Now I put MoMA on today's itinerary by default, but that doesn't meant I didn't want to go. Some people claim Disney World is the happiest place on earth; I think it might just be MoMA. (If not TM--we'll give it a few weeks before deciding.) But having spent an entire day there (and I mean ENTIRE, from open till close) less than a year ago, I decided to start with the American Folk Art Museum next door to make sure I had plenty of time in it.
I was interested in how the museum explained its focus, so I opted for the free public tour. (This is also one of my favorite strategies for huge, unfamiliar museums in which I know my time will be limited.) My pleasant and knowledgeable docent explained that prior to 2001 the American Folk Art Museum was housed in a brownstone, and that in fact this building (designed by Tod Williams and Billie Tsien; I asked)was the same size as the brownstone. The layout of concrete, metal, and glass, with a central staircase that allows one to see all the way to the top or bottom level, led to a much more open floor plan and the impression of "floating" floors.
Then we proceeded on a thorough walk through of the current major exhibit, Dargerism. While surprisingly little biographical information about Henry Darger was included in the exhibit, I did learn that he was a self-taught artist, now thought to be autistic, who lived and worked in Chicago. He wrote a twelve-volume book featuring the Vivian Girls, and many of the double-sided, collaged illustrations were on display. Even more interesting, however, was the inclusion of work by eleven other artists influenced by Darger's work. There was a label for each artist explaining how and when s/he encountered Darger's work and how it influenced their own work. I love to hear artists talk about their work, so I particularly enjoyed this aspect of the exhibit.
Darger's work, in particular, was unsettling because of the persistent feeling that I had seen it before. And in fact I had, because it was taken from popular media of the time such as Coppertone ads and coloring books with illustrations like those I had seen at my grandparents' house. Yet the images became unfamiliar and uncomfortable in their new contexts of little girls at war with uniformed men. The reinterpretation of images or themes from Darger's work by other artists provided another layer of intertextuality and new context. Our docent used the images of nude children as a starting point for a discussion of "what is art" and the museum's role in legitimizing things as "art" or "good." He asked how the images might be considered in another context, such as a magazine for sale at the newsstand or as images pasted up in someone's room. I was glad to hear him broach the topic of the museum's authority and relation to value judgements; I hope more institutions follow suit with this transparency.
During the guided tour portion of my visit, I was told that folk artists are untrained but have an idea and the ability to represent it. I don't really agree with this definition. Among other categories, this would eliminate artists who apprenticed with other artists. I wasn't going to hassle my docent about this, though, because I know what it's like to be a museum volunteer. However, when I visited the permanent installation Folk Art Revealed, I felt better about the interpretation. Four themes were identified in the main label and interpreted throughout the exhibit: Utility, Community, Individuality, and Symbolism. The first three of these themes received its own main label, explaining the concept and how it manifested in the objects on display. I don't think Individuality had its own label, and I even went back to the top floor to start over just to check. Perhaps this theme was deemed to obvious to explain, or perhaps I just overlooked the label--twice. I asked one of the guards if the small gallery currently displaying wood portraits carved by Asa Ames always featured the work of a single artist, thinking perhaps that this was intended to address individuality, but he said that was not always so.
I feel comfortable with those four themes as at least some of the major ideas to pull out about folk art, though. The main label described the artifacts on display as "beautiful and soul-satisfying solutions to the needs and challenges of daily life." I liked that wording and thought it addressed aesthetics as well as utility in succinct verbiage. Other labeling made it clear that "traditional" was being contrasted with "unconventional." I think that works, but I need to consider a little bit more to determine how far this definition's usefulness can be stretched. If "traditional" is contrasted with "innovative," does that automatically equate "innovative" with "unconventional"? And if so, is this accurate in all cases?
It took me a solid two hours to go through the museum's five floors and gift shop. (Which was, once again, playing the Beatles as I remember. I don't see how this is particularly appropriate to the setting, but I appreciated it for its own merits nonetheless.) The labelling included biographical information about the artists, when known, and additional context (such as region, material, etc.) along with the expected information about the particular piece or genre. I was glad to see such a variety of items included as art: Amish quilts, Shaker boxes, tinwear, wood carvings, paintings (by recognized artists as well as unknowns), and metal working were some of the offerings. I got to see one of the "Dave jugs," and I saw a work by Karol Kozlowski, which made me think of a few people I know. Certainly the pieces displayed were not exhaustive of all genres of American folk art (no ocarinas or tin whistles, for example), but they were still varied. I was also pleased that the artifacts represented multiple centuries, including our own. I think it's very important that people not automatically relegate "folk art" with something from the "good old days." Although that might be the case, it might just as easily be the thing your neighbor does in his garage on the weekends.
