A sad fact of life lately at the Museum of Modern Art is that

Jerry Saltz, the seasoned critic and fierce defender of artistic integrity, once declared with candor and sorrow: “A sad fact of life lately at the Museum of Modern Art is that when it comes to group shows of contemporary painting from the collection, the bar has been set pretty low.” These words, though spoken about art, carry within them a broader lament—one that transcends canvas and brush. It is the lament of a lover of beauty watching standards decline, of a guardian of culture mourning the complacency that creeps into great institutions when passion yields to habit. Saltz does not merely criticize; he grieves—for art, for excellence, for the spirit of daring that once defined creation itself.

In the ancient world, art was not entertainment—it was revelation. The Greeks built temples not to flatter the gods, but to honor the divine order of proportion and truth. Michelangelo, in the Renaissance, carved stone until it breathed, not for fame, but to touch eternity. The Museum of Modern Art, in its founding ideal, sought to continue that lineage—to be a sanctuary for visionaries, a cathedral for the living pulse of imagination. Yet, as Saltz observes, the flame has dimmed. The bar has been set low, meaning that the hunger for greatness has weakened; mediocrity, polished and institutionalized, now passes for innovation. What he mourns is not a single exhibition, but a spirit betrayed.

It is a tragedy as old as civilization. When empires grow too rich, they often lose their edge. The builders of the Parthenon were descendants of warriors and philosophers; their art was born of struggle and faith. But centuries later, Rome, bloated with wealth, celebrated excess instead of excellence. Marble once carved with reverence became adorned with vanity. Saltz, in his critique, echoes this eternal cycle: when creators forget the sacred responsibility of creation, when museums forget their role as guardians of truth, beauty decays into spectacle, and art becomes decoration rather than revelation.

One might recall the story of the painter Caravaggio, whose raw, emotional realism shocked the polite art circles of his time. His works were too alive, too human, too unsettling for those who preferred art that comforted rather than challenged. But it was precisely his refusal to lower the bar that made him immortal. Saltz, like Caravaggio, demands that art burn again—that it pierce and awaken, that it resist the dullness of repetition. He calls us to remember that art, in its highest form, is meant to disturb the comfortable and comfort the disturbed.

The “sad fact” he names is not merely institutional—it is cultural. For when standards fall in art, they fall everywhere. A society that ceases to demand greatness in its artists will soon cease to demand it of itself. The painter who settles for easy applause mirrors the citizen who settles for hollow ideals. Saltz’s grief is, therefore, prophetic: he warns that the Museum of Modern Art, once a beacon of courage, risks becoming a mirror of a civilization distracted—too busy to care deeply, too comfortable to demand more.

Yet even within his lament, there lies hope. For the act of criticism itself is a gesture of faith. One does not mourn what one has given up on. Saltz believes that art can rise again—that there are still creators capable of vision, still curators who remember the fire, still audiences who crave transcendence. His words are both rebuke and blessing: a challenge to artists and institutions to raise the bar, to return to sincerity, risk, and truth.

So let his wisdom be carried forward: never allow your standards to be dulled by comfort. Whether you are an artist, a worker, or a dreamer, demand of yourself the excellence that time and convenience will always tempt you to abandon. Do not let the bar of your own life sink low. For the moment you stop striving, beauty begins to die. Be as Saltz urges the art world to be—vigilant, brave, and unafraid to expect greatness again. For when we lift the bar, we lift the human spirit, and the world, once again, becomes a canvas worthy of wonder.