When last March I visited the MoMA with two young Spanish artists, I had the chance to see what starvation can do in an individual, or what abundance does as well. Entering the realms of MoMA, I expect from literate viewers a response of awe, but also a critical position on the many flaws and failures of the new Museum of Modern (not Contemporary) Art.
A certain American viewer, long accustomed to visit rich museums with important collections, may reflect on the losses at and of the MoMA. But how to expect a critical reaction from a hungry-for-art Spanish artist, coming from a country where the museums are in a permanent crisis, contemporary art barely exists in their collections and the lack of contemporary culture (or plain culture) is exasperating? Whereas a museum overloaded with masterpieces may be boring and unexciting for a certain literate American, it is an undeniably shocking experience for a Spaniard.
The exhibition of the UBS collection at the MoMA was undoubtedly boring, insipid, soulless and way too corporate and neat (much what the museum itself suffers from): the habitual masterpieces from the habitual masters in the habitual gift to the almighty gifted MoMA. I would say the reaction in New York was one of disappointment rather than excitement (many art critics felt so). A critical engagement arising from abundance: when you have it all, you want something else.
Chuck Close, Brice Marden, Willem de Kooning, Anselm Kiefer, Jasper Johns? Please! We see them and have them in every corner! (if not at home). We want art that communicates, art that is mounted in a lively way, a display that shakes and moves the mind and senses, a challenge to the eye and brain. Accumulating masterpieces? Corporation-style museums? That’s what America tends to give: bigger, more, but not necessarily better. Or how the small New Museum of Contemporary Art can be far more exciting than the monstrous Museum of Modern Art. Size, tag and brand do not always matter, when we’re in search of a soul and heart. That same soul and heart so many American museums choke-full of big art lack, catering more to the corporate body than the artistic spirit.
And yet that judgment cannot be expected from a Spaniard, or from an Italian, or a Portuguese. Or any non-American visitor, in fact, since even the Tate Modern holdings feel rather poor (but displayed in a smarter way), visiting from New York. As much as we cannot expect a critic of fast-food from a Sudanese child transported to America, a Spaniard in the MoMA will gasp rather than cuss upon entering the cathedral at 53rd street. As an ex-Spaniard myself, a thought comes to my head sometimes, when I myself happen to be visiting a museum out of New York: “this room, this sole room contains more Cézannes than all the museums in Spain, Portugal, Italy and Greece” (and…). Any Madison Avenue blue-chip gallery contains more Modern and Contemporary Art at anytime than Spain has ever had. How do we like that? How easy is to grasp and take such a raw statement of facts?
The opulence and riches of America and the philanthropy of our art patrons are an immense blessing, but also a curse. Museums that look and taste like corporate offices, masterpieces that look and taste decaffeinated and sad.
Mark Rothko in Las Vegas, Tadao Ando in Texas and other displacements of spiritual energy.
So many museums have vast, wealthy holdings of art but lack the significance, flavor and impact to touch our souls and senses and give a meaning to art.
