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All the Beauty in the World: The Metropolitan Museum of Art and Me
A fascinating, revelatory portrait of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and its treasures by a former New Yorker staffer who spent a decade as a museum guard.
Millions of people climb the grand marble staircase to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art every year. But only a select few have unrestricted access to every nook and cranny. They’re the guards who roam unobtrusively in dark blue suits, keeping a watchful eye on the two million square foot treasure house. Caught up in his glamorous fledgling career at The New Yorker, Patrick Bringley never thought he’d be one of them. Then his older brother was diagnosed with fatal cancer and he found himself needing to escape the mundane clamor of daily life. So he quit The New Yorker and sought solace in the most beautiful place he knew.
To his surprise and the reader’s delight, this temporary refuge becomes Bringley’s home away from home for a decade. We follow him as he guards delicate treasures from Egypt to Rome, strolls the labyrinths beneath the galleries, wears out nine pairs of company shoes, and marvels at the beautiful works in his care. Bringley enters the museum as a ghost, silent and almost invisible, but soon finds his voice and his tribe: the artworks and their creators and the lively subculture of museum guards—a gorgeous mosaic of artists, musicians, blue-collar stalwarts, immigrants, cutups, and dreamers. As his bonds with his colleagues and the art grow, he comes to understand how fortunate he is to be walled off in this little world, and how much it resembles the best aspects of the larger world to which he gradually, gratefully returns.
In the tradition of classic workplace memoirs like Lab Girl and Working Stiff, All The Beauty in the World is a surprising, inspiring portrait of a great museum, its hidden treasures, and the people who make it tick, by one of its most intimate observers.
Millions of people climb the grand marble staircase to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art every year. But only a select few have unrestricted access to every nook and cranny. They’re the guards who roam unobtrusively in dark blue suits, keeping a watchful eye on the two million square foot treasure house. Caught up in his glamorous fledgling career at The New Yorker, Patrick Bringley never thought he’d be one of them. Then his older brother was diagnosed with fatal cancer and he found himself needing to escape the mundane clamor of daily life. So he quit The New Yorker and sought solace in the most beautiful place he knew.
To his surprise and the reader’s delight, this temporary refuge becomes Bringley’s home away from home for a decade. We follow him as he guards delicate treasures from Egypt to Rome, strolls the labyrinths beneath the galleries, wears out nine pairs of company shoes, and marvels at the beautiful works in his care. Bringley enters the museum as a ghost, silent and almost invisible, but soon finds his voice and his tribe: the artworks and their creators and the lively subculture of museum guards—a gorgeous mosaic of artists, musicians, blue-collar stalwarts, immigrants, cutups, and dreamers. As his bonds with his colleagues and the art grow, he comes to understand how fortunate he is to be walled off in this little world, and how much it resembles the best aspects of the larger world to which he gradually, gratefully returns.
In the tradition of classic workplace memoirs like Lab Girl and Working Stiff, All The Beauty in the World is a surprising, inspiring portrait of a great museum, its hidden treasures, and the people who make it tick, by one of its most intimate observers.
240 pages, ebook
First published February 14, 2023
About the author
Patrick Bringley
3 books150 followersPatrick Bringley worked for ten years as a guard in the galleries of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. His memoir, ALL THE BEAUTY IN THE WORLD, was named a best book of the year by New York Public Library, NPR, the Financial Times, Audible, and the Sunday Times (London), which selected it as the outstanding art book of 2023. He lectures at museums around the country and leads public and private tours at the Met (complete information at patrickbringley.com). He lives with his wife and children in Sunset Park, Brooklyn. ALL THE BEAUTY IN THE WORLD is his first book.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,822 reviews
April 20, 2023
Patrick Bringley grew up near Chicago, but he fell in love with New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art when his mother brought him at age 11.
Around the same age, I, too, became enamored with the Met. While I had not visited in person (yet), I spent days roaming its hallowed halls along with Claudia and James as I read From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.
As fate would have it, after choosing to leave a job at The New Yorker in the wake of his older brother’s death from cancer, Patrick Bringley spends 10 years working as a guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Answering an ad in The New York Times, Bringley arrives at the Met in the fall of 2008.
He explains in his memoir All the Beauty in the World, “I had lost someone. I did not wish to move on from that. In a sense I didn’t wish to move at all.”
After a week of training — “protect life and property, in that order” — he dons the familiar dark blue suit and takes up his post. For new hires that means 12 hours on Fridays and Saturdays and eight hours on Sundays.
What is supposed to be a temporary respite lasts 10 years and brings him slowly back to life.
How many people can say they spend hours a day for years on end in the same room as masterpieces by Monet, Picasso, Renoir, and historical artifacts of the ancient Egyptians?
Bringley immerses himself in learning the background of the pieces of art and history surrounding him.
All the Beauty in the World is filled with stories about the Met’s collections, Bringley’s fellow guards, and the many colorful characters he meets among the museum’s millions of visitors who traipse up those iconic stone steps overlooking 82nd Street and Fifth Avenue.
Art lover or not, his memoir is a lovely respite from whatever makes your mind race.
“I think sometimes we need permission to stop and adore,” he writes, “and a work of art grants us that.”
Bringley’s philosophical musings on life, art, and human nature are insightful and entertaining.
All the Beauty in the World is a lovely memoir of a decade in one man’s life, but it’s also a moving testament to the way that great works of art can act as a balm for our soul.
Around the same age, I, too, became enamored with the Met. While I had not visited in person (yet), I spent days roaming its hallowed halls along with Claudia and James as I read From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.
As fate would have it, after choosing to leave a job at The New Yorker in the wake of his older brother’s death from cancer, Patrick Bringley spends 10 years working as a guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Answering an ad in The New York Times, Bringley arrives at the Met in the fall of 2008.
He explains in his memoir All the Beauty in the World, “I had lost someone. I did not wish to move on from that. In a sense I didn’t wish to move at all.”
After a week of training — “protect life and property, in that order” — he dons the familiar dark blue suit and takes up his post. For new hires that means 12 hours on Fridays and Saturdays and eight hours on Sundays.
What is supposed to be a temporary respite lasts 10 years and brings him slowly back to life.
How many people can say they spend hours a day for years on end in the same room as masterpieces by Monet, Picasso, Renoir, and historical artifacts of the ancient Egyptians?
Bringley immerses himself in learning the background of the pieces of art and history surrounding him.
All the Beauty in the World is filled with stories about the Met’s collections, Bringley’s fellow guards, and the many colorful characters he meets among the museum’s millions of visitors who traipse up those iconic stone steps overlooking 82nd Street and Fifth Avenue.
Art lover or not, his memoir is a lovely respite from whatever makes your mind race.
“I think sometimes we need permission to stop and adore,” he writes, “and a work of art grants us that.”
Bringley’s philosophical musings on life, art, and human nature are insightful and entertaining.
All the Beauty in the World is a lovely memoir of a decade in one man’s life, but it’s also a moving testament to the way that great works of art can act as a balm for our soul.
March 25, 2023
This is a tough one for me to review fairly - I was a security guard at the Met from 1996 to 1998 and this book kind of warms my heart. And one of my friends from guarding, Emilie L., is still there and a friend of the author, and featured in this book. What?!
It’s a good book. It’s well written with a personal memoir narrative overlaying the more descriptive, or meditative, personal experience of being a guard at an archetypal museum.
When you are a guard at the Met, nobody gets it. It feels like your friends and family think you are wasting your intelligence. When I worked there, you had to have a college degree, a legacy of Thomas Hoving. He thought smart guards would benefit the museum two ways: one, they are educated representatives and, two, they are less likely to stay long enough to burden the pension system. As this book makes clear, it also raises the likelihood a guard might get a book deal, and I couldn’t be happier for him.
The book does a great job describing some of the weird joys of being a guard. From the description of the employee entrance at the foot of the loading dock and dispatch assigning your section, to the vibe of the locker room and the and way you disappear into the fabric of the gallery in your guard suit. I just loved reading all that. The magic of a morning gallery to yourself, the supercool phenomenon of watching the guards push everyone out of the museum and line up around the perimeter of the great hall. Though he didn’t describe the race from the Great Hall to the locker rooms to subway at the end of the night, which is another great moment.
All in all, I was just so glad to hear this guard’s voice. It’s a little bit all of our voices, the hundreds upon hundreds of people out in the world who make up a veritable guild of Met guards.
