Great paintings. Lousy museum.

On my recent visit to Philadelphia I went to the first museum I have ever actually hated: the Barnes Foundation. Now I must tell you that everyone else I spoke to who had been there thought it was a wonderful museum. This means they were stupid or lying. The museum which houses the collection of Albert C. Barnes offers one of the finest collections of Post-impressionist and early Modern paintings. Among its treasures are the extensive works of Renoir, Cezanne, Matisse, Picasso, Rousseau, and Modigliani. So what didn't I like? The fact that the paintings are hung, to my mind, haphazardly on the crowded walls with no informative legends, but only a brass plate with the artist's name. If you want to know more you must read an accompanying small-type brochure. Seeing these many masterpieces so sloppily displayed made me aware that though Renoir used to my favorite artist, now I found his paintings too bland in their indistinct softness.  I also realized that, though I love Modigliani, I am not sure I would now consider him a great artist so much as a novelty painter, not unlike Keane. I realize my whole response to the Barnes is iconoclastic, but—hell—I'm entitled to my opinion.

Note: I think this is a ridiculous way to display great paintings. How is one supposed to appreciate the landscape just above the central painting? Does one move that vase and climb up on that chest? And what the hell are the andirons for?