Day 6: "Thank You" Tour Concludes

Today was the day to visit the third and final NYC museum I applied to that didn't hire me for the summer: The Guggenheim. When I walked past the other day, I noted that the outside is still undergoing extensive renovation.
This is to prepare for the Guggenheim's 50th Anniversary next year. (Their guide currently notes that they were just approved to re-paint the exterior the same off white color it has been for decades, as opposed to the earlier yellow color.) In fact, it seems that much of NYC is under renovation, including half of the main staircase into work, but that's beside the point. I got to the museum around lunch time, so I decided to get a sausage from the cart. I knew this was coming, but I'd (successfully) been trying to avoid eating out over the past few days. This felt nostalgic, though, as I also ate a hot dog while sitting on the low wall by the Guggenheim on my first visit to New York many years ago. So: I ordered my sausage with sauerkraut, mustard, and onions. I realized too late that I was, in fact, getting a hot dog with those ingredients, and that the onions weren't fresh diced onions but something cooked in a reddish sauce.
Oh, well. This counts as "eating something interesting" as E and K urged me to do, but I can't recommend it. It was only $3, though, and it sustained me through the visit, so the goal was accomplished. I retreated to a bench across the street to eat and people watch while attempting to keep from dripping goo on myself. Then I proceeded into the museum.

Much to my delight, the major installations from the I Want To Believe exhibit of Cai Guo-Qiang's work that closed on Wednesday were still in place. So while I missed the exhibit proper (and the accompanying exhibit Everything Is Museum that I really wanted to see), at least I didn't miss everything. In fact, one of the gallery guides assured me that all the best stuff was still on view. Let me describe the surreal site that currently greets visitors to the Guggenheim. Words will have to suffice, as photography is not allowed in this museum. In the central atrium, there are currently eight cars (the website says nine, but I only counted eight, and as they're CARS, they're kind of hard to miss) suspended at various heights and angles above the floor. The first is parked near the ticket desk. The next is slightly higher and at an angle, progressing until the eighth is up by the skylight and again parallel to the floor. All of the cars except the first have lighted rods coming out of them, some ending with little balls of light, which flash in a fireworks-like pattern. This installation, Inopportune: Stage One, simulates a car bombing. The subject matter is, of course, disturbing, but presented in its silent, stationary format and without any destruction to the cars (all remain intact except for the holes where the light rods poke through), it is also oddly celebratory. I don't mean to imply that I think the artist is attempting to glorify terrorism, but as I said, the installation does resemble fireworks, and I'm sure the people who set car bombs do feel celebratory when their devices achieve the desired destructive ends.

As if this weren't dramatic enough, the spiral ramp leading up through the floors and to the various galleries had, just across from the entrance, nine tigers suspended in various postures of running, leaping, crouching, and falling. Each of the tigers was shot through with scores of arrows, although there was no evidence of blood. In some cases there wasn't even any evidence that the arrows would slow the tigers. This was Inopportune: Stage Two, and it was juxtaposed with a scroll painting of 100 tigers by the artist's father. No arrows were apparent in the father's work. Behind the tigers, visible but unascertainable from the rotunda, was a wooden boat also shot through with arrows. It turns out this was a reference to a Chinese legend in which a general obtained enough arrows to attack the enemy by sending out wooden boats filled with straw dummies in heavy fog, and pulling the boats back only after they had enough arrows stuck in them for the pending attack. On the ramp above the tigers were 99 wolves. (I didn't count them all, but it seemed like a plausible figure.) The wolves, which started out, like the tigers, mounted on the floor so that you had to walk around them in close proximity, were all running full tilt in the same direction as a huge pack. The faster they ran, the higher they got off the floor. (Picture Santa's reindeer taking off, except without the harnesses and careful pairing.) The wolves were eventually completely overhead, until they got to the front of the pack, where the lead wolves had crashed Head On into a Plexiglas wall and were in various stages of falling into a heap. I don't know what the intended message was, but I took it to be something of a warning about speed and heedlessly following others.

After all of the animals came life-sized clay sculptures of Chinese peasants. This was a recreation of Rent Collection Courtyard originally commissioned by the Communist Party in China in the 1965. This was recreated in Venice in 1999, and again on site at the Guggenheim starting in February. Each set of unfired-clay sculptures were created by Chinese artists. Guo-Quiang recruited a set of artisans this time that included one man who had worked on the original 1965 installation. The pieces are the same, and in the same configurations, as the originals. Pictures of the previous two installations were interspersed with the sculptures to give an idea of the similarities and differences. A major difference this time is that the final pieces depicting the Communists who come in and save the peasants were left out. The wood and wire armatures for them were present, but no clay was on them. The gallery guide I spoke with wondered if this were a comment on the triumph of capitalism, since the Chinese artisans had been brought into a comfortable capitalist setting to work and had left out the Communist message of the original propaganda. Soon not much will be left of the sculptures, as they are being left to decay naturally. The gallery guide said they hadn't been told what would happen when it was time to remove the pieces, so he wasn't sure if they'd all be smashed, or carried out in the pieces that had naturally broken apart, or even whether the pieces would be saved or disposed of. The artist said that the emphasis was on process, and the destruction and clean up is another part of the process. I found it all very interesting.