Met guards are loyal to each other. I will always give a nod of respect and approval to my Met guard peers - we are diverse like New York, each with a story to tell. And I am so psyched Patrick Bringley wrote one of them down.
It’s a good book. It’s well written with a personal memoir narrative overlaying the more descriptive, or meditative, personal experience of being a guard at an archetypal museum.
When you are a guard at the Met, nobody gets it. It feels like your friends and family think you are wasting your intelligence. When I worked there, you had to have a college degree, a legacy of Thomas Hoving. He thought smart guards would benefit the museum two ways: one, they are educated representatives and, two, they are less likely to stay long enough to burden the pension system. As this book makes clear, it also raises the likelihood a guard might get a book deal, and I couldn’t be happier for him.
The book does a great job describing some of the weird joys of being a guard. From the description of the employee entrance at the foot of the loading dock and dispatch assigning your section, to the vibe of the locker room and the and way you disappear into the fabric of the gallery in your guard suit. I just loved reading all that. The magic of a morning gallery to yourself, the supercool phenomenon of watching the guards push everyone out of the museum and line up around the perimeter of the great hall. Though he didn’t describe the race from the Great Hall to the locker rooms to subway at the end of the night, which is another great moment.
All in all, I was just so glad to hear this guard’s voice. It’s a little bit all of our voices, the hundreds upon hundreds of people out in the world who make up a veritable guild of Met guards.
Met guards are loyal to each other. I will always give a nod of respect and approval to my Met guard peers - we are diverse like New York, each with a story to tell. And I am so psyched Patrick Bringley wrote one of them down.
November 8, 2022
Years ago, when I was a teacher, I had the opportunity to attend the Lincoln Center summer program for educators. I also received credits for doing so and for three summers in a row, I traveled to NYC and participated in this program. It was a most wonderful experience and one that I will always remember feeling ever so fortunate to get up close and personal with both the Center and the MET. It was because of this amazing experience, that I decided to read this book.
I identified with Patrick Bringley as he took us through his visceral and emotional experience working as a guard at the MET. He spoke of the wonderful art presented in the museum and made me once again feel like I was there sitting on the floor as our teacher artist spoke of the art and the person who created this beauty. All of us were thrilled to be in the museum before others and we entered the peace and tranquility of this place with anticipation and awe.
I so loved Mr Bringley bringing his readers to such a fascinating and reverential place for the works he presented across all mediums and all parts of our world. It was so easy to feel his love of the works and the inspiration he found in so many of the works. He loved his job and that showed in his writing. It brought back to me wonderful memories of a time where I was taught how to look and really see art in both God and man/women's creations. My courses made me see the world in a different way and I know Patrick Bringley felt the same, an awakening to the beauty contained within this building. I never looked at any piece of art in the same way and even though Patrick went on to another job, he relished the time when he walked with the artists whose works are housed within the walls of this marvelous museum.
Thank you to Patrick Bringley for bringing me back to that wonderful time and to Eamon Dolan of Simon & Schuster for sending me an early copy of this ode to beauty. It's anticipated publishing date is February 14, 2023
I identified with Patrick Bringley as he took us through his visceral and emotional experience working as a guard at the MET. He spoke of the wonderful art presented in the museum and made me once again feel like I was there sitting on the floor as our teacher artist spoke of the art and the person who created this beauty. All of us were thrilled to be in the museum before others and we entered the peace and tranquility of this place with anticipation and awe.
I so loved Mr Bringley bringing his readers to such a fascinating and reverential place for the works he presented across all mediums and all parts of our world. It was so easy to feel his love of the works and the inspiration he found in so many of the works. He loved his job and that showed in his writing. It brought back to me wonderful memories of a time where I was taught how to look and really see art in both God and man/women's creations. My courses made me see the world in a different way and I know Patrick Bringley felt the same, an awakening to the beauty contained within this building. I never looked at any piece of art in the same way and even though Patrick went on to another job, he relished the time when he walked with the artists whose works are housed within the walls of this marvelous museum.
Thank you to Patrick Bringley for bringing me back to that wonderful time and to Eamon Dolan of Simon & Schuster for sending me an early copy of this ode to beauty. It's anticipated publishing date is February 14, 2023
March 9, 2023
Three and a half stars.
Some years ago I read a book called Making Rent in Bed-Stuy by Brandon Harris. It’s one of those quintessential first-book essay collections, of the type where the titular theme of the book is effectively explored and then a set of mostly-unrelated essays is wedged in to make the project book-length. My Goodreads review read “When it’s about making rent in Bed-Stuy, it’s good. When it isn't, it’s... less.” I did think there was a lot of good in the book, but I had to sift too much to find it. It’s a problem common to a lot of nonfiction, especially that which has a memoiristic bent - maintaining focus when the dictates of publishing so often prioritize padding. I thought of this issue more than once when reading Patrick Bringley’s new book All the Beauty in the World: The Metropolitan Museum of Art and Me. Happily, he mostly succeeds where many others have failed.
Bringley’s book, his first, tells the story of his ten years as a guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, what it was like holding down that job and what he learned about the Met and its collection. That’s enough to hook me; I love art museums in general, even though I’m not the most educated art fan, and the Met is an institution I love, one I visited at least monthly for the first four years I lived in New York City. I’m the target demographic, here, an easy sell, and unsurprisingly I enjoyed my time with the book.
The fundamental appeal of this book is Bringley’s unusual level of access to the museum and the stories he accumulated in his decade there. This is fun on a variety of levels. One level is simply an intimate look at an institution that many people have affection for but few understand on a logistical level. There’s a lot of pure behind-the-scenes, here’s-how-it-really-works information about how an immense and hugely popular art museum operates. This is obviously limited to a guard’s perspective, but that’s a useful and unique point of view of the museum. Bringley takes a lot of care to flesh out the personalities of his fellow guards, which is essential for the flavor of the book, and there’s quite a bit about the many colorful characters he met among the museum’s visitors. (This is the kind of book you read for the anecdotes.) Another level on which the text operates is as a series of ruminations on art, its creation, and its appreciation. There’s tons of little tidbits, pieces of artistic trivia that I didn’t know before reading, and I appreciate the amount of research at play here. Bringley shares which art was his favorite, what different galleries inspired in him, and how being a guard changed and deepened his attitude toward visual art. And he does it well. The value proposition of this book is obvious, and at those fundamental tasks - teaching the reader about the operations of the Met and about its art - it clearly succeeds.
The question of padding presents itself, but as I suggested, these fears mostly go unrealized. Early on, I was worried that the book had a What It’s Really About problem. Bringley writes movingly about losing his brother Tom to cancer, an event which helped inspire him to leave a low-level position at the New Yorker and take up his post at the Met. I am, obviously, not callous enough to ding a book or its author for writing about the death of a loved one. And I recognize that a brother dying from cancer is an entirely appropriate thing to write about in a book. My concern lay in the fact that many nonfiction books, again especially those that are structured as memoir, tend to become preoccupied with What It’s Really About, personal stories that take us away from the book’s specific subject matter. It sounds cruel to complain about the various tales of woe that these books delve into, but the point is not that these stories aren’t important or even that they’re poorly written; the problem is that these personal stories are inevitably less arresting than the subject matter we signed up for. The balance is everything, and many books don't get it right. (I read a book about the American bison once that had a big What It’s Really About problem.) In the first several chapters of All the Beauty in the World, I became concerned that the story of Tom’s cancer would eat the book, that stories about the museum would end up leading inevitably back to that personal tragedy.
But the book ultimately handles its connection with Bringley’s brother’s death deftly. It feels ghoulish to critique authors writing about personal tragedy, but doing so effectively is very hard; no matter what the particulars, the type of suffering the writer endured has no doubt been explored many times before. An author often has to write with exquisite care to create new insight and inspire the intended emotions. Bringley’s discussion of his brother’s illness is workmanlike and effective, sufficiently fleshed out to be moving while appropriately brief for a book about something else. A potential weakness becomes one of the book’s strengths.
What’s harder to shake is when Bringley’s reach exceeds his grasp. All the Beauty of the World has a bit of an overwriting problem. Typically, his prose is a strength, and I have few complaints about the book’s style. But fairly often, Bringley stretches for an image or a metaphor and can’t quite pull it off. I get it: these paintings and sculptures are works of immense beauty, and they inspire us to express feelings that are difficult to express. Ordinary language feels insufficient to the task. But these are the most dangerous situations writers find themselves in, precisely when we most want to find the words to convey intense emotions. And at times, Bringley falters, producing passages that sound to me like a chord played on a guitar where the high E string is tuned a half-step too sharp.
