The premise of MoMA PS1’s \"Greater New York\" is, by definition, a fool’s errand. To survey the city’s art world is to attempt to bottle a storm; the result is inevitably unwieldy, sprawling, and incomplete. Yet, it is precisely this lack of cohesion that mirrors the city itself—a place defined by the friction of eight million competing perspectives and the shared architecture of a concrete island.
In its latest iteration, the exhibition gathers over 150 works from 50 artists, navigating the delicate line between the institutional and the visceral. It is a collection that resists a singular narrative, opting instead for a cacophony of voices that reflect the city’s relentless, aggravating beauty. The curators seem less interested in a polished thesis than in capturing the raw energy of a creative ecosystem that refuses to be categorized.
Among the standouts is Dean Millien’s \"The Cats and the Rats,\" a series of sculptures fashioned from aluminum foil. The work serves as a tactile love letter to the city’s non-human residents—the organisms with which New Yorkers share their subways and alleyways. By elevating these urban pests and predators through a humble, everyday material, Millien anchors the exhibition in the gritty, shared reality of metropolitan life.
Ultimately, \"Greater New York\" succeeds not by achieving total coverage, but by acknowledging its own impossibility. It functions as a periodic snapshot of a city in constant flux, reminding us that the most compelling art often emerges from the struggle to live alongside one another in an overcrowded, stubborn, and endlessly fascinating place.
With reporting from Hyperallergic.
Source · Hyperallergic