The labeling was minimal, but as I mentioned, there were gallery guides about every half turn around the spiral. I enjoyed my conversation with a gallery guide very much, and I think it's a great idea to have trained museum staff or volunteers just available to chat with visitors informally. I've tried this with guards, and sometimes it works better than others. This essentially doubled the guard staff (important since visitors had to actually walk through all these installations) while providing on-the-spot interpretation. Nice.

As far as I could tell, only two small galleries are open at this time. One houses at least part of From Berlin to New York: Karl Nierendorf and the Guggenheim (which was supposed to close on May 4, so there was probably much more). I thought this was a nice retrospective and explanation both of the Guggenheim's collection development and this collector's influence. It included two-dimensional works by Klee, Kandinsky, and many others.

The most interesting gallery of all, however, housed A Year with Children 2008. This is apparently an annual exhibit that displays work by children from public schools all over the five boroughs in grades 2 through 6 who have worked with teaching artists throughout the year. Regular curricular topics, such as historic events, narrative (including NY-centric cosmology), and geography, are explored through art. The resulting pieces included masks, animation videos, quilts, sculptures, collages, paintings, board games, and many others. This type of project is, of course, quite near and dear to my heart, but I was really taken with the artistic products and especially the students' words about their experiences and artists in general. You really could tell that impressive learning had taken place! There was a mail slot set up with postcards for providing feedback to the artists (identified by project title, school, and grade level), and I took time to write three about some of my favorite projects. I know how nice it is to get feedback, and this work really deserved it!

Because of the extensive interior renovations and installations that are currently happening at the Guggenheim, that was all there was to see. To the institution's credit, I was warned of this before I obtained my ticket. (It didn't matter much to me since the ticket was complementary!) This meant, however, that I had much more free time than I had anticipated, so I decided to go to one of the museums dedicated to a single nation's art. And since the first one I passed was the (American) National Academy, that's where I went.

I was immediately handed a red sticker with a white N and A to wear, making me look as if I had been branded "Not Applicable" for the rest of the afternoon. The museum is located in another of the mansions along museum row, meaning that the pieces for The 183rd Annual: An Invitational Exhibition of Contemporary American Art which runs through early September are dispersed throughout halls and smaller, but oh-so-elegant, rooms. My favorite parts of this visit were the house and the guard who, when I asked if he had a favorite, pointed to a 3-D collage of so-and-so the IV's face and said he liked it because it amused him. He liked the multiple noses and displaced eyes, and I had to agree. We had a nice chat and discovered that we both have teaching in our background. I was glad he had the time to talk with me.

After leaving the National Academy, I went and people watched in Central Park for a while before doing a little shopping. I still can't get used to the fact that there are all the major chains around, but in (to me) unexpected and upscale places. So I went to Radio Shack on Lexington Avenue before heading over to find food and the Strand.

With the admonition to "eat something interesting" ringing in my brain, I got off at the stop for the Strand, found the store, and then started scouting for nearby restaurants. I saw a place that looked like a Panera-type establishment, but with prices twice Panera's norm, and a few other options, but what really caught my eye was an awning that read "Bon Vivant." The I noticed, uh-oh, it said "find dining" under that. But wait--it also says "Diner." With this last bit of information in mind, I decided to at least sneak a peek at the menu in the window. Burgers starting around $8, prices I could manage. So I went in and plopped down at a small table with my recently procured Village Voice in hand (not carrying other reading material during the day's jaunts), ready for my first culinary adventure of this NY summer.

The service was quick and friendly. Luckily I'd already decided to rectify the recent lack of red meat in my diet, because otherwise I wouldn't have been ready to order. I quickly chose the "Bon Vivant Burger" (deluxe--with fries, lettuce, and tomato), figuring that anything named after the restaurant must be something they were proud of. I was asked how I wanted the burger done, which I always consider to be a good sign. Quite soon my burger with cheddar, bacon, caramelized onions, and mushrooms (the toppings for the namesake burger) arrived with its sides of coleslaw, fries, lettuce, and tomato. The fries had the kind of flaky coating I associate with good chippie shops in England, and a fabulous taste to match. These may be the best fries I can remember having. The burger was large and tasty. I don't like coleslaw, so I can't really comment on it (even though I tried it, as I always do). With tax, the meal came to $11.15, and I thought it was money well spent. So I would recommend the Bon Vivant Diner on 820 Broadway (10003).

