Museums: No Different from a Zoo

When I visited France this summer, I saw that the country truly lives up to its reputation as the nation of art. The Louvre was simply astounding, with a collection of approximately 500,000 pieces and more than 35,000 works of art on display at any given time. It was no surprise that it has been the most visited museum in the world, attracting about nine million visitors every year. However, the numbers weren’t what surprised me. I spent the majority of my time in the least famous wing of the Louvre, the Sully Wing. There, I explored for hours—something I can’t imagine doing in museums in New York. It was surprising how the pieces there were able to resonate with me on a more personal level, even after my visit was over. This was something I had never experienced in America.

The reason for this difference was not the quality of the art. While it is true that the Louvre is home to many world-renowned pieces, American museums also display countless famous works. Masterpieces such as The Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh, Water Lilies by Claude Monet, and Campbell’s Soup Cans by Andy Warhol can all be found in local New York City museums like the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) and the Metropolitan Museum of Art (Met). I began asking the question: what led to this difference in experience? 

At the Louvre, when I followed my tour guide into a seemingly ordinary display room, I noticed a pillar in the center of it. That pillar, standing unprotected, was the one and only Code of Hammurabi. Almost 4,000 years old, it’s famous for introducing the principle of “an eye for an eye” and is one of the earliest complete written legal codes. I would never have believed that this monument—so close in proximity that I could reach out and touch it if I wanted to—was the very artifact so heavily emphasized in history books. Later, as we walked between meticulous statues of Greek and Roman gods—also resting unprotected—my tour guide mentioned how yoga classes are held in this very room every Sunday. The reason? The French believe that art is for everyone and that it should be accessible at all times in ways that go beyond just preservation and observation. In fact, they even had a program that enabled the visually impaired to touch the statues.

I personally never saw the appeal of museums despite drawing for all of my life, but after seeing the measures a museum can take to display its pieces to their full potential, my thoughts have changed. An artist never creates pieces with the thought that they will be hidden behind bulletproof glass or kept at a supposedly safe distance of a meter away from their observer. In that case, there’s little difference between searching the piece up online and going to see it for yourself. The difference between the two is in the things you can feel with your own five senses when you’re there in front of it, whether that be the texture visible in the brushstrokes, the sheer size of a sculpture, or the way light falls across the face of a bust. When these factors combine, the museum leaves you with a lasting impression. However, when visitors aren’t given the chance to get up close, the piece of work often loses its intended meaning, diminishing the experience for both the artist and the visitor. 

The reason why museums in New York didn’t resonate properly, despite being homes of iconic and renowned works, is how they treated their pieces. They value preservation over presentation, affecting the experience of the viewers. Exceptional pieces that call for safeguarding, like the Mona Lisa, often have reasons for such heavy security, such as a history of theft, immense materialistic value, or the threat of vandalism. In the vast majority of cases, however, this level of security is not necessary. For example, The Starry Night by Van Gogh, located in MoMA, is displayed behind thick glass with several guards watching visitors at all times. However, in the Van Gogh Museum located in Amsterdam, Sunflowers is open to the public with minimal security measures despite its equivalent popularity. 

History and art come in various forms, but their forms have been heading towards a new direction in the digital age. History is no longer written on paper with a feathered pen or carved into slabs of rock. Art is evolving even more drastically as AI becomes prevalent and creative expression expands into makeup, installation art, and even participatory art. Both are moving beyond traditional boundaries, and for museums to stay relevant today, they must embrace this shift: less containment, more freedom, and greater accessibility for all. While foreign museums seem to have adapted, local museums lag behind. After all, nothing justifies keeping hundreds of artworks behind ropes and glass when even the most historically significant and celebrated works, like the Rosetta Stone, are completely open to public view in other museums. 

The shift to making art more accessible locally does not have to be sudden. The Louvre hosts nighttime events called the Nocturnes du Louvre, which include concerts, magic shows, and dance workshops, all in its actual display rooms. The Met can take similar steps and expand its many programs, like the Met Cloisters, beyond its designated event spaces and into the museum itself. Additionally, increasing the level of accommodations for visitors with impairments would improve general accessibility. For example, although American museums offer text-to-speech and guided tours, these are usually the only accommodations they have, which seem rather formalistic. On the other hand, even with the Mona Lisa’s fame, the Louvre still offers accommodated visits for wheelchair users and other visitors with impairments to see the painting from significantly closer than regular visitors, as well as tactile experiences for the blind.

Museums are meant to share historically or culturally significant works with the public, but it seems local museums are losing their own meaning as well as diminishing the meaning of their art. After all, there is a reason why people prefer to see nature reserves instead of zoos—nothing can thrive in a setting they aren’t made to be in.