Tonight I got to see the final moments of Pipilotti Rist's installation at MOMA. It was a special occasion, and the gallery was nearly empty, so it was lacking in the energy that Logan Hill listed as an example of #9 on New York Magazine's reasons to love New York: "Because the Avant-Garde is our Playpen."
Tonight it felt more like an aquarium than a playpen, or than a museum, for that matter. It certainly didn't feel like any MOMA I had ever known on a bright echoey afternoon. It was utterly silent as we came up the stairs under that spectacular green helicopter. Magnificent.
It's been a weekend of nights at museums. Friday found me at the City Reliquary, that cabinet of curios here in Williamsburg. You can read more about that night here, in my food file on Dossier. I'm still waiting for the opportunity to have a sleepover like Jerry Saltz's at the Guggenheim. In the meantime, my neighborhood museum and a quiet moment in the MOMA are reasons enough for me to love New York.
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