The Metropolitan Museum of Art on the Upper East Side spans over two million square feet, making it the largest museum in the U.S. It houses a vast collection of 1.5 million works, including iconic pieces by Monet, Pollock, and Van Gogh. It draws over seven million visitors from all over the globe annually.
On Saturday, November 9th, I saw the entire museum.
As a part of Open to Close, a new series where I pick a New York landmark and explore it from when security opens the front doors to the final call over the loudspeaker, I went to the Met. I came for its bountiful art collection, stunning views of Central Park, and prime location across from a hot dog stand. More on that later.
As kids, my sister and I would visit the Met often, primarily going to The Temple of Dendur (the stone temple Ariana Grande performed in front of at the 2024 Met Gala), The American Wing, and whatever costume exhibit was on display. I have never seen the museum in its entirety, and thus, Open to Close was born.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Sunny day!
Due to a subway delay, I arrived at the museum at 10:25, far later than planned. I passed through security and the ticket booth with no problems, not counting an elderly man trying to buy his ticket at the same time as me. He pushed his Apple Pay toward the agent, but she effortlessly redirected him while finishing my transaction. She was a real one.Â
Since I’m a college student in the tri-state area, I was able to pay-as-I-wished, and only dropped $5 on the next eleven hours.
The night before, I planned out my path. I decided I would walk the first floor, grab a pretzel outside, and then head back into the museum for the second floor. I’d hit as many galleries and exhibitions within the Met as I could while still taking time to appreciate the art. Finishing up right before the museum closed at 9, I’d step outside, breathing non-ventilated air for the first time in over eight hours, and take the bus back to my dorm. Such is the life of a writer.
The Egyptian Wing was a maze, and I type that with all the love in my heart. I got lost a few times but wound up, ultimately, in front of Heqanakht’s letters. Heqanakht was a servant to an Egyptian government official. In one letter, he wrote detailed instructions to a family member on sending two of their subordinates to rent land. A notification popped up on my phone for a Women’s Wear Daily newsletter. The first headline? Grace Kelly’s Personal Letters Go Up for Auction.Â
It hit me. This was a real person whose letters I read. Heqanakht was just like Grace Kelly (star of films Rear Window and To Catch a Thief). They were both human beings, and now, the ancient equivalent of Heqanakht’s business emails lives in a museum for millions to see.Â
I felt bad for him. Imagine two thousand years from now, internet archeologists (a very popular job in the future) uncover your work email, find the messages you sent to your coworker Josh about next Tuesday’s deadline, and decide to hang them in a museum for the rest of time.Â
After my existential crisis in the Egyptian Wing, I landed in the Temple of Dendur, best known as the iconic backdrop for the Met Gala dinner.
My little sister and I always got the optional little headphones with the clunky walkmans and walked around plugging in audio codes. Stella’s favorite piece was the crocodile statue in the river beside the Temple, and she would listen to the explanation on repeat. I reminisced on the river ledge for a few moments before heading to the American Wing.
 
Room from the HĂ´tel de Varengeville, Paris
My favorite part of the Met will always be the staged rooms. The fact that the museum’s curators can find every last piece of furniture, painting, and silverware in order to painstakingly recreate a room is astonishing.Â
I like to hold tightly onto the railing and lean into the room, imagining that I, too, sleep every night surrounded by the finest items money can buy, not the paint chips and broken radiator of a college dorm. The widowed Comtesse de Varengeville once owned the room shown above in mid-18th century Paris. The HĂ´tel changed hands several times before its wares finally landed in the hands of the Met. Mon Dieu!
Two artists sketching Andromeda and the Sea Monster by Domenico Guidi, September 2024 and November 2024
As a part of the museum’s Copyist Program, hundreds of artists participate in an eight-week program every year, deepening their knowledge of art through study. When I visited back in September on the last day of the Sleeping Beauties: Reawakening Fashion exhibit, I took a photo of a woman sketching Andromeda and the Sea Monster by Domenico Guidi. This time around, I found a man drawing the same sculpture. There’s something so beautiful about dedicating yourself to someone else’s creation.
I didn’t know you could dedicate a hot dog stand to someone. New York!
Breaking for lunch around 2:30, I grabbed a pretzel and a water from a hot dog stand outside. Inflation hasn’t hit the hot dog carts yet, so my lunch was $6, tip not included. I had never eaten a New York pretzel before, and I have to say, it was pretty good! I was parched after, though; that’s where the water came in.
Sitting next to me on the steps of the Met were three girls, all dressed like Blair Waldorf from Gossip Girl (tweed suit jacket and skirt with knee-high boots and a matching headband), taking Instagram photos. Each assumed the iconic Blair pose, knees crossed, hair flowing, smirk bright and wide. Across the way, a street busker was singing Shape of You by Ed Sheeran, filling in the lyrics he didn’t know. His enthusiasm made up for missing words—kudos to him!
