Portraits
The museum's portrait wing — guided by our resident curator-on-payroll, Salvador Dalí. A first short fiction following him through the show.
Welcome to the MOMoA
An invented museum that doesn't exist anywhere but in machines: its plan, its galleries, its programming. A space to host the shows nobody would let me curate in real life — and to put on payroll a few imaginary employees, starting with one Salvador Dalí. The building is real enough to wander through: momoamuseum.org.
// the museum, floor by floor
The Iceberg holds the permanent collection: three floors above the Park, nine below it, and the Cave at the very bottom. This is the site's actual interactive map, embedded live.
// drag to orbit the Iceberg · pins open the collection ↗
// the idea
The MOMoA takes Malraux's museum without walls at its word — then gives it its walls back. An intimate museum built by one person, for one person: an immense park at the heart of a dense grey megalopolis, thirteen floors of permanent collection inside the Iceberg, real opening hours, a ticket desk, security gates, rooms under renovation. That administrative banality is the point — it's what makes the fantastic believable. The Mona Lisa stays small here.
And after Hockney: no hierarchy. One continuous history of images, where a Lascaux fresco, a Caravaggio and a Miyazaki frame hang at the same rank — works shown by confrontation, ancestors facing their heirs.
// where to start
