New York - Day 4 - My First Time at MoMA

The first time I ever went to an art museum was the 21st of March, 2014, on our journalism trip to New York, at the Modern Museum of Art. It was a visit filled with out-of-body experiences and other exciting things.

After visiting Grand Central Station, half of our group took a bus to the museum. We got there at 3:38pm. We found out they give away free admission tickets on Fridays starting at 4:00, so we decided to hang around the gift shop for a bit. After we were done with the gift shop, we got in line, which stretched all the way around the block. We thought we were gonna be stuck for a while, but the line actually went by pretty fast and we were in within less than ten minutes. 

The first few floors included contemporary galleries, drawings, photography, and special exhibitions on Ileana Sonnabend, John Cage's 4'33", and Robert Heinecken.

Maddy and I explored the first few floors in great detail. But shit officially hit the fan on the fourth floor. We were merrily walking along until we bumped into Jackson Pollock's Stenographic Figure, the painting I posted on my Facebook wall on Pollock Appreciation Day. I started tearing up and bursting into happy spasms. We explored the rest of the floor in a semi-rushed, happy daze. There were a few other Pollock paintings, including Number 1A and One: Number 31. Also on the fourth floor, there was Andy Warhol and Robert Rauschenberg. It was absolutely amazing. 

We were given less than 2 hours to explore the museum; Maddy and I were too busy thoroughly inspecting each item to realize that time had gone by very fast. By the time we were finished with the fourth floor, we only had a few minutes left. As we approached the escalator going downwards, Maddy overheard a French man. She couldn't understand anything that was going on, but then she heard him say "van Gogh." 

And then it dawned on me that I haven't looked at my museum map once since I had gotten it. I looked at my map for the first time and glanced at the contents of the fifth floor: Paul Cézanne, Frida Kahlo, Henri Matisse, Piet Mondrian, Claude Monet, Pablo Picasso, Vincent van Gogh, "and others". 

We had one minute left. I had a panicky feeling, an adrenaline rush of sorts. Why did it take us this long to realize all the good stuff was on the fourth and fifth floor? We had wrongly assumed that we would have enough time to explore everything in peace. I almost began to mourn, but then Maddy and I impulsively hopped off the downward escalator and began going up. 

We frantically ran around the fifth floor, trying to take in as much as possible from the five minutes we allowed ourselves. I ran around with tears in my eyes, gasping loudly and squealing every time I encountered a famous work I recognized from art books and Wikipedia pages. The stash of Monet's Water Lilies nearly gave me heartburn, and Frida Kahlo's self portraits knocked the life out of me. And then we found a group of people crowded around a painting. Maddy and I poked our heads into the crowd, and alas there we were, standing in front of Starry Night. And then we had to leave.

Because it was super crowded, I couldn't take a picture for myself, but this is what it looked like. Original photo here.

My experience at MoMA was both a tragic and joyful one. I 
was naïve and foolish for thinking that 2 hours was enough time for me to explore an art museum (I didn't even know the museum had 6 floors). But it was worth it-- the last ten minutes was particularly exciting and gut wrenching. Next time I come to MoMA, I will be better prepared.