After dinner, I went to the Strand book store. Founded in 1927, the Strand is known for good prices on new books, rare books, and selling customized collections for decorating purposes. Their slogan is "18 miles of books," and I could see that it was probably true even from a block away. Several double-sided bookcarts lined the block outside the store with $1 used books, and there was a special entrance for people wanting to sell books. Inside, it was floor-to-way-above-my-head shelves of books, by topic, for three floors. And the shelves were close together, too. It just went and went and went.
(See what I mean? And this is just the view from one aisle, on one floor!)

I wandered happily for a while, perused some books in the New York section, and then bought my Strandwear (a tote which will primarily be used to carry groceries) before heading out. I couldn't in good conscience buy a book this time, because I still haven't finished the ones I brought, including the one I agreed to review. Besides, my current criteria for a new book is "really small," and that's a dumb way to look for books. (And the only ones I saw that fit that description were ones I know we already have at home.) They weren't having an event this time, but I predict that I'll be back. Possibly many times.

Day 4: The "Thank You" Tour Begins

As promised, I'm spending the rest of my week making liberal use of my free museum visit privileges. This work ID is a wondrous thing! I'm getting to do so much right now without expending funds that it's helping balance the outlay from earlier in the week. Somewhat.

I thought I'd start my museum visits with the NYC museums to which I applied but was not granted an internship for the summer, just to say a little thank you for leaving me open for the wonderful opportunity I now have. First on that list is the Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum. I've hoped to visit the Cooper-Hewitt at least twice before, but I've been foiled each time. I made sure it was the only museum on my list today.

The Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum was founded in 1897 and has been part of the Smithsonian and has been since 1967. It is housed in the Andrew Carnegie Mansion on 5th Avenue (Museum Mile) in NY. The mansion is gorgeous, athough you have to make a concentrated effort to pay attention to it since there are so many interesting things to see inside! The only pictures from this museum will be exterior shots as photography isn't allowed inside.


I started my visit in the garden, where the Corning Museum of Glass currently has its GlassLab set up. I adore glassblowing, and this was a lovely setting in which to watch it. The folks from Corning are collaborating with various designers to demonstrate teh potential of hot glass for rapid prototyping of design. So the glassblowers were conferring with the designer, showing the results of various phases of the work, and moving on based on the response. Michele Oka Doner was the designer working with them during the time I watched. My pictures from this aren't great, because the protective shield was quite reflective even without flash. Just know that my experience in person was much the same, leaning to avoid glare and see between other viewers. Lots was going on at the same time, but there was little narration, unlike other demonstrations I've seen them do when GlassLab was set up other places. There was a moment when a bowl being removed from a blowpipe didn't attach to the molten glass blob that was supposed to pull it off, instead hitting the floor with a loud "clunk" instead, and the audience uttered a collective "ahhhh!" They picked up the bowl and went on, however. Later I poked my head out again just as they were triumphantly lifting a fluted green bowl (perhaps the "floating" bowl meant to hold glass flowers I had heard the designer describing) to applause, so there were triumphs as well.

(Just before the bowl fell to the floor with a thud.)


(Making a long glass rod.)

Next I went through the one-room exhibit Campana Brothers Select: Works from the Permanment Collection that will be up through late August. This is one in a series of exhibits by guest curators, and it included a piece commissioned by the Cooper-Hewitt from the Campana Brothers. The exhibit is described as an exploration of "interwoven ideas and unconventional materials" in more than thirty works (I didn't count) dating from the 16th-20th centuries. I appreciated this exploration of a theme through otherwise unrelated works, and it provided a pleasant introduction to the types of holdings the Cooper-Hewitt offers.

Downstairs, in an exhibit I almost missed, was an array of samples used to demonstrate to customers the variety of wares in a variety of wares. Multiple Choice: From Sample to Product gave a nod to the process of design and included a fascinating array of sample products that I never even imagined existing. Dishes with patterns in color wheels were with fabric swatches and prototype designs. I'm glad I didn't miss this.

