Whitney Museum of American Art
Monday, February 10, 2025, from 1:20 pm to 4:20 pm
Observational Ethnography
This year, I'm challenging myself to explore more museums throughout New York City. The Whitney Museum of American Art tops the list. I've been periodically browsing their website, contemplating a visit, and I finally made it happen on a chilly Monday afternoon in February, which also marked my first museum excursion of the year.
I hopped off the A train at 14th Street and 8th Ave, then followed my phone’s map app towards the Hudson River. Just a few blocks into the Meatpacking District, I caught sight of the distinctive building I had seen online: a contemporary white structure with an industrial feel, featuring terraces and window walls. Approaching the museum, I was quite taken aback to find the High Line bridge's endpoint right beside it, something I hadn’t known before. As I walked beneath the High Line's metal framework, my attention was drawn to a full view of a dining area visible through glass windows, accompanied by an external shelf-like structure displaying pots and vases of various sizes and colors. I contemplated whether this was an artistic installation or merely a well-considered addition to the art museum's exterior design. Examining the structure more closely, I noticed it continued into the restaurant, seemingly functioning as a partition for the Frenchette Bakery before entering the main dining area.
The chilly breeze drove me to quickly spin through the museum's rotating doors. Once inside, I found myself in the spacious and well-lit Kenneth Griffith Hall. The layout was immediately apparent, with clear sightlines throughout the open space. To the right, the Greenway Parkway outside was visible through the expansive glass walls. However, I was promptly confronted by a sign for bag inspection and cords connected to metallic posts directing me toward a security scan machine that was short to my right. Just past this checkpoint, a table was staffed by two men attired in black suits. I began opening my bag while security personnel inspected the belongings of visitors who were ahead of me. I was motioned to approach as one of them became free, and he went to inspect my belongings inside the bag. Once everything was good, he sent me off with a polite "Thank you and enjoy your visit to the museum" in his distinctly British accent.
The museum personnel were readily distinguishable due to their all-black attire and strategic positioning throughout the facility. Certain staff members, who wore formal suits, were located near the entry and exit points of the building. Other employees sported either short or long-sleeved shirts with "Whitney Museum Staff" printed across the chest and were stationed across the rest of the space. Three employees were positioned by the wired metal posts that obstructed access to the elevators and stairway. As I stood to the side, they were glancing at me, waiting to see what my next move was. I walked past them as I needed to purchase a ticket at the ticketing and membership area located along the left side wall, where only one of the four available gadgets was being operated by a single staff member. There were only a few in front of me, as others had already bought tickets online. I took this time to check out what was near me while in the queue, and I saw a few cushioned benches near me and a souvenir shop opposite the ticket sales area.
When it was my turn, I approached the counter, and the employee and I exchanged pleasantries. Anticipating a discount, I pulled out my lanyard student ID from my book bag, and she immediately eyed it and was poised to mention something. However, I accidentally interrupted her by requesting to buy a ticket. She said it was free for me since I am an NYU student and handed me one! I also took each available pamphlet of different sizes right in front of me, which the staff described as “like maps” before heading out to get my ticket scanned. After gaining access to the previously off-limits area, I found myself confronted by a set of three tall identical elevators and one exceptionally large, box-shaped lift. Instead of using these, I proceeded directly to the stairwell situated on the right side, intending to go downstairs and check in my jacket. As I neared, the sound I had been aware of since entering the building became increasingly audible, growing in volume and sounding like wringing echoes going in and out. While descending the stairwell, I observed four wires running through its hollow core. These cables were connected to the corners of a box that displayed black and white graphics.
An octagon-shaped white plastic chip with F126 on it was given to me to retrieve my puffer jacket later. Rather than using the staircase again to reach the next level, I opted for one of the three equally sized elevators. I noticed an additional door that likely opens on the opposite side of the building. The elevator also featured buttons marked for staff use only that are also identical to the buttons on the other side (except that 4 indicates staff only too), and to no surprise, when that side opened, it revealed the second-floor offices that were unmarked on my pamphlet. I proceeded to the third floor, which the public side opened into an exhibition space showcasing the work of Christine Sunn Kimm, a deaf American artist. Her art “engages with sound and the complexities of communication in its various modes,” often delving into non-auditory and political aspects of sound.
For this particular gallery, the framed artworks feature arching black forms against a white background with minimal text. The walls also appear to have taken the same theme. Guests moved through the area swiftly, spending no more than 5 minutes inside. Most visitors briefly observed the artwork displayed on the walls, moving slowly from one piece to the next. Only a few visitors took the time to read the didactic panels, especially one panel of a wall. Interestingly, I can still hear the same emitting sound I heard from the first floor and went closer to where it came from and immediately saw the same illuminating LED cubes hanging with the four wires. I opened the glass door to the stairs and looked up and down to see that there was a total of three cubes.
The third floor remained hushed with the background sound until the formally suited staff member guarding the entire space near the elevator was approached by a colleague who had just exited the lift. Their conversation at a regular volume seemed exceptionally loud in the otherwise quiet room filled with silent individuals. Upon exploring the upper levels, I noticed that each gallery also contained staff offices situated near the elevators, though only the doors were visible in these instances.
I went to the next gallery on the fifth floor, which was surprisingly dim. As I exited, I found myself facing dark panels obstructing my view of what lay beyond. Initially, I assumed this was part of a new exhibit. However, I soon realized I had accidentally followed a staff member inside as suited personnel flanked both sides of the panel, preventing access, and one of them told me this particular gallery was closed. I said my sorrys and scurried back to the still open elevator where I finally noticed a rectangular LED sign near the upper corner that told me that Floor 5 was closed because they were preparing the space for a new exhibit. That left me floors 6, 7, and 8 to explore.