But the book’s heart remains firmly in the right place. As you might imagine, All the Beauty in the World filled me with both inspiration regarding the world’s storehouse of great artwork and an intense desire to visit the Met. Its artfully-lazy considerations of art and its meaning serve as a book-length advertisement for reconnecting with the visual arts. The museum should hand out copies. Bringley makes this endorsement explicit at the end of the book:
Couldn’t have said it better myself.
Some years ago I read a book called Making Rent in Bed-Stuy by Brandon Harris. It’s one of those quintessential first-book essay collections, of the type where the titular theme of the book is effectively explored and then a set of mostly-unrelated essays is wedged in to make the project book-length. My Goodreads review read “When it’s about making rent in Bed-Stuy, it’s good. When it isn't, it’s... less.” I did think there was a lot of good in the book, but I had to sift too much to find it. It’s a problem common to a lot of nonfiction, especially that which has a memoiristic bent - maintaining focus when the dictates of publishing so often prioritize padding. I thought of this issue more than once when reading Patrick Bringley’s new book All the Beauty in the World: The Metropolitan Museum of Art and Me. Happily, he mostly succeeds where many others have failed.
Bringley’s book, his first, tells the story of his ten years as a guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, what it was like holding down that job and what he learned about the Met and its collection. That’s enough to hook me; I love art museums in general, even though I’m not the most educated art fan, and the Met is an institution I love, one I visited at least monthly for the first four years I lived in New York City. I’m the target demographic, here, an easy sell, and unsurprisingly I enjoyed my time with the book.
The fundamental appeal of this book is Bringley’s unusual level of access to the museum and the stories he accumulated in his decade there. This is fun on a variety of levels. One level is simply an intimate look at an institution that many people have affection for but few understand on a logistical level. There’s a lot of pure behind-the-scenes, here’s-how-it-really-works information about how an immense and hugely popular art museum operates. This is obviously limited to a guard’s perspective, but that’s a useful and unique point of view of the museum. Bringley takes a lot of care to flesh out the personalities of his fellow guards, which is essential for the flavor of the book, and there’s quite a bit about the many colorful characters he met among the museum’s visitors. (This is the kind of book you read for the anecdotes.) Another level on which the text operates is as a series of ruminations on art, its creation, and its appreciation. There’s tons of little tidbits, pieces of artistic trivia that I didn’t know before reading, and I appreciate the amount of research at play here. Bringley shares which art was his favorite, what different galleries inspired in him, and how being a guard changed and deepened his attitude toward visual art. And he does it well. The value proposition of this book is obvious, and at those fundamental tasks - teaching the reader about the operations of the Met and about its art - it clearly succeeds.
The question of padding presents itself, but as I suggested, these fears mostly go unrealized. Early on, I was worried that the book had a What It’s Really About problem. Bringley writes movingly about losing his brother Tom to cancer, an event which helped inspire him to leave a low-level position at the New Yorker and take up his post at the Met. I am, obviously, not callous enough to ding a book or its author for writing about the death of a loved one. And I recognize that a brother dying from cancer is an entirely appropriate thing to write about in a book. My concern lay in the fact that many nonfiction books, again especially those that are structured as memoir, tend to become preoccupied with What It’s Really About, personal stories that take us away from the book’s specific subject matter. It sounds cruel to complain about the various tales of woe that these books delve into, but the point is not that these stories aren’t important or even that they’re poorly written; the problem is that these personal stories are inevitably less arresting than the subject matter we signed up for. The balance is everything, and many books don't get it right. (I read a book about the American bison once that had a big What It’s Really About problem.) In the first several chapters of All the Beauty in the World, I became concerned that the story of Tom’s cancer would eat the book, that stories about the museum would end up leading inevitably back to that personal tragedy.
But the book ultimately handles its connection with Bringley’s brother’s death deftly. It feels ghoulish to critique authors writing about personal tragedy, but doing so effectively is very hard; no matter what the particulars, the type of suffering the writer endured has no doubt been explored many times before. An author often has to write with exquisite care to create new insight and inspire the intended emotions. Bringley’s discussion of his brother’s illness is workmanlike and effective, sufficiently fleshed out to be moving while appropriately brief for a book about something else. A potential weakness becomes one of the book’s strengths.
What’s harder to shake is when Bringley’s reach exceeds his grasp. All the Beauty of the World has a bit of an overwriting problem. Typically, his prose is a strength, and I have few complaints about the book’s style. But fairly often, Bringley stretches for an image or a metaphor and can’t quite pull it off. I get it: these paintings and sculptures are works of immense beauty, and they inspire us to express feelings that are difficult to express. Ordinary language feels insufficient to the task. But these are the most dangerous situations writers find themselves in, precisely when we most want to find the words to convey intense emotions. And at times, Bringley falters, producing passages that sound to me like a chord played on a guitar where the high E string is tuned a half-step too sharp.
But the book’s heart remains firmly in the right place. As you might imagine, All the Beauty in the World filled me with both inspiration regarding the world’s storehouse of great artwork and an intense desire to visit the Met. Its artfully-lazy considerations of art and its meaning serve as a book-length advertisement for reconnecting with the visual arts. The museum should hand out copies. Bringley makes this endorsement explicit at the end of the book:
Come in the morning if you can, when the museum is the quietest, and at first say nothing to anyone, not even a guard. Look at artworks with wide, patient, receptive eyes, and give yourself time to discover details as well as their overall presence, their wholeness. You may not have words to describe your sensations, but try to notice them anyway. Hopefully, in the silence and the stillness, you’ll experience something uncommon or unexpected.
Couldn’t have said it better myself.
June 22, 2023
If you've ever been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, you've likely been overwhelmed by its size and coverage of so much of human history through the lens of art and artifacts. In this memoir recounting his tenure as a guard at the Met, Patrick Bringley presents a story of grief and healing through the mundane and miraculous experience of being: being alive, being a human, being an observer of art and other humans. Through the everyday occurrences to the once-in-a-lifetime moments, Bringley takes us behind the curtain of working at the Met, while showing how his work there helped him process the death of his brother.
I really loved this book. Not only because I love art and art history, and having visited the Met a few times in my life, love it as well. But also because Bringley brings such a gentle passion for art and humanity in a way that makes places like the Met feel more accessible and intimate. He doesn't have a snobby approach to art one might expect from someone who spent nearly a decade working at one of the world's most renowned museums. He provides examples and instructions for how to have a personal experience in such a crowded place. He recounts his own precious moments in the museum, with the other guards, and with guests he encounters over his years there.
Plus, his writing is beautiful and the audiobook narration which he does himself feels so personal. I only wish I had the physical book to see the works of art he constantly references, though I did some of my own Googling along the way.
This is for fans of people watching, those seeking a little dose of inspiration, anyone who needs a reminder that life is short but precious and worth living fully, anyone struggling to balance stillness and productivity, and lovers, of course, of the Met and art history.
---
Quotes:
"Much of the greatest art, I find, seeks to remind us of the obvious. 'This is real,' is all it says. Take the time to stop and imagine more fully the things you already know."
"A scene of this type is called an 'adoration,' and I held the rather beautiful word in my mind. How useful a name for a kind of tender worship that arises in such a moment. We are silenced by such a vision, softened, made penetrable by what is vibrant and unhidden, but felt only weakly amid the clamor of everyday life. We need no explanation of our adored object. Adding context could only obscure it's plain and somehow unmysterious mystery."
"When we adore, we apprehend beauty. When we lament, we see the wisdom of the ancient adage, 'Life is suffering.' A great painting can look like a slab of sheer bedrock; a piece of reality too stark and direct and poignant for words."
"On and off I have been reading a book about Egyptian history, and I am reminded again how different are the experiences of reading books and looking at art. The book's information has pushed my knowledge of Egypt forward. By contrast, coming into contact with an actual fragment of Egypt seems mostly to hang me up. This is an essential aspect of a work of art. You can't empty it of its contents and patly move on. It seems to scorn a world where knowing a few bullet points of a subject is counted the least bit impressive. Indeed, bullet points are what it won't spew. A work of art tends to speak of things that are at once too large and too intimate to be summed up, and they speak of them by not speaking at all."
