Tag Archives: MOMA

‘The Nostalgia of the Infinite’ by Giorgio de Chirico


I’m grateful to have seen this at the MoMA earlier this week. De Chirico’s work gets at something in me. I first saw his work at the MoMA back in May, but only three of his paintings were on display, and “The Nostalgia of the Infinite” was not one of them. I could see it, though, on the screen of the audio guide. It was in the MoMA collection, just not on display at the time. Ugh! But during this visit, graciously provided by a friend of a friend, I found several of de Chirico’s paintings in a small gallery room, and the tower I had wanted to see back in May was present. 

Since May, I had read a bit about de Chirico and was surprised to learn this particular style of de Chirico’s — called metaphysical art — was short-lived, about three years. He founded the movement, Scuola Metafisica, in 1917 with Carlo Carra. They later had a falling-out.

In 1919, de Chirico described metaphysical art in this statement:

“Everything has two aspects; the current aspect, which we see nearly always and which ordinary men see, and the ghostly and metaphysical aspect, which only rare individuals may see in moments of clairvoyance and metaphysical abstraction. A work of art must narrate something that does not appear within its outline. The objects and figures represented in it must likewise poetically tell you of something that is far away from them, and also of what their shapes materially hide from us.” 

(I found the quotation in this great old Pocket Dictionary of Art Terms, published for the first time in the U.S., as a 3rd edition, in 1964 by the New York Graphic Society.) 

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My Shirt Imitates Art


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At the Museum Of Modern Art today.

Mondrian and My Shirt.

Bjork at MOMA


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This is Bjork, projected on a wall at the Museum of Modern Art in NYC. At least two other short films at MOMA also involved the Icelandic artist known for her innovative music and ethereal voice. This past Tuesday, I saw the one called “Black Lake.” For that one, we entered a darkened room the size of a small movie theater. I wish I could say “Black Lake” accomplished something. Projected simultaneously on two screens in a darkened room, on walls facing each other, the only curious thing was the occassional differences between the scenes accompanying the same music. Bjork’s voice was at once lovely and unintelligible. Even the floor and ceiling speakers were under-used. Her performance-artist dancing brought nothing to the indecipherable message, or indecipherable emotion, or indecipherable indecipherableness. The landscapes and settings — cave, rocky passageway, green plain near mountains — redeemed some of the 10 or so minutes I stood stuffed amongst strangers wondering when I would have something to grasp mentally or emotionally. Oh, and among those landscapes and settings, not one black lake. I guess an exotic appearance and an angelic voice allows a woman to take over the MOMA for no apparent reason other than Bjorkness.