Stepping onto the roof of the Met to see the Anthony Caro exhibit, I had expected to see something amazing, and much to my expectation, I did. There was a beautiful view of the city, plenty of pleasant people, and lets not forget the drinks! No, actually forget the drinks, they were a bit too pricey for me to be twenty-one that day. Still, I found that the roof of the Met had a lot to offer. But I must admit, there was one exception. What were all these piled groups of scrap metal doing on the roof of the Met? Some were very bright, and others were just… there. Much to my dismay, the scrap metal turned out to be the Anthony Caro exhibit I had been waiting to see.
I’m no big fan of sculpture, much less abstract sculpture. I can appreciate a sculpture if I can draw some kind of meaning or message from examining it, but if there is nothing that speaks to me, then there’s not much I can say or feel about it. None of Caro’s sculptures really spoke to me that evening. I kept asking myself, and others, why? Why did Caro make these sculptures? Why were some of the parts bent in such distinct ways? Why is this sculpture in red? Why is this sculpture in yellow? Why are the drinks so expensive?! I jest in my last question, but it brings about a serious point. Besides the view and I guess the exhibit, people found themselves drawn quite fervently to the bar. The roof of the Met wasn’t an exhibit (at least not on fridays) but rather, it was a big social gathering for the upper class New Yorkers. I took a closer look at the people who came to the exhibit and I noticed how well dressed they all were, how nicely they spoke, and how many of them were not focusing on the art. Most of the crowd were either too busy looking at the amazing view of the city, or too busy socializing with their friends (both groups, fancily holding martinis in their hands).
As I walked around with my group, I felt that we were lowly outcasts in a rich society. No one paid much attention to what were doing or saying- besides the guards of course, who might have viewed us as silly ruffians. We even talked about people behind their backs… in front of their face so to speak, and they didn’t even notice! With that said, my group and I had decided to have a little fun. My new friends each pulled out their cameras as we waited for the right opportunity to strike. When the guard looked away, I sprung into action! I laid down, belly to the ground, directly beneath the yellow sculpture, and put my arms right along my sides. This my friends was a grade A plank. We would have easily gotten away with it if it weren’t for one curious old passerby who witnessed my plank and immediately burst into an uproar of laughter! Eyes quickly shifted to me as I awkwardly got myself up from the ground. The young security guard nearby had a smile on his face, but following protocol, told me not to plank under the sculpture anymore. I was thrilled by the positive reactions I got! However I was still a little upset because as I was being lightly scolded for planking beneath the art, a couple was right next to me sitting and resting their drinks directly on the sculpture. Talk about fairness!
Needless to say, I happened to have enjoyed the scene more than the exhibit. Now don’t get me wrong here, Anthony Caro must be a brilliant sculptor to have received such acclaim over the years, it’s just that his piece on the roof of the Met was a bit too abstract for my taste. Also, the location for such an exhibit was just poorly chosen. When faced with the option of looking at a beautiful view of New York city or a bunch of scrap metal, which one would you pick? Perhaps if it were in a different location, such as not on a roof, or in a museum dedicated to modern art, the exhibit would fare better. Nevertheless, Caro’s exhibit remains on the roof, and will probably stay there for a while. So if you decide that the Anthony Caro exhibit is the place you want to plank in, make sure to do it with a martini.