"In time I develop a method for approaching a work of art. I resist the temptation to hunt right away for something singular about a work, the big deal that draws the focus of textbook writers. To look for distinctive characteristics is to ignore the greater part of what a work of art is."
"I believe we take art seriously when we try to discern at close quarters it reveals."
"It occurs to me that it isn't enough to learn from finished works of art in all their apparent perfection. I should keep in mind the toil these works entail. One good reason to look at someone else's creation is because you are studying how you might build something yourself. And for the first time in my life, really, I feel as if I am building something. In a terribly inelegant, ad hoc process I am building two little humans, and I am making the little world I would wish them to live in, a project that can't be perfected or finished."
I really loved this book. Not only because I love art and art history, and having visited the Met a few times in my life, love it as well. But also because Bringley brings such a gentle passion for art and humanity in a way that makes places like the Met feel more accessible and intimate. He doesn't have a snobby approach to art one might expect from someone who spent nearly a decade working at one of the world's most renowned museums. He provides examples and instructions for how to have a personal experience in such a crowded place. He recounts his own precious moments in the museum, with the other guards, and with guests he encounters over his years there.
Plus, his writing is beautiful and the audiobook narration which he does himself feels so personal. I only wish I had the physical book to see the works of art he constantly references, though I did some of my own Googling along the way.
This is for fans of people watching, those seeking a little dose of inspiration, anyone who needs a reminder that life is short but precious and worth living fully, anyone struggling to balance stillness and productivity, and lovers, of course, of the Met and art history.
---
Quotes:
"Much of the greatest art, I find, seeks to remind us of the obvious. 'This is real,' is all it says. Take the time to stop and imagine more fully the things you already know."
"A scene of this type is called an 'adoration,' and I held the rather beautiful word in my mind. How useful a name for a kind of tender worship that arises in such a moment. We are silenced by such a vision, softened, made penetrable by what is vibrant and unhidden, but felt only weakly amid the clamor of everyday life. We need no explanation of our adored object. Adding context could only obscure it's plain and somehow unmysterious mystery."
"When we adore, we apprehend beauty. When we lament, we see the wisdom of the ancient adage, 'Life is suffering.' A great painting can look like a slab of sheer bedrock; a piece of reality too stark and direct and poignant for words."
"On and off I have been reading a book about Egyptian history, and I am reminded again how different are the experiences of reading books and looking at art. The book's information has pushed my knowledge of Egypt forward. By contrast, coming into contact with an actual fragment of Egypt seems mostly to hang me up. This is an essential aspect of a work of art. You can't empty it of its contents and patly move on. It seems to scorn a world where knowing a few bullet points of a subject is counted the least bit impressive. Indeed, bullet points are what it won't spew. A work of art tends to speak of things that are at once too large and too intimate to be summed up, and they speak of them by not speaking at all."
"In time I develop a method for approaching a work of art. I resist the temptation to hunt right away for something singular about a work, the big deal that draws the focus of textbook writers. To look for distinctive characteristics is to ignore the greater part of what a work of art is."
"I believe we take art seriously when we try to discern at close quarters it reveals."
"It occurs to me that it isn't enough to learn from finished works of art in all their apparent perfection. I should keep in mind the toil these works entail. One good reason to look at someone else's creation is because you are studying how you might build something yourself. And for the first time in my life, really, I feel as if I am building something. In a terribly inelegant, ad hoc process I am building two little humans, and I am making the little world I would wish them to live in, a project that can't be perfected or finished."
November 5, 2024
Patrick Bringley sought peace and a sense of otherworldliness at "The Met." Slowly he forged connections with co-workers and in a sense orchestrated a a quasi home within the halls of lovely, yet silent art. Though he meanders a bit with transitions between present and past, yet the prose (quite unexpected) smooths most swiftly any coarse transitions. Referring to a landscape by Monet, "When I experience such a thing, I feel faint but definite tremors in my chest.” A guide, guard or cautious employed sentinel was his official capacity for a decade in quotidian warm bath of art.
"Similar to artwork kept at home, that in time develop meaning and reminding us of where we seem to be in life. Some art may have been an observer to the death or birth of a family member thus coloring our lives with a silent reminder "memento mori!”
---Patrick Bringley
A favorite of Mr. Bringley was "The Harvesters" by Pieter Bruegel (a local scene) involving a wheat field and workers engaged in different facets of tending the field and themselves. For me the first time I stumbled in awe upon Bruegel was in the Kunsthistoriches Museum in Vienna and his "Tower of Babel" caused a silent war within a patron. As a security guard, some of the paintings morphed into an organic being and came life in the solitude and quiet of The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Meaning is something we create. This book affords us a view from the eyes of a guard.
"Similar to artwork kept at home, that in time develop meaning and reminding us of where we seem to be in life. Some art may have been an observer to the death or birth of a family member thus coloring our lives with a silent reminder "memento mori!”
---Patrick Bringley
A favorite of Mr. Bringley was "The Harvesters" by Pieter Bruegel (a local scene) involving a wheat field and workers engaged in different facets of tending the field and themselves. For me the first time I stumbled in awe upon Bruegel was in the Kunsthistoriches Museum in Vienna and his "Tower of Babel" caused a silent war within a patron. As a security guard, some of the paintings morphed into an organic being and came life in the solitude and quiet of The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Meaning is something we create. This book affords us a view from the eyes of a guard.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
September 5, 2024
Patrick Bringley worked as a security guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Art which exposed him to some of the most beautiful and profound art in human history. What really stood out in this book for me was how art became part of his personal experience rather than a dry dissertation by an art history professor in a lecture hall. It is humbling to walk among the sublime works of Ancient Greece and then see other masterpieces of later civilizations. To really appreciate art like a Michelangelo: One must see it live and in person like Mr. Bringley did. I was blown away by the insights into other cultures and common human experiences that these great masterpieces give a person. I still get a feeling that this book only covers a small part of the total Met experience.
August 12, 2024
A very lovely book. Made me nostalgic for NYC and The Met. Remembered all my visits. Remembered the vastness and my excitement every time I went, especially when I would bring my little brother with me. Remembered how it was so massive that I never once could get through the whole museum, even when I spent hours there or tried to rush through it as a personal challenge. Remembered the first tone I saw a Monet in person, and my breath actually stopped.
March 15, 2023
I’m overcome by this exquisite memoir. It was an incredibly enlightening read and I know that my review won’t do it justice. I savoured every word and am in awe of how poetic and meditative it is. I appreciated the fact that it’s simple and ordinary, yet raw and philosophical at the same time, which is an idea that Bringley discusses about art that I think perfectly encapsulates his book as well. I really enjoyed his perspective about his colleagues and the work environment, as well as the visitors and his thoughts about specific pieces of art. I followed along with the linked list on the author’s website and it was a rich reading experience. I learned about what art is and what it represents, and how we can conceive of art in the midst of our busy lives. I’ve often wondered what others think when they’re in front of a beautiful painting, and questioned if I’m looking “correctly.” This book has taught me that there is no such thing and that art is at once sacred and quotidian, and that’s a big part of what makes it beautiful. Overall, the writing is tender and sincere and I know I’ll be thinking about it for a long time.
June 28, 2024
I wanted so badly to love this book. I love anything to do with museums, art and history, but this was a bit bland. The snippets in the museums were about 1/3 of the book compared to his personal life and his take on historical eras. I won’t give up on museum books but I sure hope my next one is more exciting.
June 23, 2024
(Note: I received and advanced reader copy of this book courtesy of NetGalley)
I’ll start off by stating bluntly that I adore museums in general, and my favorite place in the entirety of nearby New York City is hands-down the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where I have spent many an hour. So it will probably be of absolutely no surprise whatsoever that I heartily enjoyed Patrick Bingely’s All the Beauty in the World. The book provided a wonderfully intimate look into the world of the museum guards, providing readers a wonderful opportunity to learn about the world they inhabit that puts them both in the thick of it and also behind the scenes. Bingley’s writing also provides a much needed and probably very overdue spotlight on these men and women in general - for how many museum visitors to the Met and similar institutions passed by these ubiquitous employees without giving them so much as a thought, much less a second glance? I of course can’t speak for others, but I can definitely consider myself quite guilty on this matter, and in turn am quite appreciative of the newfound consideration I’m able to devote to them.