The rest of the mansion's main two floors currently houses Rococo: The Continuing Curve, 1730-2008, which will be up through July 6, 2008. True to its title, the exhibit traces the curving elements prevalent in the Rococo style through Art Nouveau and Pop art permutations. (I also realized that the designs that most often make their way into the margins of my notes show strong Rococo characteristics.) The ground floor focused on the history of Rococo and the national differences that developed as it transferred from region to region. Connections between artists were also highlighted in much of the labeling on this floor. I thought the links between these national interpretations and artists/designers were very helpful. I loved seeing Rococo manifested in a variety of genres, from porcelain dishes to silver service to ironwork, furniture, and wallcoverings.

Upstairs, pieces from the Pop art movement and artists working now demonstrated how the curve has remained an important artistic element, despite vastly different realizations. From flowing lettering to sinuous materials to the triumph of structure over nature, the curve showed up in surprising and beautiful places. One of my favorites was the flourish designed to be hand and footholds for wall climbing. While I found the links from Rococo to the contemporary pieces more tenuous than the transition to Art Nouveau, I still enjoyed seeing how the curators made connections and was glad for the education about the various art styles.

It's hard for me to imagine how an exhibit like this went together. I imagine that multiple curators collaborated, each taking a particular section of the exhibit. There were just too many pieces, too many rooms, too many interlocking themes for me to conceive of it coming together any other way. One other thought relating to my own curating experiences: I was somewhat comforted to note that even labels at a prestigious national museum sometimes have small discrepancies, such as "in the drawing shown to the left" when the drawing is, in fact, mounted to the right of the piece and label. That's probably bad of me, but it makes me feel relieved that I'm not the only one that little things like that happen to.

Although the Cooper-Hewitt is a comparatively small museum, I still spent over two hours on my visit and felt a bit rushed. Granted, I like to read EVERYTHING, but there was a lot to see and read and learn! It was a delightful visit, and I'm glad I finally made the trip over.

After leaving the Cooper-Hewitt, I began walking to the New York Public Library to attempt to get a library card. The NYPL, like the Cooper-Hewitt, is on Museum Mile, so I thought I'd just walk straight down along the park after my museum visit. Twenty or so blocks later, however, I took another look at the address and realized I wasn't even halfway there, so I backtracked one street and retreated to the subway. There's a lot to know about the NYPL besides the lions out front, and one of the things I didn't know was that you get library cards not at the research library, but at the branch library across the street. But since I had already gone through the security check at the research library, I decided to stick around long enough to see part of another exhibition entitled Eminent Domain: Contemporary Photography and the City.



I enjoyed the variety of media presented in this exhibit and love the fact that the NYPL (like the LOC and many other libraries and archives) hosts such exhibits. Personally, I am in favor of more collaboration and cross-purposing between libraries, archives, and museums, as I think they can all be served by emulating each other's strengths. This was a great way to share some holdings in a way you wouldn't typically associate with a library.

My favorite parts of the exhibit were Glenn Ligon's Housing in NY: A Brief History which consisted of large painted labels on the wall describing the apartments Ligon has lived in since the 1980s. It demonstrates both a change in NY housing trends generally and in the types of housing we choose at different phases of our lives. After my recent frantic perusals of Craigslist searching for housing of my own, I recognized a lot of the neighborhoods he mentioned. Bettina Johae's Borough Edges, NYC were series of photographs with maps on the back showing, literally, the boundaries of different NYC boroughs. These were mounted in flip frames that stuck out from the wall, grouped by borough. Another powerful installation was Reiner Leist's Window, which showed the view out the photographer's window for a series of days in September (perhaps the 10th through the 15th? I've forgotten) over a series of years. These were arranged in a grid with the years running one direction and days running the other, with an accompanying legend to allow you to locate a specific day. Black frames indicated the few days in this selection of days (part of a much larger series) that the photographer was out of the apartment, and they also emphasized the events around September 11th. An interesting concept, I thought, that simultaneously emphasized continuity and ongoing change.

After that, I left the research library to go to the public library. The mid-town branch wasn't as different from other public libraries as I had imagined. It was five stories, had security going in and out, and the desks were quite disaggregated, but otherwise, it wasn't really out of the ordinary. Luckily, the identifying information I had brought with me was enough to qualify me for my library card. Hooray! After a few attempts with the online card catalog, a discussion with an employee at the information desk, and a frustrating re-orientation to the Dewey Decimal system (grr), I finally decided that the non-fiction books I wanted to check out aren't currently available. I'm in the middle of one of the books I brought with me, so I didn't really want to take out a fiction title just yet. Eventually I decided that I'd accomplished enough for one day, so I'll hold off on actually checking out a book. If you have any suggestions for what my first NYPL check out should be, just post them in the comments.


(I <3 reading! Happy reader with new library card and book not from library!)

PS: I found the "Soup Nazi" place; it's around the corner from the library. For those urging me to track it down: This counts, right? I don't actually have to brave it, do I?