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One giant red square entitled Yellow.
Photo by Ezequiel Da Silva on Pexels, edited by author
A painting of three horizontal stripes on a white background.
A painting of three vertical stripes on a white background.
Three polaroid photographs of a sad woman smoking from a balcony.
Several digital renderings of city skylines that look like default desktop screensavers.
One giant red square entitled Yellow.
One giant blue square entitled Darfur.
Ten other paintings, drawings and prints that are considered modern because they also use primary colors.
One exhibit where the person standing in front of it is reading the artist’s statement then looking back at the art then reading the artist’s statement then looking back at the art.
A plate of snacks in the front of the gallery I’ve been told MULTIPLE TIMES is not for eating because it is, itself, another exhibit.
Blueprints of famous New York buildings scattered on top of a table.
Some sort of ceramic vessel that is so confusing in its design it — Picasso did that?!
A room filled with dozens of metal sculptures that are very phallic, slightly yonic or just unsightly.
The exhibit I can’t figure out because it’s covered by art influencers taking selfies.
Blown glass sunflowers that would actually look super cute in my apartment entryway.
The painting subverting classical art by replacing Roman women in libation scenes with Roman women in libation scenes wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses.
Rows of benches in the middle of the gallery I’ve been reminded VERY STERNLY are not for sitting because they are also another exhibit.
An immersive sensory experience inside of which I literally cannot see or hear anything.
A surrealist painting featuring umbrellas raining from the sky that, surprisingly, speaks to me. And. Great. Now I’m crying in public.
The exhibit taking a bold stand against capitalism by reimagining Monopoly as a violent video game.
The exhibit taking a bold stand against beauty norms by facing the front of a mirror towards a wall.
The exhibit taking a bold stand against — who knows what.
One long, rusty pipe.
Two performers standing still, staring blankly into the crowd.
A baby dolphin in a tank.
One hundred prints of Fran Lebowitz’s mouth.
A hologram of early man hunting and gathering. Wait, no! I don’t like it when it runs towards me like that.
The absurdly expensive exhibit sold to a hedge fund manager who clearly purchased it sight unseen.
Five plexiglass showcases that are completely empty.
Open cans of old paint.
The graffitied wall that says, “WHAT EVEN IS MODERN ART?!!!”
An elevator in the back of the gallery I’ve told OTHER PEOPLE is not for use because it doesn’t work and is probably another — OH. It is the exit. My mistake.
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Courtesy : https://thebelladonnacomedy.com/every-exhibit-in-a-new-york-city-modern-art-gallery-3a50a460ee63?source=rss—-e9e22d25fb5e—4