The Storm by Edvard Munch

We can no longer stand to be ignored. We are tired of seeing visitor after visitor, day after day, come into a room full of universally regarded masterpieces, and only paying attention to Starry Night. They always beeline straight to the generic crowd-pleaser, denying us admiration. Visitors stare agape at Starry Night, they squeeze through the crowd to take a picture of Starry Night… it’s nauseating.

There’s no other way to say it. We, the other paintings on display near Starry Night, are pissed.

Dance (I) by Henri Matisse

Am I not a multi-million dollar painting too? I’m tired of listening to tour guides, all seemingly knowledgeable enough to be able to share information about me, only talk about Starry Night. I’m tired of hearing their pretentious voices say, “Starry Night is Vincent Van Goffff’s most famous work, how the blues and yellows applied with gestural verve demonstrate a new way of painting he created.” Look at me! I have gesture! I have verve! I convey remarkable fluidity and sense of dynamic movement! I created a revolution in impressionist art! But for MoMA visitors, if I’m next to Starry Night, I might as well be some crap in a beach vacation gift shop.

Still Life with Apples by Paul Cezanne

I’ve been immediately next to Starry Night and let me tell you it’s nothing short of dangerous for the rest of us. Once, someone was trying so hard to get through the crowd to get a picture with me that they almost took me out. And the museum guard just said, “it’s ok, it’s not a big one anyway.” If you destroy me, at least do it in the name of calling attention to climate change!

Self Portrait with Cropped Hair by Freida Kahlo

A swirling sky, naked ladies, fruit… how original. If any of you were painted by women you wouldn’t even be here. I fought so hard to be considered worthy, and now I’m next to you pretentious pricks? When I was on loan at the St Louis Museum of Modern Art I was a centerpiece, I was what everyone went there to see, people read my plaque about how my androgynous persona represented Freida Kahlo’s bisexuality and new autonomy after my divorce. And for that I was considered original, unique, and a masterwork by one of the greatest artists of all time. At the MoMA, I’m just the only clothed chick in the room.

Retrospective Bust of a Woman by Salvador Dali

Complain all you want PAINTINGS. I’m a SCULPTURE. You have no idea what it feels like to be ignored. At least people offer you a passing glance. These tourists only walk around the PERIMETER of the room, no one ever even STOPS to look at me. LOOK AT ME. Am I not interesting? Am I not enough? And I don’t even understand why I have this bread on my head! My plaque is all the way over there on the wall, can someone just tell me why I have a long crusty baguette on my head?!

Composition No. II, with Red and Blue by Piet Mondrian

I’m rectangles!!

..zskdj*^%..RECTANGLES.

..rReCtAnGLes

Glug glug glug glug.

Portrait of Joseph Roulin by Vincent Van Gogh

Ok, just for the record, Starry, like, always says that you unpopular paintings are pretty too. No one asked Starry to be that nice, but they are. It’s hard to be so internationally beloved, to be the most famous painting in one of the most important museums in the world. You don’t know what it’s like for Starry to get constantly photographed and selfied with, everyone wants a picture but no one stops to appreciate Starry’s emotional quality.

At least the few times that the rest of us are looked at, we know it’s because the visitor actually cares about us.

The Large Figure Paintings, No. 5 Group 3 by Hilma af Klimt

Oh, give me a break Roulin. That’s crap and you know it. Starry is a self-absorbed bitch that loves the limelight. I’d like to formally request to be moved to another room. Just please not the one with Monet’s Water Lilies, or anything by Jeff Koons.

Bench

Oh all you artworks can argue all you want but who you should really be afraid of is ME. The bench. Rest those tired museum legs, I’ll have the tourists love forever!

Muahahahah! Gimme those butts!

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