By Miriam Felton-Dansky
By Lilly Lampe
By R. C. Baker
By Tom Sellar
By Alexis Soloski
By Molly Grogan
By R. C. Baker
It kills me to write this because I love the Museum of Modern Art. Aesthetically speaking it's where we all come from, where we go to commune with our ancestors and become new again. Yet the more I go to the new MOMAand I've been there over 50 times since it reopened a year ago this weekthe more I think this crown jewel is becoming a beautiful tomb. At MOMA the unruly juice of art history, the chaos, contradiction, radicality, and rebellion, are being bleached out. Instead, we're getting the taming of modernismmodernism as elevator music.
An observation by Jacques Lacan might describe the dire straits MOMA is in: "A madman who believes he is king is no more mad than a king who believes he is king." Of course, this statement means a king who believes he possesses an inherent "king gene" is implicitly mad. Second, and more pressing, it means that to be king the people must believe you are king. Being king is a relationship.
MOMA is becoming a madman who thinks it is king. It is telling a story of modern art that only the museum itself believes. Many have grumbled that the new museum is too big and posh. On the contraryand catastrophicallynot enough room was built for the exhibition of the museum's vaunted collection of painting and sculpture. Figures are fuzzy, but the amount of space currently allotted to art from Postimpressionism to 1969 on the fourth and fifth floors is roughly the same as in the old buildingless if you factor in added doorways.
This is devastating. Just when everyone is ready to see modernism and the Modern anew, the new building only allows MOMA to exhibit a tiny fraction of its collection. Worse, the lack of space means MOMA must show mainly masterpieces. Obviously, everyone wants to see the peaks. But if you're only seeing mountaintops you can never know how high they are. Often more can be learned from so-called "lesser art" than "great art." These days too many alleged "geniuses" are being propped up by their isms and would be of little interest otherwise (e.g., Motherwell, Hofmann, and Gottlieb).
At MOMA everything has been civilized, neutralized, tidied up, and pruned to death. Even the giants are ill served. So far on the fourth and fifth floors there hasn't been a single Modigliani, Rouault, or Soutine, no Toulouse-Lautrec, Balthus, Hartley, or Alice Neel. A titan like Stuart Davis, who deserves his own gallery, hangs by an escalator. Ditto Georgia O'Keefe. Forget about oddballs and kooks like Morandi and Florine Stettheimer; there's no Adolf Wolfli, Bill Traylor, Martin Ramirez, or Henry Darger, all of whom rank among the greatest artists of the 20th century.
Even more appalling, of the approximately 410 works in the fourth-and fifth-floor galleries, only a paltry 16 are by women. Four percent is shameless, reprehensible, and unacceptable. Moreover, it's lower than it was a year ago. While art historians moan about donor names being too large in galleries and theoreticians carp about poor "sight lines," this arrogantly parochial misrepresentation undermines many of the institution's good intentions. If this insidiousness isn't corrected at once, those responsible should be held accountable, and we should think about not going to MOMA until the distortion is corrected.
Foucault famously wrote about the Panopticon, a circular prison whereby a warden could keep watch over an entire population, instilling "self-discipline from paranoia." MOMA isn't round, but it proceeds in such lockstep, by-the-book order that audiences fall into anesthetized stupors of mindless acceptance. MOMA has become a machine whose primary purpose is to impart an aura of respectability to objects that are inherently unorthodox and anti-authoritarian. It is engaged in a ruthless cleansing operation meant mainly to reinforce the canon.
MOMA needn't have built a Bilbao-like behemoth. Yet as horrendous as it is to say, MOMA already needs to expand to the property it owns next door and quintuple the amount of space for the permanent collection and stupendous drawing and photography collections. It should also attempt to relocate its tremendous neighbor, the American Folk Art Museum, to a bigger, better space and then either tear down AFAM's hideous, ridiculously narrow building or use it for offices, storage, or education.
Last season I made a number of suggestions for a better MOMA, including an 18-month exhibition titled "75 Years" in which as much of the permanent collection as possible from 1925 to 2000 would be integrated and installed in strictly chronological order. This would break MOMA's stultifying he-begat-him story. When Glenn Lowry, MOMA's director, told me "the museum was seriously considering" some of my suggestions, I asked, "What about '75 Years'?" He blithely replied, "We considered that but it would be dog food," meaning, I think, it would be confusing. I responded, "No, it would be chaos from order and order from chaos. It would bring us to the brink of discovering something about the Modern as an institution and about modernism itself that we haven't quite known before or experienced fully, something that's just beneath the surface." I didn't mention that the follow-up exhibition would be to install the entire collection by acquisition dates to pull back the curtain on institutional taste.