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The NY Minute.
Mar. 5th, 2007 09:22 pmIt was colder yesterday than it was on Saturday. The weather defied forecasters everywhere by refusing to snow and instead parading the deliciously warm temperature of 65ish throughout the day. Yesterday, however, despite projections of 46, the temperature never went much higher than 38 or so. At least, this was my estimate as I wandered around the city without my jacket or scarf. With the wind chill I'd venture to guess it was well below freezing. Thank goodness I took my hat and gloves at least.
I'm the kind of stubborn person who'd refuse to go back to hotel for warming accessories, so by the time we got home from our museum trek, which took us across Central Park twice, I was pretty nearly frozen. But I'd like to go on record as not having complained once. I made the choice to leave the hotel without a jacket, and I dealt with the choice with a bit of decorum. So there.
Our first stop across the park was the Asia Society's exhibition on arts of Sasanian Iran, a review of which can be read here. The collection was intriguing, although I was saddened that so little of the original show could be brought to the US purely on account of the government's narrow-minded policy on Iranian imports - as if ancient artifacts even fall into that category. Idiots.
Next we hit the nearby Whitney Museum. I went primarily for the Lorna Simpson retrospective that was being held there, and I was heartily glad to have seen a wide variety of her works - which focused on race, gender, and perception. Altogether, however, I was disappointed with the Whitney's use of space. Of five full floors, only one was comprised of pieces from the permanent collection. The rest of the space was given over to a number of temporary, traveling exhibitions. Now, certainly I don't object to exhibitions. Not at all. I just take a dim view of running the museum too much like a gallery. If your museum has a major collection to speak of, and its reputation is largely based on the strength of that collection, it ought to be paid more than the token lip service of a single floor.
After the museums we went back to the little French place we discovered on our last visit, Savann, and had another sinfully sumptuous meal there. We also debated some of the works we'd seen in the Whitney. One piece in particular had seriously offended my mother and spurred a debate in which I played devil's advocate to her staunchly held views on art and ethics. The piece, a deconstructed piano, did not qualify as art in her view because it was not a creation but a destruction.
I argued that the piece was probably designed to evoke a negative response and therefore encourage her to think about the ramifications of destruction. She countered that she could be encouraged to do so through the use of photography. And from there we leaped into a discussion on the marginalization of victims through photography, witness, and perceived empathy - a concept she flatly rejects.
I'm the kind of stubborn person who'd refuse to go back to hotel for warming accessories, so by the time we got home from our museum trek, which took us across Central Park twice, I was pretty nearly frozen. But I'd like to go on record as not having complained once. I made the choice to leave the hotel without a jacket, and I dealt with the choice with a bit of decorum. So there.
Our first stop across the park was the Asia Society's exhibition on arts of Sasanian Iran, a review of which can be read here. The collection was intriguing, although I was saddened that so little of the original show could be brought to the US purely on account of the government's narrow-minded policy on Iranian imports - as if ancient artifacts even fall into that category. Idiots.
Next we hit the nearby Whitney Museum. I went primarily for the Lorna Simpson retrospective that was being held there, and I was heartily glad to have seen a wide variety of her works - which focused on race, gender, and perception. Altogether, however, I was disappointed with the Whitney's use of space. Of five full floors, only one was comprised of pieces from the permanent collection. The rest of the space was given over to a number of temporary, traveling exhibitions. Now, certainly I don't object to exhibitions. Not at all. I just take a dim view of running the museum too much like a gallery. If your museum has a major collection to speak of, and its reputation is largely based on the strength of that collection, it ought to be paid more than the token lip service of a single floor.
After the museums we went back to the little French place we discovered on our last visit, Savann, and had another sinfully sumptuous meal there. We also debated some of the works we'd seen in the Whitney. One piece in particular had seriously offended my mother and spurred a debate in which I played devil's advocate to her staunchly held views on art and ethics. The piece, a deconstructed piano, did not qualify as art in her view because it was not a creation but a destruction.
I argued that the piece was probably designed to evoke a negative response and therefore encourage her to think about the ramifications of destruction. She countered that she could be encouraged to do so through the use of photography. And from there we leaped into a discussion on the marginalization of victims through photography, witness, and perceived empathy - a concept she flatly rejects.
