National Museum of Fine Arts

Chronicle of Saturday, July 28, 2007. This afternoon I visited the National Museum of Fine Arts. Its website is http://www.mnba.gob.ar/ . It is the first time I've visited it, even though I walked past it for several years and never thought to check it out. Truth be told, it wasn't an entirely planned visit; I wanted to go take photos of its facade because there is a photography contest about it, and then go film some of the street singers at the fair usually held in Plaza Francia. But when I arrived at the museum, I decided to go in—I saw people entering and walked in myself. Once I crossed the door, the first thing I looked for was where to leave my backpack, but I didn't even have to ask because I was immediately instructed where to do so. Admission is free. I left my backpack and asked the gentleman at "Information" if he had a map of the museum, but unfortunately he didn't—they were out. He pointed to some brochures of the artworks on display, which I only picked up when I left (these brochures are also usually left in their respective rooms), and he pointed out the rooms and floors and what several of them corresponded to. He told me I could start on either side. I noticed everyone was starting on the right, so I took the left path; I think I made a good choice. There were two girls who started alongside me, and nobody else; everyone else started on the right. For several reasons, entering on the left turned out to be better for me, one of them being that there was practically no one there, which lets you enjoy it even more.

I started in the room of old European art, which to my taste is better than American and more modern European art—which comprised the room on the right. The works were much older, and that's how I began my walk. I must say that I know absolutely nothing about art; I am guided solely by visual and personal taste and nothing more.

Another room features tapestries. They are large tapestries that take up an entire wall. This, in my view, is one of the best museums I have visited. In fact, its website says, “The most important public artistic heritage in Latin America.” Then in another room, there are sculptures on the floor intermingled with paintings on the walls. Flash photography was not allowed; as I was told, flash damages the artworks, so I took a few photos without flash. When I reached the halfway point of the ground floor tour, instead of continuing through the other half, I went up to the first floor.

There on the first floor is the entire section dedicated to Argentine art, which, except for a few paintings, I didn't care for very much. I remember three very good works: “La vuelta del malón” ("Return of the Indian Raid") and “Regreso a casa” ("Return Home"), two works by different authors that struck me as two sides of the same historical moment—I say struck me, because I don't know what the second painting is actually about; I understood it as a soldier returning home—and another painting I really liked is “Sin pan y sin trabajo” ("Without Bread and Without Work").

One of the paintings looked as if it had been touched with a finger in one of its lower corners and consequently ruined. A woman was explaining the painting to a girl and pointing out the damage caused by someone. On the ground floor, it was common to hear over a loudspeaker in both Spanish and English a player continuously repeating, “Please do not step close to the artwork.” Unfortunately, there are reckless people who touched the paintings and sculptures. 

That awful habit of pointing with a finger and bringing it within millimeters of the painting—if not touching it directly. Can't people form a mental map and locate the spot vocally pointed out by their companion on the artwork? Evidentally not; it requires too much mental effort, which is bypassed by bringing a finger straight to the artwork—something I completely disagree with, but which is a constant among visitors. As I see it, the works are on display to be contemplated and appreciated, not to be handled or touched, and these were grown adults, not children or teenagers.

On the ground floor, there were a lot of people; on the first floor, there were few people. In the museum, there are works in over 30 different styles, and regarding Argentine art in particular, the period prior to 1945 (the museum makes that distinction on its webpage) is mostly what I enjoyed, whereas mostly everything after that is what I didn't like. I find no meaning in those works; the creation of artworks from the past seemed to me much more elaborated and made with far greater effort. Then there is a room with Pre-Hispanic art, very interesting, dark—I suppose it is dark to preserve the pieces in good condition; the museum possesses 265 high-quality Pre-Hispanic artworks. And another room with ancient art and art from Asia.

One work caught my attention: at first, I didn't understand it at first glance, but then, when you read the explanation, you understand something or at least what you read. What I never understood was why "potatoes" were used with real potatoes—something organic. As you can imagine, the potatoes were already rotten and others completely rotten at the time I was visiting the museum. The piece consisted of a wooden grid, and in each compartment, a potato with wires stuck into them. As for "Fine" Arts—well, I imagine the work might be "fine" if viewed together with the explanation, because the potatoes were all shriveled up, and some had even leaked that blackish liquid resulting from their decay. And let's think about boundaries: today we put up some decomposing potatoes as a work of art, and tomorrow someone might be inspired to put up a corpse (in fact, something like that is already circulating in the traveling exhibition Bodies: The Exhibition). Of course, I took the idea to an extreme, but if I relate it to the analogy where the author speaks of freedom of conscience (hardly serious), someone might think to make one about freedom of expression and choose the object with which to do so. I must say that I didn't like this author's work—named Julio Sánchez—and I even found it in bad taste, regardless of his analogy, which is acceptable, though I see it as more fitting for literary or scientific art if he developed it further; however, that is just my opinion.

Analogy I

1.    Potato (Papa): (Quechua origin) Primitive name of the potato still used in Spain and throughout the Americas. Tuber: celery potato; fam. nonsense/hogwash. Fig. and fam. Any kind of food. Soft soups and mush. Air potato or royal potato; earth truffle; edible composite plant. Central America: Air potato. Wild yam. Chile: prickly potato. Bolivia: smooth potato, ulluco.

2.    Conscience (Conciencia): Knowledge, notion. Derived from the Latin conscientia. Inner feeling by which man judges his actions. Our conscience is our pledge. Morality – integrity. Figuratively: freedom of conscience, right recognized by the State for every citizen to think as they wish regarding religion.

3.    Daily function of the potato: Basic nutrition.

4.    Daily form of conscience: Individual conscience.

5.    Expansion of the daily function: Obtaining electrical energy (0.7 volts per unit).

6.    Expansion of the daily function: Obtaining energy consciousness.

I wish to add, from a later moment after the visit and corroborated by other visits I made to the museum, that they periodically replace the potatoes—they remove the rotten, shriveled ones, clean up the blackish, foul-smelling liquid they emit, and replace them by placing a new potato in each compartment. Underneath each potato, they place small pieces of paper—absorbent, perhaps? Or maybe just so as not to rest the potatoes directly on the wood and ruin the artwork. What could have happened to the rotten potatoes? What an obvious question—the punchline isn't a question, it's a statement: what a waste to throw away 20 potatoes every 20 days!

When I finished exploring the first floor, I asked one of the guards who answer questions how to get to the second floor. I had seen the elevator but couldn't find the stairs; they were somewhat hidden down a hallway, so he directed me and I went up the stairs. One of the girls who had started the tour alongside me saw me asking and followed me; she couldn't find the stairs either.

Up there, there is only one room where they usually hold photography exhibitions—quite small. On this occasion, the exhibition was about the “110 years of the museum in images.” Then you could access another exhibition: stepping out onto the terrace, you found the next display, which included some sculptures (which I believe are always there) and an exhibit by an artist (unfortunately, I forgot his name) who had made many small-scale works in marble. From the museum terrace, you can see the structure of the Law School of the UBA (University of Buenos Aires). I took a look around and went back down. Finally, I continued visiting everything I had left to see on the ground floor, retrieved my backpack, and left, intending to return again another time.

(Originally published on 07/28/2007)