I am often dumbstruck by human achievements. Depending on the morning, the feeling could be brought upon by a burnt Jesus' face on a pancake, other days it takes a hike up a towering pyramid in Bosnia, stretching it's peak into a cloudless sky. Two weeks ago, that very same emotion was evoked by the superb collection of Tim Burton's art at MoMA.
Combining humor and fright in his 40 years of twisted artistry, his creations made from rubber, film, Polaroid, and paper are displayed in a delightful set-up. Four hundred plus drawings framed above life-sized models are a stunning sight to behold.
The exhibit is organized roughly chronologically, encompassing generations of movie paraphernalia from the rubber heads of Hugh Grant and Sara Jessica Parker from Mars Attacks, to mini models of the infamous Jack Skeleton from Nightmare Before Christmas, to name a few. Not to be missed: the Batman suit worn by Michael Keaton, book proposal full of wicked drawings and stories written by teenage Burton, and the rows of pencil and pen sketches. It sounds so trite to say, but there really isn't anyone that has an imagination like Tim Burton does anymore.
As for the nitty gritty, the price of the postcards are worth the two bucks you pay and they are great keepsakes for the uniqueness of experience. I bought four and framed the little mini-artworks on my walls. I only wish I went on a group tour, as there's no doubt much magic behind the common themes in all his work.