The newly-remodelled MoMA certainly feels more open, more accessible, more friendly, in a way, than the old museum. Founded in 1929, the Museum of Modern Art underwent renovations and remodelling that have nearly doubled the square footage. The newer portions have been given huge views of the surrouding streets of midtown Manhattan. Unlike it's earlier version, this MoMA has a lobby that connects Fifty-third and Fifty-fourth Streets and gives the visitor wonderful views of surrounding buildings, the Rockefeller Sculpture Garden just outside, and the enormous atrium, which climbs 110 feet above street level. According to the museum website, Japanese architect Yoshio Taniguchi won the remodelling and expansion commission to, his own words, "transform MoMA into a bold new museum while maintaining its historical, cultural, and social context." I think his design has done that very effectively.
Now about the art. The Museum of Modern Art isn't really about just Modern Art. The term "modern art," itself, seems to me to be misunderstood by many who decry modernism as decadent, or unartistic, or worse. In fact, if you attempt to find a universally-accepted definition of modern art, you're likely to fail because modern art to most experts encompasses a range of art movements dating from the late 19th century to near the end of the 20th. That means Impressionism and its successors like Expressionism, Cubism, Abstraction, Fauvism, Surrealism, and more are generally included. If you want to start an argument, simply propose that Modern Art is decadent and not really "art." You're certain to get somebody steamed up. And you can do the same by rhapsodizing about MoMA. But I like the museum, even if a significant portion of the works there leave me utterly cold.
So herewith are a few of my favorites, and a few of my most-disliked works held by the Museum of Modern Art.
Almost everybody knows the work to the right. "Christina's World" is an egg-tempera painting, acquired by
MoMA in 1948, and is still the only painting by Andrew Wyeth in the museum. We see a huge field, partly mown, and a distant, weathered house toward which the woman in the painting is turned. Although the house in the painting did indeed belong to Christina Olson and her brother, the model for the figure was Betsy Wyeth, the artist's wife. Nevertheless, Christina and her brother were subjects of numerous other works by Wyeth. But the Wyeth is an anomaly at MoMA; indeed, this is the only work by that late contemporary master owned by the museum.Here is another iconic work in the MoMA collection. Painted in 1889, "The Starry Night," by Vincent van Gogh, is an invented landscape but somehow se
ems very familiar. We see a wraith-like cypress towering above a village against a night sky that can only be described as fantastic, even perhaps troubling. The haloed stars and the queer, s-shaped structures in the sky have been variously interpreted as clear evidence of madness, or perhaps of toxicity to certain drugs. By the time Vincent painted this work he was deeply enmeshed in whatever illness (mental or physical) that would lead to his suicide by gunshot within a year. Still, this painting is probably one of the most reproduced images in the world of art. I love the chance to see it.
ems very familiar. We see a wraith-like cypress towering above a village against a night sky that can only be described as fantastic, even perhaps troubling. The haloed stars and the queer, s-shaped structures in the sky have been variously interpreted as clear evidence of madness, or perhaps of toxicity to certain drugs. By the time Vincent painted this work he was deeply enmeshed in whatever illness (mental or physical) that would lead to his suicide by gunshot within a year. Still, this painting is probably one of the most reproduced images in the world of art. I love the chance to see it.
There is perhaps no image in art that has been so admired and probably so reviled as "Les Demoiselles d'Avignon," considered by many to be the most important work of the modernist era, Les Demoiselles was nothing short of shattering. Pablo Picasso painted this work in the summer of 1907, less than 20 years after the death of van Gogh. According to a museum publication, "the painting depicts five naked prostitutes...figures...composed of flat, splintered planes rather than rounded volumes, their eyes are lopsided or staring or asymmetrical, and the two women at the right have threatening masks for heads. The space...should recede [but] comes forward in jagged shards, like broken glass." This was the beginning of Cubism and a clear departure from realist painting. Clearly Picasso was influenced by African masks, and to him this painting was partly an exorcism of sexually-transmitted diseases (which horrified many in that pre-antibiotics era) as well as an aesthetic statement. Picasso called it "The Brothel;" the current name was coined by a well-known critic of the time. Despite its fractured appearance and lack of convention, this huge (8'x 7'8") painting was the result of literally hundreds of preparatory sketches and studies. Although I admire it aesthetically, I find it too full of the sexual anxiety and dislike of women that seems too often a part of Picasso. Here is a painting that is 
less well-known that those above, but considered by many to be an important work. Henri Matisse made this in 1911, and for many it was baffling. The piece shows the artist's studio and includes images of several works he had completed recently. The walls of this studio, in contrast to those of his actual studio, are dark red and many of the items shown are not painted onto the red color but show through from underpainted areas. On one level, this work depicts the objects and paintings from Matisse’s studio at Issy-les-Moulineaux. The picture space is flat but perspective lines and outlines of three-dimensional objects give some clue to the actual space. According to some critics, Matisse's theme of "art in art" (paintings inside a painting), gained traction in this piece and followed him throughout his career. In truth, I find it an interesting intellectual exercise to look at the works of Matisse, but as art they have little effect on me. Matisse seems to have been a visual genius, but I'm not certain he and I speak the same language aesthetically.
