Yesterday I went to the Mass Museum of Contemporary Art in North Adams. It’s in what was once a factory and mill. Inside it is a large, bright, airy museum, with amazing spaces and light. But outside, you could see it’s roots, the reality of it’s past.
It was snowing, and there was this odd dichotomy as you stood in the bright, white walled art spaces with perfect light colored hardwood floors and bright lights, to something dark, almost out of Dickens on the outside.
A few pictures. These were in color, of course, but I kept seeing them, from the start, as black and whites, something from another age.