NYC | Art

For what it's worth, it's never too late to be whoever you want to be. There's no time limit. Start whenever you want. I hope you make the best of it. I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you've never felt before. I hope you meet people who have a different point of view. I hope you live a life you're proud of, and if you're not, I hope you have the courage to start over again. -F. Scott Fitzgerald

I went to the MOMA while in New York this past December. I used to think I preferred less populated museums and galleries, but now I decided I like looking at people looking at art. Before going to MOMA, I didn’t do extensive research on the collections or current exhibits. This proved to add surprises to my journey through the six floors of white-walled rooms.

I really do think I would have missed Starry Night if there wasn’t a crowd of people standing in front of it. From the direction I was walking, it was in the middle of the room facing the back wall with an unmemorable painting on the other side of the wall it hung from. The crowd of people gathered in a half circle, cameras poised and vying for the front of the group alerted me there was something important I should turn around for. And there it was, a painting I’d studied and looked at numerous pictures of, smaller than I imaged, but wonderful all the same. 

If the museum hadn’t been filled with people, I probably wouldn’t have turned around. I was glad there were others to alert me to the important thing, to point me to something I would have missed while moving my previous direction. I think it's why we weren't made to float through life singularly. Others help us see whats right in front of us and alter our course for the better. Not because we aren’t trying to see or not trying to find the masterpiece, but because the noise and the lights and everything competing for our attention requires someone else to refocus us on who we are.

I watched a lot of people look at big pieces of art. Some tourist stood directly in front of tall canvases, some locals stood off to the side of wide ones, and some kids walked the length of paintings one way, then the other. These big pieces became backdrop-like as people paused to take in the color and shapes, some even sitting on nearby benches to gaze just a little longer. I liked that MOMA had lots of benches, I think it gives people permission to marvel. We should marvel more. At the world, at the way we each individually are passionate and brave, and the intersections of life we so quickly try to fly past. With the right backdrop and the right people, a new masterpiece is made. 

Turning a corner, I saw a Pollock hanging the length of a wall, gasped, and I almost ran to it. After years of pressing my nose up against pictures in books of Pollock's glorious canvases drenched in paint and random objects, one was right in front of me within reach. Out of the blue, unexpected, but very real. There was a wire barrier surrounding the tediously stretched canvas. I walked up as close as possible and leaned in. How close can I get, I wondered. We should lean in more. We can run for the hills when dreams are plopped in our lap, feeling undeserving and unprepared, or we can lean in. The barriers to overcome may feel large, but in the grand scheme of things, they're probably as flimsy and passable as a thin wire.

Art and life are funny in that they mirror each other and also do not at all. Loud colors still working with each other, bold brushstrokes unbothered by trends, and big, honest statements feel rare in a world where meeting standards and being filtered is the norm. It’s easier to look at the art than be like the art. We should go to museums more to marvel with each other at canvases whispering to us, courage, courage, what feels crazy might just be your next masterpiece.