happened. As I set off up the ramp, a young girl approached me, introduced herself, and earnestly asked if I would follow her. Bemused (YES I'M USING THAT WORD CORRECTLY), I complied, and she asked me to define progress. Not being particularly prepared for that, I said that it was the social movement towards moral perfection. Or, when asked for a clarification, the act of us becoming better people. She then led me to a woman in her 20s, and told her what I had said before smoothly disappearing. I was then passed from person to person in a helical, peripatetic discussion of progress. I don't think my technocratic perspectives were quite what they had in mind, but it was actually a pretty genuine exchange of ideas. (Except for the last guy, who kind of represented himself as the artist, who mostly seemed concerned with the dehumanizing aspects of Twitter and yawwwwwwwwn.) Strolling up the Guggenheim spiral, discussing whether progress and moral perfection is inevitable? Felt pretty awesome.
On my way back down, between the galleries, I could see the full operations now that I knew what to look for. Not a small thing, must have been at least 3 dozen people hidden all around, ready to jump out at the right time and take over the conversation. Utterly, utterly charming. (Yes, I've listened to Guggenheim Love several times today already.)
Did MoMA after that, which wasn't nearly as noteworthy. I practically drowned in Picassos, but seeing a Magritte in person was pretty cool, and Starry Night and Warhol and all that too. In the end, I'm simply not a non-representational art kind of guy. Not enough information density. The best moment was, on my way back down, noticing the Broken Obelisk out in the courtyard. I had vaguely known that there were other copies, but I certainly didn't remember one was here. It was like running into an old friend in a foreign city, putting a huge smile on my face.
I also finally bought some street meat, which was tasty enough. And that's the way it was.
I really liked the Guggenheim. As a building, I mean. Which is awkward for me, because I'm much more comfortable dismissing FLW as an over-hyped hack whose roofs leaked. But, I've really got to admit it, the Guggenheim was one of the best museum experiences I've ever had. It was just lovely. To maintain some level of curmugeonlyness, I'll just point out that the floors were that horrible 50s inlaid sparkly concrete that makes the inevitable cracks stand out so nastily. It always makes me think of dying strip malls or other unpleasant institutional places, and blech. So there.
While I was there, the most charming thing happened. As I set off up the ramp, a young girl approached me, introduced herself, and earnestly asked if I would follow her. Bemused (YES I'M USING THAT WORD CORRECTLY), I complied, and she asked me to define progress. Not being particularly prepared for that, I said that it was the social movement towards moral perfection. Or, when asked for a clarification, the act of us becoming better people. She then led me to a woman in her 20s, and told her what I had said before smoothly disappearing. I was then passed from person to person in a helical, peripatetic discussion of progress. I don't think my technocratic perspectives were quite what they had in mind, but it was actually a pretty genuine exchange of ideas. (Except for the last guy, who kind of represented himself as the artist, who mostly seemed concerned with the dehumanizing aspects of Twitter and yawwwwwwwwn.) Strolling up the Guggenheim spiral, discussing whether progress and moral perfection is inevitable? Felt pretty awesome.
On my way back down, between the galleries, I could see the full operations now that I knew what to look for. Not a small thing, must have been at least 3 dozen people hidden all around, ready to jump out at the right time and take over the conversation. Utterly, utterly charming. (Yes, I've listened to Guggenheim Love several times today already.)
Did MoMA after that, which wasn't nearly as noteworthy. I practically drowned in Picassos, but seeing a Magritte in person was pretty cool, and Starry Night and Warhol and all that too. In the end, I'm simply not a non-representational art kind of guy. Not enough information density. The best moment was, on my way back down, noticing the Broken Obelisk out in the courtyard. I had vaguely known that there were other copies, but I certainly didn't remember one was here. It was like running into an old friend in a foreign city, putting a huge smile on my face.
I also finally bought some street meat, which was tasty enough. And that's the way it was.