On top of its informativeness, All the Beauty in the World carried an incredibly soothing quality to it, and in fact it may very well be the most calming nonfiction work that I’ve read this year. Whether Bingely was describing a particular exhibit that seized his attention, times spent lost in memories of an older brother that passed before time, or any of his on-the-job mental musings, it almost always seemed to capture one of the moods or sensations I most commonly experience while wandering about a museum. Mental and emotional capture by a work of art, winding mind trips that suddenly occur in particularly quiet halls and rooms, odd thoughts that suddenly spring up - these sensations came rushing right back to me again and again as I worked my way through the chapters. It was almost the next best thing to being able to revisit and get lost in one of my favorite museums once again. However, arguably this might be at least an equivalent experience, because admittedly in my usual trips I never get the behind-the-scenes peeks that were provided in rich abundance here.
Overall, a wonderful read to help calm down after a hectic year. Also, no need to stray away from this book if you’ve never visited the Met. If you just happen to be a museum lover of any degree, an art lover, or simply think you’d like to be interested in reading about life as a guard, then I heartily recommend this beautiful book.
I’ll start off by stating bluntly that I adore museums in general, and my favorite place in the entirety of nearby New York City is hands-down the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where I have spent many an hour. So it will probably be of absolutely no surprise whatsoever that I heartily enjoyed Patrick Bingely’s All the Beauty in the World. The book provided a wonderfully intimate look into the world of the museum guards, providing readers a wonderful opportunity to learn about the world they inhabit that puts them both in the thick of it and also behind the scenes. Bingley’s writing also provides a much needed and probably very overdue spotlight on these men and women in general - for how many museum visitors to the Met and similar institutions passed by these ubiquitous employees without giving them so much as a thought, much less a second glance? I of course can’t speak for others, but I can definitely consider myself quite guilty on this matter, and in turn am quite appreciative of the newfound consideration I’m able to devote to them.
On top of its informativeness, All the Beauty in the World carried an incredibly soothing quality to it, and in fact it may very well be the most calming nonfiction work that I’ve read this year. Whether Bingely was describing a particular exhibit that seized his attention, times spent lost in memories of an older brother that passed before time, or any of his on-the-job mental musings, it almost always seemed to capture one of the moods or sensations I most commonly experience while wandering about a museum. Mental and emotional capture by a work of art, winding mind trips that suddenly occur in particularly quiet halls and rooms, odd thoughts that suddenly spring up - these sensations came rushing right back to me again and again as I worked my way through the chapters. It was almost the next best thing to being able to revisit and get lost in one of my favorite museums once again. However, arguably this might be at least an equivalent experience, because admittedly in my usual trips I never get the behind-the-scenes peeks that were provided in rich abundance here.
Overall, a wonderful read to help calm down after a hectic year. Also, no need to stray away from this book if you’ve never visited the Met. If you just happen to be a museum lover of any degree, an art lover, or simply think you’d like to be interested in reading about life as a guard, then I heartily recommend this beautiful book.
Read
January 18, 2024I thoroughly enjoyed this book and Bringley's insights into the Met, its art, and its people. I also appreciated his exploration of grief, healing, and gentle call to see and enjoy all the beauty around us. I highly recommend!
May 31, 2024
An interesting look at the Metropolitan Museum of Art from one of its guards.
After his brother died (and on what was supposed to be the author‘s wedding day at that!), Patrick Bringley changed a few things out of necessity. Amongst other things, he applied for the job of guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (MET). The place has its very own charm, apparently, and has worked it quite thoroughly on the author.
In this book, the author tells us of what his job was like for about 12 years, the kind of people he met, what art means to the various visitors and workers.
It‘s the latter group that was most fascinating for there is a veritable sub-culture here: artists, musicians, blue-collar stalwarts, immigrants, cutups, and dreamers as the blurb called them. Reading about them and their lives (past and present) intersecting with Bringley‘s and how it all kinda helped him heal after having lost his older brother (and so early in life) was rather beautiful.
The other MCs are the works of art themselves and the people who created them. I loved the author‘s outlook on the history surrounding him like a cocoon, but also what art taught him about his own life.
I agree with Bringley that it‘s a shame the MET is no longer free for everyone but only for New York residents since 2018. Museums are generally too expensive and if there is one thing humanity needs more of, it‘s friggin education. Nevertheless, at least it is free for some people - more than we can say here in Germany.
Moreover, I think it‘s a shame that only a fraction of what the museum owns actually can be displayed - simply because they have so much and limited (kinda) space. Just think of the size of the place and then realize that they STILL can only exhibit a FRACTION of what they have! Amazing!
Yes, I’d love a look behind the curtains but then, I‘d settle for getting to go to the museum at all for starters because while I was in NYC in 2005, my travel companions weren‘t up for going to a museum and I wasn‘t allowed to go alone. *sighs*
The book was one of those „silent“ ones that nevertheless packed quite a punch, message-wise. And the author had a nice way of narrating the audiobook version (he has a very thoughtful, calm voice).
After his brother died (and on what was supposed to be the author‘s wedding day at that!), Patrick Bringley changed a few things out of necessity. Amongst other things, he applied for the job of guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (MET). The place has its very own charm, apparently, and has worked it quite thoroughly on the author.
In this book, the author tells us of what his job was like for about 12 years, the kind of people he met, what art means to the various visitors and workers.
It‘s the latter group that was most fascinating for there is a veritable sub-culture here: artists, musicians, blue-collar stalwarts, immigrants, cutups, and dreamers as the blurb called them. Reading about them and their lives (past and present) intersecting with Bringley‘s and how it all kinda helped him heal after having lost his older brother (and so early in life) was rather beautiful.
The other MCs are the works of art themselves and the people who created them. I loved the author‘s outlook on the history surrounding him like a cocoon, but also what art taught him about his own life.
I agree with Bringley that it‘s a shame the MET is no longer free for everyone but only for New York residents since 2018. Museums are generally too expensive and if there is one thing humanity needs more of, it‘s friggin education. Nevertheless, at least it is free for some people - more than we can say here in Germany.
Moreover, I think it‘s a shame that only a fraction of what the museum owns actually can be displayed - simply because they have so much and limited (kinda) space. Just think of the size of the place and then realize that they STILL can only exhibit a FRACTION of what they have! Amazing!
Yes, I’d love a look behind the curtains but then, I‘d settle for getting to go to the museum at all for starters because while I was in NYC in 2005, my travel companions weren‘t up for going to a museum and I wasn‘t allowed to go alone. *sighs*
The book was one of those „silent“ ones that nevertheless packed quite a punch, message-wise. And the author had a nice way of narrating the audiobook version (he has a very thoughtful, calm voice).
August 16, 2023
I saw a review on my Goodreads feed this Spring for this book and immediately knew I needed to read it. Teres' review is worth checking out! This was indeed balm for my soul.
Leaving his employ at The New Yorker after he lost his older brother to cancer, Patrick Bringley takes a temporary job as a museum guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It’s his plan to use this time in a job that doesn’t require much from him, to heal. He recalls, “I had lost someone. I did not wish to move on from that. In a sense, I didn’t wish to move at all.”
The Met turns out to be just what Patrick needed; the art and solitary time allow his mind and heart to heal. What started out as temporary, became a decade-long healing process.
I loved a chance to press pause amid my stressful week and simply read. No notes taken. No deep diving for themes or character development - just the luxury of simply reading words on a page and stopping/starting as often as I needed. The book in itself was healing. My stressed-out soul responded.
I loved Patrick’s encounters within each of the different halls in the museum, both with the art and the visitors. His take on the different types of visitors brought a smile to my face and I found myself highlighting the following to remember should I ever make it to The Met:
“Find out what you love in the Met, what you learn from, and what you can use as fuel, and venture back into the world carrying something with you, something that doesn’t fit quite easily into your mind, that weighs on you as you go forward and changes you a little bit.”
This book, a memoir of sorts, about the healing power of art is one you'll want to put on your reading list. It's a first-aid kit type of book. The perfect one to have on hand when you need it most.
Leaving his employ at The New Yorker after he lost his older brother to cancer, Patrick Bringley takes a temporary job as a museum guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It’s his plan to use this time in a job that doesn’t require much from him, to heal. He recalls, “I had lost someone. I did not wish to move on from that. In a sense, I didn’t wish to move at all.”
The Met turns out to be just what Patrick needed; the art and solitary time allow his mind and heart to heal. What started out as temporary, became a decade-long healing process.
