How a car winds up in the Museum of Modern Art
From pavement to new Picasso neighbour
Manhattan’s Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) is considered one of the most important museums of art and culture in the world. At the very least, it’s been from its inception one of the world’s most progressive.
It was the first to establish an Architecture and Design department, three years after its opening in 1929, and was also one of the first to host an automobile-themed exhibit, “Eight Cars,” in 1951.
Of course, it did take until 1972 for MoMA to add its first car, a 1946 Cisitalia 202 GT, to its permanent collection. But the museum has picked up the pace, this month adding its ninth car, a 1973 Citroën DS, to its vaults.
Far from getting by on looks alone, however, there are many boxes a vehicle must be able to tick before being selected. Here’s how the museum decides if a car is worthy of its collection.
SECRET WISH LIST
Since it got its hands on that Cisitalia, the museum’s kept a “wish list” of about a dozen automobiles, though it has evolved as acquisitions such as its 1953 Willys Jeep M28A1 and 1959 VW Beetle were crossed off and new wants have been added.
The museum is looking for “the great achievements” in car design, explains Paul Galloway, a specialist with MoMA’s Architecture & Design Collection, “the specific moments where the technology, the craft, the artistry, and the cultural importance crosses the threshold into a masterpiece.”
BUILD AN ARGUMENT
When a car is singled out for possible acquisition, specialists such as Galloway will start researching the vehicle and building an argument for why MoMA needs it.
Every piece picked up by the Design department has to represent a “great expression of design” in its field, whether it be a chair, helicopter or Airstream trailer (MoMA owns examples of each). The staff will ask “Is this object important? Did this change history?” They avoid asking “Is this car art?”
“Does that question help anything? Does that help us appreciate them?” sighs Galloway. “It’s often said design is art that enters your everyday life: art you use. Whether or not something is ‘art,’ who cares?”
SOURCE A CAR
Next the museum will find the specific example it wants, typically by reaching out to its manufacturer. When MoMA acquired its 1968 Fiat 500f last summer, it was assisted by Roberto Golito, designer of the new 500.
In 1996, Jaguar similarly helped the museum navigate the world of vintage E-Types and nab its 1963 roadster, “one of the best in the continent,” from a private collector. Other times it’s a matter of “waiting for the right one,” like an original-paint survivor 1965 Porsche 911 donated by its owners last year.
In the case of the Cisitalia, Pininfarina not only sourced the car, a literal barn find, but also restored it pro bono. The Citroën was a gift from Swiss architect and DS enthusiast Christian Sumi.
MAKE THE PROPOSAL
With an argument for a car’s acquisition ready, and a specific example within reach, the museum’s curators and specialists will approach MoMA’s acquisition committee, made up of trustees and patrons.
They will underscore how the piece will better help the museum “document contemporary creativity,” Galloway says, and, once given the thumbs-up, acquire the car. A proposal for a car hasn’t yet been shot down.
MUSEUM LIFE; IT’LL NEVER RUN AGAIN
Once acquired, a car will never drive again, and has to be made to not run for the safety of patrons and other pieces. (You don’t want to accidentally get motor oil on a Jackson Pollock, even if no one would notice.)
“A lot of car collectors say we murder our cars, that we’re turning them into sculptures,” admits Galloway. “People say a car provides a sensual experience, with the smell and touch and sound of the thing.
“I understand that perspective, but at the same time, we are a museum in midtown Manhattan; it’s just not feasible. It’s either we have them as static objects, or we don’t have them at all.”
SECURITY GUARD
The cars often sit up on a plinth, and are, if possible, watched over by a security guard. “People are very good about not touching the Matisse or the Picasso, but can’t stop themselves when they see the E-Type,” laments Galloway. During its time in the gallery, patrons would several times a day reach for the door, he says, or try to sit in it for a selfie. “People feel these are everyday objects, not pieces of design.”