After Fashion Week officially ended and the party girls went back to their respective corners of the country, I spent two whole days at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. I wandered for hours at a time, taking hundreds of photos for reference, and still probably only saw about ten percent of their galleries. The highlight by far was being able to preview the Regarding Warhol exhibit—it opened to the public just this week. Go, and try to make some sense of the last half of the 20th century.
I don't what it is about being in a new city that makes everything hyper-emotional; I cried like three times in the museum. At one of the San Francisco art fairs earlier this year, a group of actors staged various emotional / physical responses to art works throughout at the fair as part of a larger performance piece about extreme reactions to art. I thought it seemed very smug and romantic at the time, but there is something about seeing a work of art in person that you had already decided to love when it was nothing more to you than a photograph in a book that is completely overwhelming. I'm sure I looked crazy, standing alone and weeping before a seemingly innocuous pile of candy, but in that moment I truly did not care. Maybe the other patrons mistook it for a performance.