I loved a chance to press pause amid my stressful week and simply read. No notes taken. No deep diving for themes or character development - just the luxury of simply reading words on a page and stopping/starting as often as I needed. The book in itself was healing. My stressed-out soul responded.
I loved Patrick’s encounters within each of the different halls in the museum, both with the art and the visitors. His take on the different types of visitors brought a smile to my face and I found myself highlighting the following to remember should I ever make it to The Met:
“Find out what you love in the Met, what you learn from, and what you can use as fuel, and venture back into the world carrying something with you, something that doesn’t fit quite easily into your mind, that weighs on you as you go forward and changes you a little bit.”
This book, a memoir of sorts, about the healing power of art is one you'll want to put on your reading list. It's a first-aid kit type of book. The perfect one to have on hand when you need it most.
March 17, 2023
Book 22 review.
I really found this book boring. I���m sorry. I feel almost rude saying that, and for giving it 2 stars, but wow I could barely finish it. I will say, it was interesting to read about the connection a person can have to a place like the Met, a building and an organization that can sometimes seem other worldly or even reverential, but I really wanted it to be more about the art than the feelings one particular person has toward art and being a security guard in a prestigious museum.
Perhaps I should have realized what this would be on account of it being a memoir… that’s my bad. I’ll try and avoid that genre from now on, I guess.
Until the next book,
xoxo
I really found this book boring. I���m sorry. I feel almost rude saying that, and for giving it 2 stars, but wow I could barely finish it. I will say, it was interesting to read about the connection a person can have to a place like the Met, a building and an organization that can sometimes seem other worldly or even reverential, but I really wanted it to be more about the art than the feelings one particular person has toward art and being a security guard in a prestigious museum.
Perhaps I should have realized what this would be on account of it being a memoir… that’s my bad. I’ll try and avoid that genre from now on, I guess.
Until the next book,
xoxo
May 26, 2024
This served as a perfect follow-up to Get the Picture by Bianca Bosker, in which she also works as a museum guard. For her, it was a crash course in modern art appreciation. For Bringley, his decade at the Metropolitan Museum of Art started more as a way of finding inner stillness after his older brother’s death from cancer in his twenties. He was only too happy to trade the rat race of New York City journalism for a job that mostly required standing and watching – “why would I need to do anything else? It’s simple and straightforward and you learn things and your thoughts are entirely your own.”
Rotating assignments give him a chance to become familiar with the Met’s varied holdings: from very famous (a Greek temple, Egyptian artefacts, Michelangelo sketches, European and American painting across the centuries) to less so (Islamic design, African statuettes, musical instruments), with new acquisitions and exhibitions sparking his inquisitiveness about a Moroccan courtyard and unfinished artworks.
Throughout the book, he’s as interested in people as he is in art. His pen portraits of his family, museum visitors, and especially his colleagues – the majority of whom are immigrants – are delightful. And at 178 pages, the book doesn’t outstay its welcome. It ends with him, now a harried father of two, realizing that he needs new challenges. This is a lovely tribute to a circumscribed period of life that taught lasting lessons about wonder and curiosity.
Rotating assignments give him a chance to become familiar with the Met’s varied holdings: from very famous (a Greek temple, Egyptian artefacts, Michelangelo sketches, European and American painting across the centuries) to less so (Islamic design, African statuettes, musical instruments), with new acquisitions and exhibitions sparking his inquisitiveness about a Moroccan courtyard and unfinished artworks.
Throughout the book, he’s as interested in people as he is in art. His pen portraits of his family, museum visitors, and especially his colleagues – the majority of whom are immigrants – are delightful. And at 178 pages, the book doesn’t outstay its welcome. It ends with him, now a harried father of two, realizing that he needs new challenges. This is a lovely tribute to a circumscribed period of life that taught lasting lessons about wonder and curiosity.
March 19, 2023
Ugh, this is probably the most self-indulgent memoir I've read in a long time. Summary: privileged, educated white man takes low paying job and loves it. He passes judgment on museum goers and assesses their worth based on his interpretation of their motivations and quick comments. At no time does he attempt to find common ground between himself and his coworkers who do not have the choice and agency he does. Instead, he continually remarks on difference.
The author thinks very highly of himself and lists bizarre skills like "conversational tricks" of asking "open-ended question." A sixteen year old retail worker knows that one, Pat.
There's also a very strange section where he makes a case that many people do not know how to view art "properly" or how to "take it all in." He then goes on to explain it to us lowly readers and talks about how the artists themselves probably can't grasp all that is within their paintings?!?! I'm pretty sure an artist is the single best arbiter of the context in which their work was created. But alas, I am a lowly reader and public servant. What could I possibly know?! Good thing Pat's here to teach me.
I have absolutely no interest in recommending what could have been a boring and pedantic blog post. I remain genuinely confused about why this book is receiving so much praise?!
DNF @ 65%
The author thinks very highly of himself and lists bizarre skills like "conversational tricks" of asking "open-ended question." A sixteen year old retail worker knows that one, Pat.
There's also a very strange section where he makes a case that many people do not know how to view art "properly" or how to "take it all in." He then goes on to explain it to us lowly readers and talks about how the artists themselves probably can't grasp all that is within their paintings?!?! I'm pretty sure an artist is the single best arbiter of the context in which their work was created. But alas, I am a lowly reader and public servant. What could I possibly know?! Good thing Pat's here to teach me.
I have absolutely no interest in recommending what could have been a boring and pedantic blog post. I remain genuinely confused about why this book is receiving so much praise?!
DNF @ 65%
February 16, 2023
I’ll preface this review by saying that I’m generally not a fan of memoirs and if you are, you might like this better than I did.
I picked this up in spite of an aversion to the genre because I’m a lover of art with a couple of degrees in Art History, and thought it might be a fun insiders tour of The Met. Unfortunately, it’s not.
What I had hoped for from this book was fun behind the scenes Met content, little known or lesser known information about the collection, or interesting museum security protocol. Instead, this is largely the personal memoir of a guard, and is more about his personal life and how that relates to his museum job than about the museum itself.
I have also (briefly) had the job of a museum guard. For me it was a part time gig during college to earn some pocket money and done with the hope of the opportunity to do a bit of networking with the museum’s more academic employees. To be blunt, the job was dead boring. It’s unchallenging intellectually and has little to do with art, and that makes a memoirist who loves the gig difficult to relate to.
Bringley came to this job by choice rather than personal limitations. He’s a smart and capable writer who clearly has an above average knowledge of art for a guard and plenty of education to take on different work. His own life made this type of job more attractive to him than one in a more ambitious sector of the field, and that’s fine for him, but it’s a bit hard to relate to if you are an ambitious person and someone who craves intellectual stimulation in your profession.
The author has found a way to make the job meaningful and scintillating for himself (he’s far more interested in people watching and informally chatting with strangers than I). Again, this is fine because, You Do You and all, but it’s not exactly worthy of a book, and of no real interest to those who might consider a book like this because they have more than a passing interest in art.
Bringley seems like a lovely person and I’m glad he’s found happiness, but his story just isn’t one that is unique or necessarily of interest to the general reading public or to lovers of art or Met enthusiasts.
*I received an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.*
I picked this up in spite of an aversion to the genre because I’m a lover of art with a couple of degrees in Art History, and thought it might be a fun insiders tour of The Met. Unfortunately, it’s not.
What I had hoped for from this book was fun behind the scenes Met content, little known or lesser known information about the collection, or interesting museum security protocol. Instead, this is largely the personal memoir of a guard, and is more about his personal life and how that relates to his museum job than about the museum itself.
I have also (briefly) had the job of a museum guard. For me it was a part time gig during college to earn some pocket money and done with the hope of the opportunity to do a bit of networking with the museum’s more academic employees. To be blunt, the job was dead boring. It’s unchallenging intellectually and has little to do with art, and that makes a memoirist who loves the gig difficult to relate to.
Bringley came to this job by choice rather than personal limitations. He’s a smart and capable writer who clearly has an above average knowledge of art for a guard and plenty of education to take on different work. His own life made this type of job more attractive to him than one in a more ambitious sector of the field, and that’s fine for him, but it’s a bit hard to relate to if you are an ambitious person and someone who craves intellectual stimulation in your profession.
The author has found a way to make the job meaningful and scintillating for himself (he’s far more interested in people watching and informally chatting with strangers than I). Again, this is fine because, You Do You and all, but it’s not exactly worthy of a book, and of no real interest to those who might consider a book like this because they have more than a passing interest in art.
