Before I moved to New York, a colleague asked me what I wanted to see or do first. Like a shot I said, “Visit the museums and see art.”
Above is the Rothko gallery at the MOMA. Alone with a friend on a Saturday afternoon at closing time, we meditated in silence on the strength and simplicity of the canvases. It is not unlike visiting a temple or cathedral. In fact, when I visited the Fondation Beyeler in Basel, Switzerland, I had a near spiritual experience in the presence of an overwhelming Rothko. It vibrated with energy. I had the same experience in the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, under that golden dome, a multiringed halo over me. I sometimes feel close to what must be God in the presence of art. More often I feel close to hordes of people with narcissticks who hardly even look at the works. Go ahead, call me a snob.
I bought a membership to the MET, knowing I would be back at least for the extensive selection of reproduction jewelry at their gift shop, some of the most exquisite in the world. (After three visits, I’m still not done). Once I went with a friend just to have a cocktail on the rooftop terrace, a place that offers fantastic views of Manhattan. The first museum I went to was the Frick. Although nothing stood out for me in the collection, the house itself was a delight, with its own theater and a legendary courtyard that brings fin de siecle spirit and light into the property.
Just eight blocks from my office in the West Village is the new Whitney, probably my favourite of all the art museums in the city. The sleek, oversized freight elevators mimic the block’s meatpacking history, while hidden from traffic long sofas face the Hudson, as if from an airport sized living room window, offering a tired museum-goer a moment to sit and chat with the locals. Or just gaze across to Jersey.
I like the results of the iPhone pano function on my camera, though as you’ll see below, the art looks better without people.
I visited on a busy Sunday, starting my tour with breakfast on the top floor (28$ for a jumped up piece of toast and a coffee), before working my way down the floors. The collection feels fresh and very youthful, the generous proportions of the rooms so grand they allow the modern pieces to astonish us. Like the black and white room above, that felt like a big Marimekko cereal bowl.
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Uptown on the Museum Mile at the corner of Park Ave & 86th Street, stands the Neue Gallerie, a collection of German and Austrian art founded by the Lauder family. Something I love about American society: wealthy people donate their money. And wealthy New Yorkers donate their money to culture. My husband enjoyed the Viennese cafe where he was able to order Apfelschoerle without having to explain himself, and appreciated the wait staff in their starched whites and smart blacks. I have no pictures.
The Guggenheim – gives me the willies. I love the exterior and want a Calder mobile from the gift shop. They remind me of the 70s.
Yesterday I went back to the MOMA and bought prints at their gift shop, with the plan of wallpapering a room at home with modern art: Georgia O’Keeffe, Matisse, Cy Twombly, Stephen Frykholm, and of course, a Rothko.
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