365 Days at the Met

  May 24, 2021 I was a bit reluctant to go to the museum today, because I slept poorly last night and was quite tired. But I'm glad I did go, especially because when I arrived at the musical instruments galleries, an organist was trying out the impressive organ at the far end. The instrument's sound resonated through the empty space, a reminder of the pleasures of live music. I couldn't resist going to watch  the performer at work, playing what sounded to me like Poulenc or Duruffle, but when I caught a glimpse of the music, I saw that the composer was one Herbert Howells. Okay, I thought - he studied in France. But no  - according to Wikipedia,  he was a Brit through and through. Maybe all 20th century organ music sounds alike to me. Gallery 681 is enormous, and I am planning a return visit. Its arrangement is a bit odd: the main organizing principle seems to be culture area (Africa, Japan, the Americas, e.g.), and within culture area, type of instrument (stringed, percuss

May 10, 2021 With gallery 680,  I begin my explorations of the musical instruments galleries.  Actually, this is my second trip to the gallery. The first time, I noted that recordings of the sounds that various instruments make are available, but the earphones I had with me didn't fit my new IPhone.  (I could say that this planned obsolescence is a way for Apple to make more money, except that the new phone came equipped with earphones that I hadn't bothered to remove from their case.)  I listened to the recordings at home and then again on my second visit, and they do add a good deal to the experience. I've wondered why there are galleries devoted to musical instruments at the Met (aside, of course, from patrons' bequests), since the aesthetic purposes of the instruments are subordinate to their sound-producing functions. Still, the secondary role of aesthetics is hardly unique to musical instruments: a dish or vase is made to hold something, not just to look beautiful

 May 3, 2021 As I was working on my Reflections entry, I realized that something was amiss with my gallery numbering. Sure enough, it turns out that I had missed gallery 621 - peered in and then forgot about it.  The gallery, as I learned today, centers on Baroque "history painting."  The term, as I should have known but didn't, refers to depictions of scenes from the Bible and from classical mythology. Considered the highest form of painting, it was pretty much closed to women, Artemisia Gentileschi being a notable exception.   The two paintings I've chosen for today are similar in their emphasis on gesture and movement, but also  different from each other. The first is the well-known and enormous  - perhaps 13 feet long and 9 feet high -  wolf and fox hunt painted by Peter Paul Rubens and his workshop in oil on canvas around 1616.  Ironically, it's not a history painting at all, but it possesses the grandeur and sweep of the genre. At the right of the compositio

 May 1, 2021 I've now visited as many of these galleries as are available to view - less than half of the total, if my old map of the museum is till to be believed.  It may be well over a year before the other galleries are reopened, so this seems like an appropriate time to reflect on what I've seen to date.  The visits have helped me understand what I most respond to.  A  readily understandable composition with a clear focal point. The use of color to draw attention and highlight. Religious-themed paintings that humanize their subjects: a teenage Madonna, a chubby Christ child. Portraits in which I can't take my eyes away from the eyes of the portrait's subject, that convey the force of the sitter's personality. Paintings that are "painterly" rather than linear, in which freedom in the use of the brush is evident. As far as the display is concerned, it's probably premature to comment, since I assume many of the paintings will be hung in different pla