Since its expansion in 2004 MoMA has come to feel more like an international departures lounge than a museum, with dull acoustics, not-bright-enough lighting, and escalators that funnel you from level to level without showing you where you’re headed. But the hangar-like central atrium offers surprising perspectives and respite, even when there’s no artwork there. Right now there’s an installation by artist Martha Rosler called Meta-Monumental Garage Sale, which is exactly that. The atrium’s floor and walls are packed with used goods for sale. There are signs and banners, a cash register, and stanchions to herd visitors in and out.
We all know that a museum is not a church, that art is big business, and that almost all museums rely on corporate sponsorship. There’s nothing philosophically dispiriting about having a garage sale inside the museum; that’s not so different than the big gift shop near the entrance. But there’s something physically dispiriting about seeing the atrium, a special place within the city, this singular void, clogged with worn clothes and tchotchkes. Whatever Rosler’s intention is (according to the wall text it's "creating a lively space for exchange"), the event falls flat. Rosler might be striking down ideas about high, low culture and the pricelessness of art, but she’s doing it through shopping, and I would like to keep the museum for art. I fought my way through thick crowds along Fifth Avenue to get to MoMA, brushing back tourists who were toting shopping bags on each arm and gawking at holiday lights. The commercialism on the street was robust, but it was easier to take than the garage sale inside the museum.