After thirty minutes of people-watching, I threw away my trash and headed back inside.
Outside the 19th and 20th Century European Paintings and Sculpture Wing, a man in a Red Sox cap shuffled up to a curator and asked about the bathroom. While the Bostonian ran away, the curator turned to his coworker and quipped, “They always run like that.” It was precisely the attitude I expected from a Met employee. I wanted to be friends with him immediately.Â
I drifted around the wing, searching for Edgar Degas’ ballerinas. Quickly taking a photo of Little Dancer, I moved to the side so a mom could snap a picture of her son. He stretched his legs into fourth position in ballet, placing his hands behind his back. Right before the shutter clicked, he shouted, “Is she in there?” His mom burst out laughing and explained to him that Little Dancer wasn’t sculpted around the little girl.
On display until January 2025, Siena: The Rise of Painting covered fifty years of artistic ingenuity from 1300 to 1350. Made up of small interconnected galleries, the exhibition predominantly focused on Christian art with little marble statues of Mary and Jesus scattered throughout. Siena was the original Italian capital for the Renaissance, but the catastrophic outbreak of the Black Plague ended its reign. In front of a painting of an archangel and Mary, a New York University professor lectured a class of nine on the difference between frescos and arrichios (the underpainting of a fresco).
Just as I sat down in front of Jackson Pollock’s Number 28, 1950, a friend from high school texted me. She realized we were both at the Met after seeing my Snapchat Maps location. I hightailed back to the Temple of Dendur and reconnected with her and another friend. They were only in NYC for forty-eight hours, so we quickly parted ways and promised to see each other back in Portland.
The Modern Art Wing at 5 PM
As I walked back over to the Modern Art Wing, I realized that the museum had died down. I was no longer weaving through crowds trying to catch “just a peek!” at the artwork. I checked my phone: 5 PM on the dot.
I saw the last few galleries, Greek and Roman Art, Art of The Arab Lands, and Ancient Near Eastern Art. At this point, I was consistently running into the same visitors. A couple pushing a stroller trailed behind a toddler with his aunt. Two twenty-somethings ran past me several times, once almost knocking over a vase of the Middle East section. One of them, identified by his Chrome Hearts zip-up, complained about not making their dinner reservation in time. An older woman stood in front of Washington Crossing the Delaware by Emanuel Leutze for twenty minutes. I had walked the entirety of the American Wing and found her still in front of the iconic oil painting.Â
By the time I had walked all thirty-nine galleries, I had an hour left. I decided to circle back to the 1250s to 1800s European Paintings Wing.Â
I lied when I said the staged rooms are my favorite part of the Met. Garden at Sainte-Adresse is. Painted by Monet in the summer of 1867, Garden (let’s nickname it) is a masterclass in color and dimension. Monet was inspired by Japanese prints and used his relatives as models. Garden is one of Monet’s most exciting pieces because his artistic progression is stunningly apparent.Â
I was initially drawn to Garden for its serene depiction of drifting waves, flowing flags, and lush gardens, but the two couples piqued my attention. One of the pairs sits in the foreground, watching boats go by. The other stands next to a railing, making pleasant conversation.
The two couples don’t have plans. They don’t have a color-coded calendar, a navy blue receipt folder, or heaps of Google Notes to-do lists. They don’t even have a book in hand.Â
As a society, we’ve forgotten how to be content with boredom. Over 500 hours of content are uploaded to YouTube every minute. The average teenager spends close to nine hours a day on screens. The average American checks their phone 144 times a day, or once every six minutes.
We will never ever be bored again.Â
The American Wing sculpture hall at 6:30 PM
The other night on the F train, I felt the urge to scroll on my phone but stopped myself. Instead, I looked around.Â
A mother and daughter were playing rock paper scissors, but the daughter didn’t know the hand movements, so the mother let her win every time. A “finance bro” had his face pressed against the sliding doors, half-asleep. Two teenage girls were laughing at something on one of their phones. What happens when we embrace boredom? What will we notice about ourselves, about each other?
The two couples in Garden at Sainte Adresse aren’t inundated with Instagram Reels, Apple News alerts, or those apps where your phone blows up if you don’t feed a virtual pet in time. Their biggest concern is the changing of the tides and whether the mailman is stealing their letters (trust me, this would happen).Â
Once we learn to be comfortable with inactivity, the world opens up.
By spending a full day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, removed from the distractions of college and New York City, I discovered a peaceful type of boredom, one that embraced me wholeheartedly.Â
A voice crackled over the loudspeaker at 8:55. I packed my things and left Garden at Sainte-Adresse. My face hit the cold November air at 9 PM, and by 9:30, I was tucked in bed, typing away.