Yes, this is meant to mimic the notorious dialogue from the movie, Ten Things I Hate About You, a perfect example of the cultural nostalgic zeitgeist that longs for 90s romantic comedies (minus the DVDs and cis-white cast). I’ll try to explain as I go so that you’re incentivized to visit this beautiful institution.
I hate the way you make me question capitalism. And the way you don’t define art even a little.
Through a variety of interactive art pieces, the first floor of the museum asks you to question your sense of identity and your consumption of media. It asks you to reckon with your screen time and your self-indulgence, be that in your prehistoric need to own art, or more recently, repost art. The context with which you share, display and own art adds another dimension to what the “art” in question means. In this way, art can be defined and redefined until finally art becomes a word that encompasses any and all actions associated with human expression, including taking a picture at the MoMA and sharing it on your story.
I hate the way you display random things, I hate it when there’s no beginning, end, or middle.
I disagree with the sentiment that art that doesn’t immediately look recognizable or familiar is meaningless. I also disagree with the sentiment that art has to have a decided meaning or plot. People like to make beautiful things, but they also like to use the tools and materials around them to create things that represent ideas they care about, yes, but also just things that they like. So while that big balloony display of plastic sheets might look to you like trash bags, it might also signify levity and whimsicality to a person who just wanted to create and let live.
I hate your big dumb Anatomy of AI exhibition and the way you confuse my mind.
The Anatomy of AI exhibition shows every part of the process of the implementation of AI in day-to-day life. From the mining of materials, and the energy spent in data processing, to the pay gap between the CEO of companies that further machine learning and software developers and Indian miners of necessary metals, the exhibition makes you question your grasp on human evolution. Especially in terms of who was allowed digital evolution and who wasn’t. Art is also just confusing. That part is straightforward enough.
I hate you so much, it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme (This part I copied right out of the movie for continuity’s sake.)
I hate the way you piece difficult words together (really what is “Critical Fabulation”), I hate it when you make me think.
Every movement, every idea, every creation is either replicated or used as inspiration, which means that a lot of the time, similar enough types of art will have their own name. While sometimes the names are a mouthful, it certainly makes styles and artists easier to look up on Google. It also makes it easier to tie emergent art styles with the periods they come from, ultimately providing insight into the political, economic, and social characteristics of a time that produced some type of art. It also links different time periods together through the repurposing of certain style elements. Art is political because it says something. Sometimes it takes as much listening as seeing to understand.
I hate it when you display important pieces. Even worse when the colors make it hard to blink.
I had no idea the MoMA displayed pieces by Frida Kahlo, Salvador Dali, Vincent Van Gogh, Picasso, and Georgia O’Keeffe. Did you? Also, anyone who can blink in front of a Henri Matisse painting or a Kandinsky is superhuman to me.
I hate it when you provide vital context to complex pieces. And the fact that there’s not a single empty wall.
If you want to go through the entire museum in one day, which I suggest doing only if you visit with our Editor-in-Chief, Sanjana, as I did, you will spend exorbitant amounts of time reading the blurbs next to the paintings. So I don’t suggest you try to see everything at once (again, unless you’re with our sprightly, energetic, and determined EIC). And yea, the whole museum is filled and there are lots of walls. You might get a tad tired.
But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, Not even close, Not even a little bit, Not even at all. This is also copied out of the movie but meant wholeheartedly.
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