less well-known that those above, but considered by many to be an important work. Henri Matisse made this in 1911, and for many it was baffling. The piece shows the artist's studio and includes images of several works he had completed recently. The walls of this studio, in contrast to those of his actual studio, are dark red and many of the items shown are not painted onto the red color but show through from underpainted areas. On one level, this work depicts the objects and paintings from Matisse’s studio at Issy-les-Moulineaux. The picture space is flat but perspective lines and outlines of three-dimensional objects give some clue to the actual space. According to some critics, Matisse's theme of "art in art" (paintings inside a painting), gained traction in this piece and followed him throughout his career. In truth, I find it an interesting intellectual exercise to look at the works of Matisse, but as art they have little effect on me. Matisse seems to have been a visual genius, but I'm not certain he and I speak the same language aesthetically. When we were there, last spring, the exhibition at the time was called "Color Chart: Reinventing Color 1950 to Today." An eclectic group of paintings, drawings, installations, video, and even colored tape on the floor and steps running from the lobby to the second floor. Uneven is the first word that comes to mind. Some of the pieces were fascinating. In particular, I was taken by a video by John Baldessari called "Six Colorful Inside Jobs." Made in the late 1970s, the video gives us a man painting the inside of a small cubicle (perhaps 8 feet by 5 feet) successively red, yellow, green, blue, and finally purple. He paints the entire interior six different times. The viewer sees the entire operation from a god-like vantage point. For some reason, I found it fascinating. I can't understand why. I don't have the video, but you can see some stills of it on the museum website at http://www.moma.org/exhibitions/2008/colorchart/flashsite/index.html.
I suppose no writing about MoMA would be complete without 
mentioning Salvador Dali's famous "Persistence of Memory," from 1925. There are other works by Dali that contain melting watches, but this one is perhaps the best-known. The notes at MoMA suggest that the subject of this picture is time and its fleeting, tragic nature. In the middle is a rather amorphous and seemingly decayed creature, while all around, clocks and watches seem to melt and perhaps evanesce. I've always enjoyed Dali, perhaps because of his madness.
mentioning Salvador Dali's famous "Persistence of Memory," from 1925. There are other works by Dali that contain melting watches, but this one is perhaps the best-known. The notes at MoMA suggest that the subject of this picture is time and its fleeting, tragic nature. In the middle is a rather amorphous and seemingly decayed creature, while all around, clocks and watches seem to melt and perhaps evanesce. I've always enjoyed Dali, perhaps because of his madness.There is much more at the Museum of Modern Art, including furniture, automobiles, a helicopter, dishes, sculpture, and assorted bric-a-brac. Much of the Museum is devoted to postmodern works as well--Minimalists and Pop Art and all of the sad dreck of the late 20th century. There are great works here though, and these deserve to be seen. You can always walk away from the incomprehensible gibberish of Rothko and Reinhardt, the self-conscious kitsch of Andy Warhol, the assemblies of the glib huckster Koons, and assorted effluvia and find a wonderful piece by Chuck Close
like the self portrait shown here from 1997. The brilliance of his idea, taking a picture apart, breaking it into pixel-like divisions that require painstaking attention to color and value, is undeniable. Here is a master at the top of his game. Wonderful.
like the self portrait shown here from 1997. The brilliance of his idea, taking a picture apart, breaking it into pixel-like divisions that require painstaking attention to color and value, is undeniable. Here is a master at the top of his game. Wonderful. A visit to the new Museum of Modern Art is something you should consider if you're in Manhattan and have an afternoon to spare. Although you'll find much of the cant and art-speak that contaminates nearly every phase of modern and contemporary art, ignore it and concentrate on the pictures. Some of them will doubtless move you. Many will leave you cold. A handful are utterly staggering.
