Has Mighty Casey Struck Out, or Has the Crowd Simply Missed the Home Run Cause They Were Checking Their iPhones?

Freude, schoener Goetterfunken...blah, blah, blah...
It's a paradox: how packed it seems to always be at MoMA, despite its $25 entry fee and the conventional wisdom that no one really cares about visual art any more. Usually, resentful New York artsies will explain it as having nothing to do with what's on the walls; MoMA has become a tourist attraction to be checked off on one's list as you exit their gift shop. If only they would just move on to Abercrombie & Fitch, like you know they want to, perhaps I could actually see the exhibition. The fact that easily half the conversations one hears in MoMA are in languages other than English supports the tourist explanation, and perhaps that's all it is. I know one finds the same sort of crowd at the Louvre and other museums with worldwide reputations. Still, it remains New York's functioning temple of the avant-garde and crowded or not, we New Yorkers still want to /have to go there. (Yes, yes, I know, you can buy a membership and go when it's not as crowded...but those events are not always in sync with my schedule, so let me bitch, will ya?). And perhaps it's this constant contamination of the rarefied air in this sacred place that causes it, but I find myself in agreement with Charlie Finch's conclusion in a report on a recent visit there. From Artnet.com:

MoMA's rigid Eurocentric habits, where the dry candy of the mind is everything and what dazzles the eye is nothing, ...[T]here is no joy in art, only a dull beating thud inside the head

And so I thought about that for a while...is there no joy in art any more? People do seem to have mostly glazed looks on their faces after touring New York museums or gallery hopping. Or is it simply that there's soooooo much art to take in, and in the museums (and sometimes the galleries) so many people elbowing you out of their way, that any joy found is quickly replaced by annoyance. One of the reviews for our current exhibition was NOT what you'd call a love letter (although the show has gotten tons of good press overall). This one reviewer, though, didn't like the show, and that's ok, but this part of her response gave me pause:

Filling an entire wall of the gallery, these 34 letters are a hilarious read, yet after trying to elbow my way through the opening crowds to read the text, I questioned the point of this action. [emphasis mine]

I couldn't help but wonder if the reviewer's response to the work might not have been different had she not had to elbow her way through to read the text. Just as I can't help but wonder if my last visit to MoMA wouldn't have left a different taste in my mouth if it hadn't been such a chaotic circus. See, the thing is, I do, almost constantly, find joy in the art I'm surrounded by. The works we have up in the gallery, the works we have up in our home. These objects will often completely delight me. But then, I have plenty of time alone with them. And they have plenty of time to catch me off guard, like a thump on the head meant to say, "Hey! Slow down, a**hole. This is your life you're rushing through."

UPDATE: On the same topic, consider this.