Bringley seems like a lovely person and I’m glad he’s found happiness, but his story just isn’t one that is unique or necessarily of interest to the general reading public or to lovers of art or Met enthusiasts.
*I received an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.*
November 5, 2024
It is said that resilience can be cultivated. But sometimes the death of a young and supremely loved person will overtake our timeline. We are mortal. We all expect this eventuality, but we cling to the hope that it will be years, decades before something like this blasts a hole in our soul.
It wouldn’t have occurred to Patrick Bringley that his older brother, Tom, would die before him. A brilliant mathematician who choses the abstract language of bio math because, Tom says, of the amazing single cell, its fantastic redundancies and millions of variations on a theme. Those very cells will mutate in Tom’s leg, and Patrick will be at his brother’s side as cancer erodes his body. Patrick will see this experience as a modern Passion playing out. Agony, suffering, anguish, until that day of finality when Tom dies.
Patrick finds he cannot turn away from the real world that he has been plunged into where mortality is a pervasive presence. Stripped of innocence but maladapted, he needs a space where he can surrender to silence and beauty. The Met is that place, a cathedral of sacred beauty and a gateway to other eras, centuries that can be spanned by crossing from one living work of art to another. A place where one can watch and listen as art quietly mentors.
Patrick will discover that the permanence and cold hard honestly of art is a path on which one can tread when painful reflection is necessary. It memorializes the the gift of existence with all of its pain and vigor, sorrow and joy, tedium and wonder. Just as the masters have done, Patrick will patiently rebuild his strength and connection with the world one brush stroke at a time, one artwork at a time, until the weight of suffering no longer silences him.
This book is about art, its sacred aspect and transcendence, its power to heal and transform, to gather history and inspire. It is also about loss and healing and finding meaning again. This book will change you. It will change how you view art, change how you view loss, and change how you view healing.
This beautiful memoir flows like a low-gradient stream. It is crystalline and meditative and intensely moving. Unweighted by sentimentally but agonizing in its unvarnished honesty. You will find yourself wanting to close your eyes at moments of piercing insight, to let your mind settle, suspended in a narrative of breathtaking clarity and poetic beauty.
Many thanks to NetGalley for allowing me to read this ARC.
It wouldn’t have occurred to Patrick Bringley that his older brother, Tom, would die before him. A brilliant mathematician who choses the abstract language of bio math because, Tom says, of the amazing single cell, its fantastic redundancies and millions of variations on a theme. Those very cells will mutate in Tom’s leg, and Patrick will be at his brother’s side as cancer erodes his body. Patrick will see this experience as a modern Passion playing out. Agony, suffering, anguish, until that day of finality when Tom dies.
Patrick finds he cannot turn away from the real world that he has been plunged into where mortality is a pervasive presence. Stripped of innocence but maladapted, he needs a space where he can surrender to silence and beauty. The Met is that place, a cathedral of sacred beauty and a gateway to other eras, centuries that can be spanned by crossing from one living work of art to another. A place where one can watch and listen as art quietly mentors.
Patrick will discover that the permanence and cold hard honestly of art is a path on which one can tread when painful reflection is necessary. It memorializes the the gift of existence with all of its pain and vigor, sorrow and joy, tedium and wonder. Just as the masters have done, Patrick will patiently rebuild his strength and connection with the world one brush stroke at a time, one artwork at a time, until the weight of suffering no longer silences him.
This book is about art, its sacred aspect and transcendence, its power to heal and transform, to gather history and inspire. It is also about loss and healing and finding meaning again. This book will change you. It will change how you view art, change how you view loss, and change how you view healing.
This beautiful memoir flows like a low-gradient stream. It is crystalline and meditative and intensely moving. Unweighted by sentimentally but agonizing in its unvarnished honesty. You will find yourself wanting to close your eyes at moments of piercing insight, to let your mind settle, suspended in a narrative of breathtaking clarity and poetic beauty.
Many thanks to NetGalley for allowing me to read this ARC.
June 17, 2023
Great book that should be required reading before any design student takes their first art history class.* Part museum guide, part memoir, part rumination on life - just a really enjoyable tour of the Met** through the eyes of one really observant former museum guard.
While I was a graphic designer in a previous career and took my share of art courses, my interest in this stuff is really more based on my travel history, and so while Bringley covers his fair share of Michelangelo, Bruegel, Jesus's, impressionists, blah-blah-blah...I was always more attracted to the Met's "non-painting" offerings. However, Bringley spends just as much - if not more - time in the Egyptian, Islamic and Micheal D. Rockefeller (i.e., South Pacific, and my favorite museum exhibit anywhere) wings, or with their world-renowned collection of knights and armor. But in all instances, his semi-tangential ruminations are always interesting and insightful.
Anyway - great book for both the art aficionado or philosopher in all of us.
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* As an art student, I had to take several art history courses in college, but for some reason some idiot scheduled them all at 7am; and so to this day, I'm like one of Pavlov's dogs in that the minutes the lights go down and slides go up ANYWHERE (usually important business meetings), I go right to sleep. Thanks, RIT!!
** One of my two favorite museums in the world, the other being the nearby American Museum of Natural History. And while I currently live in Northern Virginia within metro distance of the full range of amazing Smithsonian's, I grew up in the Hudson Valley in the '60s - back when schools still had budgets to take students on field trips to museums and classical music concerts, in the ridiculous belief that a well-rounded education that included exposure to the arts would make for similarly well-rounded adults. WHAT were they THINKING??
While I was a graphic designer in a previous career and took my share of art courses, my interest in this stuff is really more based on my travel history, and so while Bringley covers his fair share of Michelangelo, Bruegel, Jesus's, impressionists, blah-blah-blah...I was always more attracted to the Met's "non-painting" offerings. However, Bringley spends just as much - if not more - time in the Egyptian, Islamic and Micheal D. Rockefeller (i.e., South Pacific, and my favorite museum exhibit anywhere) wings, or with their world-renowned collection of knights and armor. But in all instances, his semi-tangential ruminations are always interesting and insightful.
Anyway - great book for both the art aficionado or philosopher in all of us.
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* As an art student, I had to take several art history courses in college, but for some reason some idiot scheduled them all at 7am; and so to this day, I'm like one of Pavlov's dogs in that the minutes the lights go down and slides go up ANYWHERE (usually important business meetings), I go right to sleep. Thanks, RIT!!
** One of my two favorite museums in the world, the other being the nearby American Museum of Natural History. And while I currently live in Northern Virginia within metro distance of the full range of amazing Smithsonian's, I grew up in the Hudson Valley in the '60s - back when schools still had budgets to take students on field trips to museums and classical music concerts, in the ridiculous belief that a well-rounded education that included exposure to the arts would make for similarly well-rounded adults. WHAT were they THINKING??
October 7, 2023
Man, I enjoyed this.
Full of longing, aching beauty - of life itself, its vast artwork, and the work of sharing it all with others.
This was a comforting book. It was even read by the author in a cadence that felt like the stories themselves had the pace of a walk through the museum.
Full of longing, aching beauty - of life itself, its vast artwork, and the work of sharing it all with others.
This was a comforting book. It was even read by the author in a cadence that felt like the stories themselves had the pace of a walk through the museum.
February 24, 2024
A young man escapes his unbearable life by hiding in a famous museum by hiring on as a museum guard. If you love the Met as much as I do, you'll really enjoy this book. I especially enjoyed looking up the artwork and artifacts that the author referenced as he manned his varied posts in the sprawling museum, and as he let the quiet and beauty of the Met heal his soul.
May 8, 2024
All right, I liked this. Nothing mind-blowing, but it’s a nice little book; the actual text is only 178 pages long. The primary appeal is that it’s about the Met, so worth checking out if you’re a Met lover. (Personally, though not generally a lover of museums, I was blown away when I visited and had to spend the rest of the weekend there, still not nearly enough time. Which is why I picked up this book.)
Needing space for grief after his older brother’s untimely death, Patrick Bringley gave up an ambitious first job to spend a decade working security at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The book is in part about his experiences as a guard, and in part reflections on art. Both aspects are worthwhile though neither is astounding. I appreciated his humility and humanity in viewing art, his interest in its history, his readiness to make room for awe and his encouragement to viewers to bring their own interpretations of what it means to be human to the work. I wished that the publishers had made room for color plates in this book, however—there are a few sketches, but in general you have to break and look at a screen if you want to see the art he’s discussing, which isn’t how I want to spend my reading time!
