Title : "For a while now, I’ve been talking about art objects as 'machines for thinking': Our job as viewers is..."
link : "For a while now, I’ve been talking about art objects as 'machines for thinking': Our job as viewers is..."
"For a while now, I’ve been talking about art objects as 'machines for thinking': Our job as viewers is..."
"... to switch them on, and it’s almost impossible to do that when all you’re getting is a glimpse through the gaps in a crowd."
Writes Blake Gopnik in "Experiencing Museums as They Should Be: Gloriously Empty/A critic discovers the joy of visiting Covid-restricted art collections, which lets him commune with van Gogh and the gang" (NYT).
This essay belongs in the transgressive literary genre, The Blessings of Covid.
Have you spent much time gazing at museum art, anticipating lofty thoughts and emotional transport? It's hard to experience the contemplative level of awareness needed when there are always other people shifting around you, taking too little time, shattering your meditation with pointless little comments. Like reading the title of the painting out loud. Ever notice how many museum-goers do that? Or flatly stating the same factoid about the artist — the cut-off ear, the penchant for young girls...? They'll take a quick close look and judge the artist good at details. They'll opine on the looks of the person in the portrait as if it were a TikTok makeup video. The word "gorgeous" will recur so much that your meditation shifts to predicting the next time someone will say "gorgeous." And God forbid that painting you wanted as your own personal thinking machine is the next target of the wandering docent....

"... to switch them on, and it’s almost impossible to do that when all you’re getting is a glimpse through the gaps in a crowd."
Writes Blake Gopnik in "Experiencing Museums as They Should Be: Gloriously Empty/A critic discovers the joy of visiting Covid-restricted art collections, which lets him commune with van Gogh and the gang" (NYT).
This essay belongs in the transgressive literary genre, The Blessings of Covid.
Have you spent much time gazing at museum art, anticipating lofty thoughts and emotional transport? It's hard to experience the contemplative level of awareness needed when there are always other people shifting around you, taking too little time, shattering your meditation with pointless little comments. Like reading the title of the painting out loud. Ever notice how many museum-goers do that? Or flatly stating the same factoid about the artist — the cut-off ear,

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