i·me·michael

I managed to get my ass to the Da Vinci exhibition last Sunday before it ended. Unbeknownst to me, my little excursion coincided with the Greek Independence Day parade, so the otherwise normally accessible area was a mess of people, police, and barricades.

I didn’t mind the 10 block walk from my parking space. I didn’t mind the freezing rain that started the minute I got out of the car, and stopped the minute I set foot inside the Met. I didn’t mind the throngs of flag waving Greeks celebrating their heritage. This was the easy part. What I did mind was what went on inside the Met.

Like Kottke’s assessment, I’m not sure the payoff was worth the wait. It had to be one of the most disorganized exhibitions, festooned with the most discourteous patrons, that I have ever been to. Encircling the Great Hall balcony, the line looked somewhat like a funerary procession, with the majority dressed all in black. In some way I guess we were there to pay our respects.

At forty-five minutes my section entered the Asian Art room where we were corralled and left to fester in the heat generated by what had to be close to 300 people. I tried to take a few quick snapshots of a finely detailed wall painting only to see the last of the battery power drain from my camera. [ed. note—Who’s disorganized now?!]

At an hour and fifteen minutes, making our way ever so slowly to the exhibit, we were given final instructions before entering—No photography, all cellphones must be turned off, nothing about turning off crying babies.

Finally entering the exhibit, it became every man/woman for himself/herself. Either the Met hadn’t planned on the crowds, or it was just a poorly designed exhibit, but people were jammed around each piece in the collection. Even when some people were trying to be courteous and form a line to see some of the pieces, the next wave would come in from the side and simply crowd around. People darted from kiosk to kiosk, and from wall to wall trying to see everything.

An exhibit of mostly drawings and sketches, you needed to get close to really see some of the pieces. With ten or more people surrounding a piece, and with some sticking magnifying glasses right over the piece, it was difficult to explore the subtleties of a piece without being frustrated by some external distraction. It was like this in each room of the exhibit. Some rooms had fewer people in them, but overall it was difficult viewing. I’m not sure if it was a symptom of my frustration with the crowds or not, but I wasn’t taken aback by any of the drawings or sketches in the exhibit. At some point I had to remind myself that this was Uncle Leo’s work and not some collection of sketches from an SVA life drawing class.

Ah well, maybe the Manet/Velázquez will be better.