monochrome

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Richard Serra

Before I left the house on Saturday Karen told me it was a perfect day. She was not mistaken. I took the bus instead of the subway and found myself at MoMA in less than 45 minutes. I was lucky. The bus arrived just as I reached the stop.

The museum was crowded. People lingered in the sculpture garden or wandered around the forms. Some ran their hands along the steel as they walked, even though signs requested they not do so. The metal looked inviting. Pieces were chipping off here and there, superimposing beautiful organic forms upon the metal.

Inside, the new work was even more inviting. Reddish orange in hue, the metal appeared as velvet. I brought my nose close to see if I could discern any scent. I could not. I longed to rest my fingers upon the curved forms, but refrained.

In the upper galleries, a broad plank of steel lay on the floor. Another was attached to the ceiling at right angles. I asked the guard if I could step upon the steel. He said I could. I stood and looked up at the panel above. I sat down. I lay down to feel the coldness against my skin. Others followed. As I stood, I saw a family of four laying on the floor, their heads each supported by another member's belly.