July 12, 2007
Eager crowds took advantage of the recent Met holiday Monday opening, underscoring the popularity of the magnificent Greek and Roman galleries. It seemed fitting to observe how the visitors interact with the many works of art on display, so we repeatedly photographed the various spaces to observe how over the course of each day the temporal relationships shift. Over a period of five weeks since the galleries were unveiled, we returned six times to explore their functionality from various perspectives.
Four minutes after opening on a recent Sunday morning, this scene reflects a sort of pastoral or even reverential moment seldom experienced in today's museum, when the near-silence in the Leon Levy and Shelby White Court is punctuated only by the squeak of a nearby guard's shoes. What strikes the observer here in the initial thirty minutes after the museum's opening seems mostly how the solitary visitor can revel in relative tranquility, unencumbered by jostling or noisy patrons.
The gurgling of the fountain in this modified McKim, Mead and White atrium transports you to a more bucolic setting—whether a garden in ancient Rome or the outdoor gardens of its new-millennium cousin, the Getty Villa in Malibu. Consider the fountain and its historic uses; here construction of the fountain and its bowl was a complex process, one chronicled extensively on the Met's website, and the placement in this exact location seems especially auspicious for multiple reasons:
When espied from the mezzanine, its position in this grand public space becomes all the more apparent. From watching visitors fill the hall and meander about, it becomes readily apparent how the museum adroitly recognized how today's audiences experience the museum.
Obviously it is not just the iPod generation that uses AudioGuides or downloads the Met's podcast or enhanced audio files, nor is it the case that the younger generation demands audio stimulation while traversing the galleries. Indeed, the clever placement of sculptures facing multiple directions of the compass achieves dramatic results. Here I recall Georges Bataille's essay "Museum" from 1930, translated in the Spring 1986 issue of October: "We must realize that the halls and art objects are but the container, whose content is formed by the visitors. It is the content that distinguishes a museum from a private collection. A museum is like a lung of a great city; each Sunday the crowd flows like blood into the museum and emerges purified and fresh....It is interesting to observe the flow of visitors visibly driven by the desire to resemble the celestial visions ravishing to their eyes."
From the perspective of Bataille, these five busts, unobserved, await the visitor to discover their various states and pedestals of unequal height. Two of the five have labels indicating more can be heard on the AudioGuide. What of the splendid mosaic in front of them, when covered by visitors' feet? How to differentiate in the artisanal and artistic qualities of the five? Such pleasures await the visitor.
Similarly, in the light-drenched adjacent galleries, the casual visitor and the flâneur are equally rewarded in a space where both natural and artificial light combined with modest vitrines serve not unlike Ciceronian oratory: to please, to sway, and to persuade. The visitors are captivated, absorbed it seems both in observing the various works of art as well as how their fellow patrons relate to the art. Few other spaces in the museum function quite this way.
A mere 35 minutes after the 9:30 a.m. opening, the Leon Levy and Shelby White Court plays host to the full variety of visitors—solitary patrons, groups on guided tours, amateur photographers, and wide-mouthed tourists admiring the sculpture. While restraining ourselves from a full-scale review of the architecture for the present time, here the curious deployment of two orders of columns cannot go unnoticed. The visitors to the mezzanine—more on that in a moment—seem but a filling in a sandwich, while the Ionic columns of the second floor, framed by neat windows to nowhere with handsome metal grilles—formally announce the sturdy robustness, historical roots, and reclaimed intellectual legacy of this august chamber. Where but a few years ago visitors ate lunch or drank espresso at a tiny bar, the museum now announces smartly announces its dramatic evolution in this reclaimed space.
The mezzanine—this quaint concept found in our hallowed museums—stuns the visitor in harmonious ways, inducing an additive effect after gorging on the sculptures of the atrium. Reached either by the narrowest staircase in the entire museum or by one of the handsomely-appointed new elevators, the first object of veneration generally seems to be the chariot depicting scenes from the Achilles' life. Here and throughout the mezzanine, the strategic deployment of multiple vitrines communicates both subtle and overt messages in this lush space with low ceilings. Since the views of Fifth Avenue and Central Park—as in other areas of the museum—compete for the visitor's attention, the glass vitrines secure appreciation for the various objects and demand reverence.
First seen in the Luce Center for American Art, visual storage can have extraordinary appeal when harnessed to tools of information technology as well as laid out according to rigorous geometric principles. In contrast to vitrines chockablock with Americana, here careful and measured spacing in addition to luxurious construction materials lessens the concept of storage. Indeed, the effect here seems purely an encyclopedic and methodical cataloging of invaluable antiquities, and the streaming light from the lavish Fifth Avenue windows creates for a spellbinding room full of treasures. No matter how much one experiences this room, one wants to experience more, though generally exhaustion sets in after contemplating a few hundred or so objects.
As featured in other newer galleries such as at the Rubin Museum,
touch-screen displays offer additional information about the pieces on display, as well as connections to the other works of art and larger contexts of the artwork. Moreover, in our technology-driven era where various types of equipment (PDA, cellphone, Audio Guide, iPod, camera) distract the visitor's attention in the museum, these touch-screen displays help refocus attention on the objects of veneration. Some might argue their inclusion is critically important for the museum's mission in the 21st century, while others might merely see them as barely tolerable appendanges with an albeit useful function.
Does harnessing technology to antiquity have sacrilegious aspects? Hardly.
For with the ability to zoom through the many objects in this gallery, additional information on provenance and donations can be gleaned. How fascinating that this particular terracotta bell-krater was donated exactly 100 years ago; Miss Matilda W. Bruce could scarcely have imagined how her bowl would be displayed today, or how accessible it would be to visitors—both real and virtual.
A final glimpse down through the columns to the Leon Levy and Shelby White Court gives a interesting perspective, one where the visitor can casually observe other visitors observing sculpture. This dramatic effect is even more stunning in the Japanese galleries, where in a sedate wood-panelled room containing a gorgeous Nakashimaya table and ikebana flower arrangement you can spy through a large square plate-glass window down to the Temple of Dendur. to be continued
All photographs copyright © 2007 NewYorkCity.com Inc. All rights reserved.
Tags:
greek and roman galleries, leon levy, luce center, mckim mead and white, met, Nakashimaya, shelby white, temple of dendur
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Posted on 7/12/2007
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