A New Appreciation II

Nearly a week after our Met touch tour, my blind friend and I took a touch tour of the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA).

MoMA organized the tour on a day when the museum is closed to the public. We were accompanied by our guide (Paula), an observer from Spain who is a museum specialist (Lorda), and a museum guard who did not introduce himself.

Paula has a disability, and she and my friend quickly shared an understanding about their differences.

The tour began in the outdoor sculpture garden. We put on very thin gloves and began feeling a series of reliefs by Matisse which depict a woman's back. The reliefs are arranged in order chronologically. The first sculpture was completed in 1909 and the last one was made in 1931. My friend identified the various body parts and compared them from sculpture to sculpture. He noticed that the features changed dramatically in the later works. As the features became more abstract, he had difficulty identifying them as body parts.

This difficulty with abstract sculpture extended to pieces by Picasso and Boccioni. My friend could feel the features of a goat in Picasso's "She Goat" but he didn't appreciate the artist's use of mixed materials. The unusual components interfered with his understanding of the whole form.

He had a better experience with Giacometti's works. The texture of "Standing Woman" was unusual, but the form was easily recognizable.

Lorda pointed out that Giacometti was influenced by Egyptian art, and indicated that the feet were handled in a manner similar to ancient sculptures. Since we had recently taken a touch tour of the Met's Egyptian wing, my friend was able to compare the use of negative space in Giacometti's piece to the ancient Egyptian sculptures. He could also sense compositional similarities in the works.

While it was sometimes difficult to know what the artist tried to depict by feeling shapes, my friend had an uncanny ability to sense the composition of material. He could tell from one touch that a Barnett Newman sculpture was weathered and rusted.

Franz West's sculptures were probably the abstract pieces with the most appeal to my friend. He and I both taught kindergarten. When Paula and I described the works by comparing them to brightly colored bent pipe cleaners, my friend's face became animated. He could easily picture the pieces in his mind. As he stood inside an orange sculpture composed of rounded bands, he surprised us by declaring that he felt as if he were inside of a pumpkin. The word does resemble a pumpkin.

My friend also enjoyed Giacometti's sculpture "Hands Holding the Void." The features were more easily recognizable to him. Even an unusual feature, such as a face composed of an African mask, was discerned readily.

We talked about what the hands may have held. He and Lordes compared the composition to depictions of the Virgin Mary. Perhaps the hands held an infant Jesus who was not shown.

In the context of our project, the most striking feature of the sculpture was the similarity between its hands and those of my friend. Both appeared to be exploring space in an effort to gain greater understanding.

A New Appreciation I

I read about touch tours at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and Museum of Modern Art over a year ago, and wanted to schedule them for a dear friend who went completely blind in 2006. The tours take place during working hours on week days and must be planned weeks in advance.

When I became unemployed, I decided to take the opportunity to finally arrange these tours.

My blind friend has struggled to regain his bearings in the world. He has a wonderful spirit, and perceives his disability as a way of engaging with the world in a new way. His attempts to navigate this altered existence are inspirational.

We had a touch tour of the Met first. Our guide, Pam, began by taking us to the new Greek and Roman galleries. My friend visited the Met when he was sighted, but had not seen the new galleries. Pam directed him to the atrium where he could feel the warmth of sun streaming through the skylight. My friend recalled that the space had formerly been a restaurant, and the guide and I described how it changed.

My friend had visited Pompeii while sighted. In fact, we discussed it a lot when I visited Naples several years ago. With this in mind, I began to describe the new gallery by drawing on his knowledge of the mosaics and architecture of Pompeii. It helped to have this visual baseline to depict through comparison a picture of something he has not yet seen.

My friend's expression changed when I told him the black and white mosaic floors were similar to the Cave Canem mosaic. He said he could picture the dog mosaic in his mind. I explained that the type of tiles used in the new gallery were almost the same as those used in the Pompeii mosaic.

We discussed the layout of the room by comparing it to the atriums he saw in Pompeii. He nodded as he recalled the skylight, impluvium (pool to collect rainwater), and columns supporting the roof. The comparison helped him envision the new space. The warm sunlight and fountain under the skylight also supported his understanding.

We then went to the Egyptian wing to begin the tour in earnest. My friend felt stone sarcophagi and statues. He enjoyed feeling the pieces because it was a new way of experiencing the art. This was a museum experience he was denied as a sighted person.

He was encouraged to first feel around the whole piece to get a sense of its scale. It also set boundaries for what was part of the artwork and what was not. Sometimes he would feel a part of a pedestal and think it was incorporated in the art.