The behind-the-scenes view of the Met is also interesting, though nothing too startling. Museum guards have a lot of time on their hands, which is what Bringley wanted. His discussions of stepping away from hustle and stress make clear the appeal (even if most of us would probably be bored!), and I appreciated his point about people in “unskilled” jobs being far more diverse in background, education and interests than in white-collar jobs. He doesn’t go too deep into his life, but what we learn is written well.
Overall, a perfectly enjoyable book and a fairly quick read. My time with it was pleasant, though I doubt it will stick in my mind. The author apparently now works as a public speaker and tour guide, which sounds like a good fit.
Needing space for grief after his older brother’s untimely death, Patrick Bringley gave up an ambitious first job to spend a decade working security at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The book is in part about his experiences as a guard, and in part reflections on art. Both aspects are worthwhile though neither is astounding. I appreciated his humility and humanity in viewing art, his interest in its history, his readiness to make room for awe and his encouragement to viewers to bring their own interpretations of what it means to be human to the work. I wished that the publishers had made room for color plates in this book, however—there are a few sketches, but in general you have to break and look at a screen if you want to see the art he’s discussing, which isn’t how I want to spend my reading time!
The behind-the-scenes view of the Met is also interesting, though nothing too startling. Museum guards have a lot of time on their hands, which is what Bringley wanted. His discussions of stepping away from hustle and stress make clear the appeal (even if most of us would probably be bored!), and I appreciated his point about people in “unskilled” jobs being far more diverse in background, education and interests than in white-collar jobs. He doesn’t go too deep into his life, but what we learn is written well.
Overall, a perfectly enjoyable book and a fairly quick read. My time with it was pleasant, though I doubt it will stick in my mind. The author apparently now works as a public speaker and tour guide, which sounds like a good fit.
April 29, 2023
Such a good, thoughtful book not only as a reflection of looking at art but of work. And I recommend looking up the art images as you read. He includes some sketches of the works but it's nice to see the actual pieces.
March 15, 2023
I preordered this book months ago and was so excited to read it!
An absolutely gorgeous book about love and beauty, grief and healing. All the Beauty in the World is about a man who is grief-stricken after the loss of his older brother to cancer at twenty-seven.
Toward the end, sitting at his brother’s bedside in the hospital with his mother, they are utterly devastated into silence. A shaft of life streams in through a curtain and his mother says something like, “Look at us, we have become a fucking old masters painting.”
Like a pieta.
Unable to go back to life as usual, he quits his “promising job” at the New Yorker and becomes a guard at the Metropolitan Museum.
In the museum, every day he stares at beautiful works of art and slowly, slowly, he finds himself coming back to life. He heals, as his mind is re-ordered by the beautiful works of art he stands before every day for eight and twelve-hour shifts.
A year turns into ten.
Loved the concept, loved the beautiful emotional writing and thought he was especially brilliant at looking at particular works of art.
Just like a person laughs when something is funny, he says, we also react physically to beauty.
The trick is to slow down enough to notice—not just notice beauty itself but also one’s response to it.
Cannot recommend this one enough. It was my favorite nonfiction of the year--so far!
An absolutely gorgeous book about love and beauty, grief and healing. All the Beauty in the World is about a man who is grief-stricken after the loss of his older brother to cancer at twenty-seven.
Toward the end, sitting at his brother’s bedside in the hospital with his mother, they are utterly devastated into silence. A shaft of life streams in through a curtain and his mother says something like, “Look at us, we have become a fucking old masters painting.”
Like a pieta.
Unable to go back to life as usual, he quits his “promising job” at the New Yorker and becomes a guard at the Metropolitan Museum.
In the museum, every day he stares at beautiful works of art and slowly, slowly, he finds himself coming back to life. He heals, as his mind is re-ordered by the beautiful works of art he stands before every day for eight and twelve-hour shifts.
A year turns into ten.
Loved the concept, loved the beautiful emotional writing and thought he was especially brilliant at looking at particular works of art.
Just like a person laughs when something is funny, he says, we also react physically to beauty.
The trick is to slow down enough to notice—not just notice beauty itself but also one’s response to it.
Cannot recommend this one enough. It was my favorite nonfiction of the year--so far!
May 16, 2023
What a lovely story.
This book certainly isn't for everyone. Some will find it slow, lacking action and the tropes we're used to. However, that...to me...is part of what made it so lovely. Also, it's nonfiction!
There's a lot here--a lot of art history, everything from the classics to quilts to mummies. I enjoyed learning those things. But I also enjoyed the story of the author who is dealing with grief, moving through different phases of his life even as he moves through different centuries of art.
If you have any interest in art or the met, definitely give it a read.
I adored it.
Recommend!
This book certainly isn't for everyone. Some will find it slow, lacking action and the tropes we're used to. However, that...to me...is part of what made it so lovely. Also, it's nonfiction!
There's a lot here--a lot of art history, everything from the classics to quilts to mummies. I enjoyed learning those things. But I also enjoyed the story of the author who is dealing with grief, moving through different phases of his life even as he moves through different centuries of art.
If you have any interest in art or the met, definitely give it a read.
I adored it.
Recommend!
July 19, 2024
I would like to take this book and visit the Met and find the paintings he describes. I thoroughly enjoyed his perspective on art.
February 3, 2024
This is the best kind of memoir. Bringley worked as a guard at the Met for 10 years, and this book is about his experiences and his reflections on the art he worked amongst. He brings his own story into the narrative only sparingly, and tastefully.
I keep thinking about how he enjoys and interprets the art without reserve, even as a guard. The implicit message seems to be: you do not have to be an art history student to enjoy great art. Leave your high-brow insecurities at the door, and make yourself at home in the art museum.
May 11, 2023
This was a mixed read for me. It's definitely fun and interesting. But....there really isn't any depth or introspection to this book. The author goes to work as a security at the Met, in response to his beloved brother's death from cancer. It's a place of peace and doesn't require a lot of mental heavy lifting. I get that. But, his observations about the art are just so surface level and also doesn't acknowledge that much of the museum, contains stolen and looted property from other countries. There are a few lines that acknowledge this, but nothing about how the art is presented, and any biases that may arise in the presentation and viewing of that piece of art. And, describing a piece of NYC history made in the 1820s, by forced African laborers, is really, just insulting.
And while Brinkley works at the Met in response to his grief, there is very little about how, very little museum guards make, other than that with overtime, it's doable. He could have, and should have acknowledged, his own financial privilege in working here for 10 years and then when he leaves, goes to another place, where again, money is not a consideration.
This book could have been so much better with more introspection and commentary. Instead, it's just a surface level memoir, kind of like speed walking through the Met instead of taking the time to analyze and enjoy the surroundings.
And while Brinkley works at the Met in response to his grief, there is very little about how, very little museum guards make, other than that with overtime, it's doable. He could have, and should have acknowledged, his own financial privilege in working here for 10 years and then when he leaves, goes to another place, where again, money is not a consideration.
This book could have been so much better with more introspection and commentary. Instead, it's just a surface level memoir, kind of like speed walking through the Met instead of taking the time to analyze and enjoy the surroundings.
November 23, 2022
While the author’s emotions were swirling after the death of his brother, his shift to work as a museum guard brought a simplicity and calmness to a stressful time. It is almost as heavy on his brother’s cancer and dealing with grief as it is with art and the author’s emotional recovery and growth into adulthood.
An enjoyable memoir against the backdrop of one of the most impressive museums in the world. I distinctly remember my visits to the Met—the grand staircase, the temple of Dendur, arms and armor, Van Gogh, Jackson Pollock—and it was lovely to revisit
Some of the philosophical musings run long when more behind the scenes insight was what I wanted, but visiting the museum made it worthwhile. This is must-read for Met and art fans, just be aware of the cancer and grief content.
I received an arc from NetGalley
An enjoyable memoir against the backdrop of one of the most impressive museums in the world. I distinctly remember my visits to the Met—the grand staircase, the temple of Dendur, arms and armor, Van Gogh, Jackson Pollock—and it was lovely to revisit
Some of the philosophical musings run long when more behind the scenes insight was what I wanted, but visiting the museum made it worthwhile. This is must-read for Met and art fans, just be aware of the cancer and grief content.
I received an arc from NetGalley
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