The remaining floors were substantially larger, potentially encompassing an area ten times or more than that of the third floor's exhibition space. While this estimate might be an exaggeration, the sheer size was undeniable. These upper levels featured an open-concept design, with walls sectioning off various sub-galleries that collectively represented the floor's overarching theme. As always, staff are always in sight, but I found more suited personnel in these galleries.
On the sixth floor, I was welcomed by an art installation on the floor and center of the space. The installation featured moss-like in various shades of green and included a gigantic hand-held mirror. A black boundary line encircled the structure, accompanied by a warning that read, "PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH." Looking over the white walls, I see different types of art mediums and more colors other than black and white. The gallery is titled “Shifting Landscape,” and the curated works explore “a more expansive interpretation of the category.” I see visitors languidly walking around as usual, but taking more time and attention towards the artworks compared to the three levels below.
I approach the next artwork I see, Troy Michie’s Yo Soy Un Puente Tendido, where a visitor stands and observes the artwork. When I was near, they left to go to a different one. Moving on, I approached James Luna's work titled "The History of the Lusieño People." To experience this piece, I had to put on headphones and listen to only Luna's portion of his telephone conversations. I saw a few people who stopped by to watch Luna’s videos but never took the other headset on the other seat next to me. Occasionally, I find myself approaching a didactic wall, such as one about Altered Topographies, simultaneously with another visitor who arrives just before me. As we both read the content, it is eyebrow-raising to observe how quickly they finish reading the entire panel and move on to the next that catches their attention.
I’ve noticed that visitors consistently distance themselves, and this behavior isn't exclusive to me; it applies to everyone in the room. There seems to be an implicit rule that individuals should maintain a “certain space” between each other unless they are together. This unwritten social convention is similar to the quietness maintained by everyone. While these practices of respecting personal space and remaining quiet in educational settings are common outside museums as well, why do they feel particularly stringent within museum walls? It is as if these unwritten guidelines were transformed into rigid regulations in the museum context. After a while, I decided to take more notice of the interactions on the same floor.
A tour began at 2 PM. The guide was accompanied by two visitors, and I saw them by the centerpiece and went over to every other individual piece. As the guide provided information about the artwork, a few individuals stood in the vicinity, appearing disengaged by occasionally glancing at the tour group while passively listening in on the commentary; thus, eavesdropping. These eavesdroppers typically lingered for a short time, but eventually left before hearing the rest of the guide's commentary. One of the eavesdroppers is the other half of an elderly couple, whom I noticed has been very attentive to every piece of work in the room. His other half showed less enthusiasm than he did and opted to rest on one of the benches after touring the area while waiting. Once again, I observed the same elderly man attending the tour. However, this time he wasn't trying to conceal his covert listening; instead, he was openly acknowledging that others could see him listening. I have also seen other visitors doing the same as we listened more about a colorful painting of Firelei Báez’s Untitled (Tabula Anemographica seu Pyxis Navtic), which is situated right in front of a long bench as if we were meant to commune there. A similar experience occurred when the tour stopped by Theo Triantafyllidis' BugSim. There, I joined other visitors on an extended bench to hear the guide's explanation of the simulation.
I went to the seventh floor, and the gallery was all about The Whitney’s Collection, and the curated work on view was from 1900 to 1965. On this floor, the wall colors were slightly distinct from those of the other galleries. In contrast to the entirely white walls on the 6th floor, the 7th floor incorporates various shades of blue to highlight the different subcategories. While exploring, I came across an area with an extremely dark blue, almost black, which showcased paintings influenced by surrealism. These included works like Edward Bilberman's Slow Turn and Paul Cadmus' Sailors and Floosies. This section has lower lighting than other areas, creating a dimmer atmosphere. This environment also serves to differentiate it from another collection that is completely irrelevant and displayed in a space with lighter blue walls, which housed the Jeanne Moutoussamy-Ashe and the Last Gullah Islands Collections. The brightly lit room defined by its entrance made it particularly noticeable. I observed a similar effect, but in reverse, where white walls with paintings contrasted with a dark interior space housed the miniatures and props of Calder’s Circus by Alexander Calder.
Finally, the 8th floor showcases the remaining pieces from Christine Sun Kim's All Day All Night exhibition. Kim's artwork encompasses drawings, videos, sculptures, and installations that incorporate musical notation, infographics, and language, including both American Sign Language and written English. Upon entering the gallery, the walls adorned with staves and musical notes instantly caught my attention. I also heard sounds from videos of her performance and art processes. There were also cushioned box seats arranged to form a long wide bench. The seats were equipped with multiple headphones. Many people are engaged in this installation, whether as part of a group or individually. I thought it was interesting as more people comfortably engaged with this area and installation compared to Luna’s phone call installation on the 6th floor.
As I explored the gallery, I recognized an employee who had checked my ticket on the ground floor. The same person was now guarding a section of the eighth gallery, as they were on the seventh floor earlier. I have not particularly seen them switch shifts, but I did of others throughout the visit. I observed that they switched only with colleagues wearing similar attire. For instance, those in formal suits only exchanged positions with other formally dressed personnel, whereas employees in casual clothing only swapped with others dressed casually. Although staff members communicate quietly among themselves when changing shifts, those positioned near entrances and exits tend to speak more audibly and refrain from whispering. This contrast in behavior is particularly intriguing to observe, as museum visitors still maintain quietness across every corner of the space despite the disruption of the norm by museum staff.
I headed down to Floor -1 for the coat room before I headed out. Lo and behold, the same person who scanned my ticket was handing me back my jacket. “You are everywhere,” I said, and they laughed back. I am intrigued and should have asked how their shift works.