Then, he would feel the artwork's details. Sometimes he could figure out what they were intended to show, but he often needed descriptions to clarify what he was touching. For example, he could tell the was touching the eye of Hatsheput but he didn't know that the line he touched was a depiction of her eyeliner.

Often I was made aware of details about the items he touched by hearing the questions he posed and Pam's responses. I hadn't noticed that the line he touched was eyeliner rather than the rim of the eye.

As he felt a statue of Sakhmet we had a conversation about the ancient Egyptian's depiction of negative space. Ancient sculptors had not yet figured out a way to carve stones with projecting parts (such as outstretched arms or legs). Instead, the artists recessed the stone to keep prominent arms and legs in semi-relief. My friend was able to feel this depiction of negative space. It was a revelation for him.

Several of the pieces had been repaired over the years. My friend was able to quickly discern the differences in original and restorative materials. This was a distinction that was more difficult to see than to feel.

Once the touch tour was over, we returned to the Greek and Roman galleries. He asked me to describe the Etruscan chariot to him. He had seen it long ago.

Describing the piece aloud was a task that forced me to notice the art in greater detail. As I spoke, I saw for the first time strange compositional elements and decorative repetitions within different scenes on the chariot.

The touch tour's emphasis on details made me realize how much I overlook. I am not taking full advantage of my eyesight because I filter out much of what I see.

My friend and I left the museum shortly after the chariot description. He said it was depressing to hear about art he used to see. It was only fun to be in the museum experiencing something new.

We went for a walk in Central Park and happened to pass the boathouse.

I mentioned to my friend that I had always wanted to go boating in Central Park, but had not done so.

We were in a boat within an half hour. The staff at the boathouse could not have been more kind and upbeat about accommodating my friend and his guide dog.

It was a beautiful, early fall day. The lake was full of boaters.

At first I rowed because it was difficult to navigate around the many boaters. Once we reached a less crowded area, my friend took the oars. I navigated by tapping his hands to indicate which oar to row.

It was his first time rowing a boat since losing his sight. It was my first time boating in Central Park. We were both delighted to be there doing something new.

There are many ways to explore the world.

Vision

I had a optometrist appointment in my old neighborhood, Cobble Hill, yesterday. Dr. Poran dilated my eyes and put yellow dye in them as part of the exam.

It is the definition of stupid to have a repeated experience and not prepare for its repercussions. I forget to bring my glasses to these exams each year, and then have to make my way home in NYC practically blind.

I made arrangements to meet friends who live in the neighborhood for dinner after my exam. We had a nice long meal at Luluc, so my eyes had some opportunity to improve.

Then, two of us decided to buy a bottle of wine and surprise a couple of mutual friends who opened Robert Henry Vintage in nearby Park Slope. We have seen little of these dear friends since they began their venture. They are now bound to babysit their shop rather than socialize.

My friend helped guide me to the subway and then I led her to the store. It was a neighborhood unfamiliar to her, and it was an interesting experience to lead her there while asking her to identify landmarks for me.

I had difficulty crossing the street because street lights and car lights looked the same unless a car was in motion. I would not have been able to see a bicyclist until it was a few feet from me.

All lights gained volume. Christmas lights seemed particularly rich. What must have been a meager strand of lights strung on a tree seemed like a thick garland of twinkles, each bulb emitting a starry snowflake the size of my splayed palm.

We had a very long visit with our friends. It surprised all of us when we discovered it was after 1am.

My eyes were still dilated. I asked my friend to walk with me back to the subway because it was still difficult to see. She kindly obliged and disembarked at the Bergan station.

As I rode alone to 23rd Street, I thought about a couple of friends who have impaired vision. One has blurry sight that cannot be corrected. He wears very special lenses and can read with a text inches from his eyes, but he will never see well enough to operate a car.

He once told me that his blurry vision made him more open to experiences. It is impossible for him to make presumptions about people based on looks. His approach is friendly to all. He thinks this has led to enriching encounters that probably would not have happened otherwise.

I could tell from the posture of some people on the train at 2am that some of them were probably homeless. Based on the conversations I heard, some were young people returning home late after parties or clubbing. I am not sure about the rest.

As I walked home, I appreciated the crosswalks on 23rd and the avenues that are equipped for the blind. These are standard in Amsterdam. They emit beeping sounds to signal when it is OK to cross the street safely.

A couple of rats scurried across my path. At first I thought they were black plastic bags blowing in the wind.

As I passed people I couldn't see, I wondered whether they were nodding and smiling at me. One person said hello. I wondered whether my oblivious expression confused or engaged them.

The world seems altered when one can't see it. It makes me realize how my estimation of what is around me is based on the faulty apparatus used to evaluate it.