Sara Bremen | work and research

The Metropolitan Museum of Art is huge, but it’s accessible both to tourists and to die hard fans.  If you know where to go, it’s hard not to go there.  I know to keep my bag open, I know to go to that counter, I know how to say how much I’m paying without feeling like a jerk.  And before I can put myself in someone else’s shoes to see it all from a different perspective, I’m swept up in the current of pink buttons.

I went to the museum early Sunday morning.  I knew it wouldn’t be as crowded as a rainy, Saturday afternoon, but I wasn’t expecting it to be this empty.  Towards the end of my visit, I started to see the throngs pour in, but my own hour was on the the quiet side.  After I had received my button, I realized I wanted to take the perspective of a tourist.  I think the Met is really welcoming to tourists and I find myself there wanting to see The Popular Shows.  It’s a hard museum if you don’t know where you’re going, so I go to see specific things.  I asked a guard at the foot of the stairs how to get to the Vermeer exhibit and his answer was perfect: “Have you been here before?  Did you see the Superheroes?”  Of course I had seen the Super Heroes!  I knew where to go!  (Though I did think they were to the right and they were to the left.) It was as if the guard knew the kind of visitor I was/pretending to be/actually was and knew how to best direct me.  It’s like Top 40 radio.

The exhibit itself struck a chord with me I wasn’t expecting.  I knew I liked Vermeer, but, because there weren’t as many people around, I was able to tune everything out.  The Milkmaid floored me and I had one of those emotional reactions to a painting that happens when I’m caught off-guard by something monumental.

After seeing the special exhibit, I wandered through some twentieth century modernism and thought about what I had just experienced.  I felt satisfied.  I was full up of Art.  I learned some things about Vermeer and his contemporaries, but I get bored easily looking at drawings or renderings or other “filler” that supports the main exhibit.  Socially, I felt alone.  Part of that was because there were so few people, and another part was because those that were there, weren’t like me.  Old, white couples made up most of the population.

As a tourist, the exhibit was perfect.  I was directed where to go, and made to feel special going there.  I was able to see and experience the Important Art (whether it had an emotional impact on me is beside the point).  I learned a little background, but could easily avoid boring history lessons.  And I was out in less than an hour.  I was even almost inspired enough to buy a poster.
As a student, I would have found the exhibit equally successful.  The information was presented really well.  There was the obligatory historical overview, written on the first wall, but then the curators had also included reproductions of all of Vermeer’s work together on one wall, framing the pieces seen in the exhibit.  Though the framing was a bit of overkill, the chance for a student to see certain pieces within the context of an artist’s oeuvre is invaluable.
As a young kid, I would have hated this exhibited.  Part of that is because of the subject matter.  Vermeer, I would think, is one of those acquired taste artists.  His genius is subtle and I wouldn’t have gotten it.  The other thing I noticed while looking at the Milkmaid is the height at which the paintings were hung.  I usually tend to notice this fact because I’m not so tall myself.  At the height of a youngster, though, I would barely be able to see the paintings and any in glass would be entirely glared-out.

I had never been to The Frick before.  Upon entering, though, you are immediately ushered in and it is very clear how you are supposed to act.  This is not a place for tourism, this place requires more from its visitors.  The architecture at this small museum is as exquisite as the Met, but, because it is (somewhat) recognizable as a house, the architecture stands out more.  The domestic details that remain from the house, however elaborate, gave me a sense of welcome and wonderment.  There was so much to look at, but it a much quieter way that the Met, where there is also tons to see.

The home-as-space affected how I saw paintings, too.  Here was a Vermeer as well, but this is not the monumental and overpowering window/table/woman of the Met.  This was Uncle Hank’s Vermeer.  In some ways, the setting made the paintings more accessible.  I could get closer because there was a couch underneath, not a cold, white floor.  On the other hand, though, I felt almost embarrassed to look at the paintings closely.  These paintings were not public–they belonged to somebody and I was a guest in his house.

I still felt equally content leaving the Frick, as I had the Met.  It is interesting to consider the Frick from an informational point because there is so little information about the art and so much information about Mr. Frick himself.  I didn’t stay for the whole biography in the Music Room, but I caught enough to understand how this museum is as much about him as it is the Vermeers or Rembrandts or Whistlers.  In that sense, I learned quite a bit.  Socially, this museum is unaccommodating.  I did feel the need to talk quietly and more slowly.  At one point, I think a guard asked me to step out of the way of some older, important look ladies, though I couldn’t quite hear her.

I did think primarily about the Frick from the viewpoint of a young student.  I would have loved this place as a middle-schooler because the number of pieces in any given room was manageable and there was a clear system to it all.  I loved the fact that there is a suggested route to take through the museum and I could see a responsible, academic, and nerdy student getting into the “right way” to experience the museum.  Finally, because there so little explanation about the art, a young student would have the opportunity to experience the art pieces on her own, without the influence of curatorial information coloring the experience.  Though that might be intimidating, the museum could be a wonderful place to figure out what you like.

I get the feeling, though, that a group of students/teenagers would be pretty miserable.  While the interior garden seems like a nice place to hang, there is no room for those loud noises or rambunctious activities that seem to escape from groups of teenagers so easily.  It’s also a small space and difficult to walk around with a group larger than two–you would too easily knock over a Qing dynasty vase.

A senior citizen I would think would very much enjoy the Frick.  I saw a group of elderly people taking a rest on a very comfortable-looking sofa in the large West Gallery.  The museum is small and manageable with places to sit–including a little movie theater.  The guards were very polite.  There is also lots of different kinds of things to look at–the furniture and decorations are just as interesting as the paintings on the wall.  There isn’t too much to read–good for elderly eyes–though the volume level might pose a problem if grandma is a little hard of hearing.