April 23, 2022
I grew up in MOMA. That’s the Museum of Modern Art on west 53rd Street. As a kid, I roamed the different galleries: a Picasso here, an El Greco there and went to the movies downstairs. Last Tuesday was a bitterly cold April day. Mittens in April? Perfect for standing in a line for one hour to gain admission. Once my documents were checked I was luckier than most who had yet another line to buy tickets. I’m a member so I flashed my card and was on my way.
How long has the big green helicopter been in that corner? I stopped by Henry Darger’s painting, an untitled 1960’s watercolor. Lots of little girls in pretty dresses frolick in a gentle green woodland. Darger was a janitor, a loner and a practicing Catholic. No wonder I feel drawn to him. I stopped by a tiny self-portrait of the great Mexican muralist, José Clemente Orozco. Lee Krasner’s big, bold Gaea caught my eye. After two hours in a museum I wilt so I headed out to 5th Ave.
