I have a long standing battle with museum guards. I want to photograph interiors and people. They think I am photographing the art on the walls. It has been my pleasure to be accosted and upbraided for using my camera on most museum visits I’ve made for the past several years. 

I have to say I was disappointed with my MOMA visit this Sunday … despite using the camera extensively, I was not harassed at all. 

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Disparities. I stood and watched a man take a picture of a Georgia O’Keefe original painting directly in front of a security guard. That guard never budged. Another guard from the next room ran in, responding to the flash, to yell that “Photos are NOT ALLOWED!” Lucky sod.

I have to say that for me the Ansel Adams/Georgia O’Keefe exhibit seemed a trifle strained. Adams’ so formal looking B&W prints paled when sited next to O’Keefe’s flamboyant, sensual shapes, bright colors, hidden meanings. One can see from an intellectual plane the relationship that might have inspired the one from the other, but hung together in the galleries the magic of this pairing just didn’t gel for me at all. 

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But I really went to see Robert Frank’s work … The Americans is one of those works that long ago and far away hit my consciousness with a force that still rings and pushes me to think again, to explore the photos over and over. It was indeed the work that continues to pull me in and keep me spellbound. 

I went through the Robert Frank exhibit three times before my brain was full. 
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