As I said, I went to MoMA after I had seen what there was to see at the American Folk Art Museum. My plan was to see the Take Your Timeexhibit of Olafur Eliasson's installations and then just to wander. The wandering proved not only preferable but necessary, as the map markings for Eliasson's pieces were a little confusing to me. Finding the swinging fan was easy.
Eventually, I did find the other works. The rooms with various lights, mirrors, prisms, etc. were interesting. I was inspired (although apparently not much) to create these two self portraits. In which I'm doing basically what everyone else is doing; as I said, a little bit of inspiration.
(I comfort myself by thinking that everyone looks bad in this oddly intense yellow light.)
(Hello!)
The exhibit definitely achieved what Eliasson had in mind, because people were definitely taking their time and interacting with the art. In fact, people stood in line to step into an alcove in which you could see yourself reflected to infinity against the outside skyscape. My picture didn't come out all that well, but it was neat. You'll just have to take my word for it.
(Here I am to infinity, along with the guy I don't know who decided to step in with me.)
After I tracked down the 13 installations, I let the wandering commence. I saw a self portrait drawn by Kiki Smith called Pieta, and, like the other pieces I've seen of her work, I was quite fond of it.
Perhaps my favorite pieces were sigalit landau's Barbed Salt Lamps. Hanging suspended from the ceiling, they appeared to be white 3-D frames that produced lovely, repetative geometric designs on the floor in the darkened room (in which three of her videos were showing). Once close inspection revealed that the frames were actually barbed wire thickly encrusted with salt, the beauty took on a certain edge, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Perhaps it was more beautiful, because the crystallized salt covered the sharp barbs and left only the appealing, benign shapes.
(Salt lamps with Dead Sea video in the background; yes, those are watermelons.)
Further wandering led me fortuitiously to an exhibit entitled book/////shelf. How perfect to find an exhibit exploring the relationship and tenuous, shifting boundaries between books and art! There were many artist's books, paintings of books, sculptures made out of books, and, of course, a few bookshelves. In fact, I found what I'd love to have for the next occasion someone feels inspired to give me a gift:
It would go spectacularly in the basement! So someone can just get started now, or you could ask Milan Knižák if plans for his Globe Shelf are available.
Before I left MoMA, I made sure to go see Starry Night, since it will soon be gone on an extended tour. Since it will be gone before many of you get here, I took the opportunity to take a picture for you. But you all know what it looks like, so here's a detail showing the paint application, which you just can't get from a poster.
I was delighted to note that I wasn't the only one taking time to study the composition of some of the world's acknowledged masterpieces:
(Young artists hard at work, developing their ability to see and reproduce.)
I also spent a little time in the sculpture garden, which is pretty wonderful. If I'd had a book and more hours before closing, I could have happily spent the whole afternoon. I'll put that on my list of things to possibly do later.
(This picture of Geometric Mouse is especially for J, who knows that math and art don't need to be separated and teaches accordingly.)
The sculpture garden, like much of MoMA's collections, represents a who's who of artists I remember studying in junior high art class and high school academic team. Now as much as I love art, and I really do, art class was trying. First, I have shown no skill for drawing, painting, and pretty much anything else we did in art. I wish it weren't so and keep hoping I'll discover my talent, but so far, no luck. (Hence my interest in photography; I'm really missing my good camera right now!) Second, our art teacher was intimidating (purposefully, I feel certain). And as I was in the "bad class," it was that much worse. These two factors, along with my complete immersion in music classes, led to my parting ways with art class as soon as I could, and I've been playing catch up ever since. I'm pretty sure by now I've learned the things those kids in Art Club memorized, though, so it's all come out all right in the end.
PS: If you're looking for the American Craft Museum, it's now called the museum of arts and design. Furthermore, it's moving from 40 West 53rd St. to new digs at 2 Columbus Circle, and it's currently closed. It will re-open in September 2008, which means I'll miss it this go 'round. Sad. They are still having events off site, though.
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