A New House for a New MoMA
By Alex Connolly
This November, the newly revamped MoMA reopened its Manhattan
headquarters, reaffirming its Midtown location as the most prominent
center for modern art in the world. On Saturday’s unveiling,
coinciding with the museum’s 75th anniversary, New
Yorkers were privileged to MoMA’s unknowns and very-well-knowns
alike, and as Michael Kimmelman of the New York Times writes,
“you would have to be either comatose or completely immune to
the pleasures of modernism not to be moved by its fifth floor,”
a ravishing collection of Vincent van Gogh, Max Beckman, Paul
Cézanne, Henri Matisse, Joan Miró, Salvador Dalí and Pablo Picasso.
The new space, designed by Yoshio Taniguchi, is a sleek combination
of stainless steel and glass, with vast white walls and hardwood
floors. Far more spacious than before, with galleries situated
to prevent congestion, the design is everything it is meant to
be: practical, unobtrusive, and elegant, a modern house for New
York’s modern art.
But Taniguchi also brings a new sense of meditation to the space.
The galleries are vast and open, with lightly tinted windows illuminating
the off-white walls. There is something soft about the design’s
Along with the MoMA’s architectural redesign, curators have overseen
a complex re-hang. The prodigious collection of paintings, drawings,
sculpture and photography are tactically displayed about the six
high-ceilinged floors, plotted with the same precision as Taniguchi’s
architectural plan. Placement of the work is a sensitive art
in itself— a tricky balance of chronology, crowds and character.
Past the ticket counter and information desk, guests wander up
Taniguchi’s stone staircase, passing under MoMA’s iconic hanging
Bell 47D-1 helicopter and into the museum’s main atrium. With
a curatorial spark, the cosmically mind-boggling Broken Obelisk
sits central, Barnett Newman’s pyramid of Cor-Ten steel adjoined
to an inverted balancing obelisk. Across from the spiritual,
geometric sculpture is a work of contrasting technique but comparable
vibe. The juxtaposition sets the mood for the whole museum: Monet’s
Reflections of Clouds on the Water-lily Pond, a beautiful,
wall size blend of color that renders the natural scene with emanating
Plotted around the atrium, the galleries are organized by form
and period. The drawing collection is impressive and there is
particular joy in the 2nd floor’s print exhibition.
But the most powerful impressions are left by the painting and
sculpture collections. Starting on the 4th floor with
works from 1940-1970, the space is divided into sub-movements:
abstract expressionism, minimalism, post-minimalism, pop art,
with sculpture by Giacometti sprinkled throughout. One room is
entirely devoted to Jackson Pollack, where his first three “drip”
paintings, which were realized in quick succession, hang prominently.
The largest, One: Number 31, 1950, is captivating. In
person, the chaotic spontaneity of the Pollack’s “action” painting
is deeply affecting. Beyond, there is delight in Jasper John’s
target painting, and his iconic Flag. Hidden in the corner
of the “After Abstract Expressionism” room, there is Painting
by Francis Bacon, a haunting depiction of a man shadowed by an
umbrella, standing against a stretched body whose chest is torn
open and enshrouded in darkness. Colors are intense, with pastel
pink and purple in the background, and the brushstroke is crude
and expressive. Across the floor, in sharp contrast, Andy Warhol’s
Campbell Soup Cans is definitive of the light-spirited
pop art collection. The 4th floor offers a varied
collection of pieces, from different artistic movements, which
fully convey the pleasures and profundities of abstraction.
Adorning the staircase up from 4 is Matisse’s Dance (first
version), an oddly placed segue from the late modernist period
to its hailed glory days, the painting and sculpture of 1880-1940.
Here is a collection of the vibrantly expressive, the disturbingly
perverse and the startlingly beautiful: the modernism tour de
force of the 5th floor. “This is where they have the
heavy-hitters,” my brother noted as we climbed the stairs, reaching
the museum’s chronologically plotted crescendo. Picasso’s Les
Demoiselles d’Avignon, followed by Cezanne’s The Bather,
and Matisse’s Red Studio just after, with van Gogh’s Starry
Night paces away-- the collection is historically stacked
and deeply moving. Starry Night is unspeakably beautiful,
especially in person. But Olive Trees, its lesser-known
daytime companion, hangs next to it and is just as fascinating.
Together their effect far outreaches historical preconceptions.
Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon is a thrill, but so
much more so when viewed in the context of his The Women at
the Spring. You simply have to see it.
On the top floor there is a monstrous gallery devoted primarily
to temporary exhibits, large enough to house a Richard Serra Torqued
Spiral. The open space is decked with a double-high ceiling and
vastly expands on the museum’s temporary exhibition space. Its
massive scale is perhaps extenuated though by its near emptiness;
most of the space is yet unused. However Sculpture for a Large
Wall, Ellsworth Kelley’s wrought of aluminum tiles and solid
colors, is a spectacle to be sure.
Wandering through the museum, one can’t help but think of how
much has changed since it was founded in 1929 by Alfred H. Barr
Jr. For one thing, at that time, ‘modern’ art was actually modern.
With MoMA’s latest renovation/reinvention, now finding itself
with soaring new gallery space and a soaring new admission charge,
questions of identity arise.
The weakest portion of the museum is by far the contemporary
gallery of the 2nd floor. Devoted to works since 1970,
the exhibition seems scattered and unimpressive. It is certainly
no criticism that the collection lacks unity as the character
of the contemporary period is still to be seen. But beyond unity,
the collection lacks harmony. It seems thrown together without
much care or attention. Contemporary art, it seems, is neither
MoMA’s strength nor its focus.
MoMA is clearly no longer the edgy and progressive institution
that it once was. When it was originally founded, Alfred Barr
planned to sell its collection as it matured, keeping MoMA at
the helm of the contemporary movement. But today the museum has
become historical, especially considering the surprisingly high
admission charge of $20, suggesting a readjusted focus on members
and tourists. And with its newly finished meditative design,
there is little edgy about it.
Identity questions aside, however, Manhattan has sorely missed
MoMA. New Yorkers lined up in impressive numbers opening weekend
to be reunited with that helicopter, to catch a glimpse of Starry
Night. The museum is an essential part of the city, and the
city is a distinctive part of the museum. Large tinted windows
illuminate the galleries, and passing through, museum-goers constantly
stop to gaze out at the city, before turning their attention to
the next painting or sculpture. Those rectangular windows frame
skyscrapers in the distance, works of art in their own right.