Volunteering at MoMA: Behind the Scenes of Giving Back
Let’s be honest: the pandemic changed all of us. For me, one of the hardest losses was something many wouldn’t consider “essential”—my beloved volunteer position in the Education Department at the Museum of Modern Art. But to me, it was essential. I had waited on the waitlist for two years for that opportunity, and when it finally came, I treated it like the privilege it was.
My time at MoMA grounded me. It became an anchor in the ever-changing rhythms of New York life. Some days, friends would come by to join a tour and share in the joy that this work brought me. Other days, I’d sit under Picasso’s "Guitar" helping young visitors recreate the masterpiece with nothing but construction paper and imagination. Every shift was a gift—a glimpse into the power of art to connect, to educate, and to transform.
So what was it like, day-to-day, to be a volunteer at MoMA? Let me take you behind the scenes.
9:45 AM – The Back Entrance
I’d arrive a little early, always. The quiet hum of anticipation met me as I flashed my volunteer ID at the back entrance—an ordinary badge, but it made me feel like part of something extraordinary. I'd clock in, scan the day’s notes, and check: was it a drawing day? A hearing-access setup? Maybe just a classic walkthrough? Every day held a new rhythm.
10:00 AM – Behind-the-Scenes Prep
In the volunteer lounge, I’d gather whatever was needed—art supplies, folding stools, listening devices—and wait for the educator to arrive. Often, I passed the time reading a book, quietly soaking in the sense of privilege that I got to do this.
View from the volunteer waiting area:
10:15 AM – Catching Up with the Educator
After setup, I’d meet that day’s educator—a brilliant, master's-level art lover who didn’t lecture, but led discussions. We’d chat on our way to the meeting point, swapping updates about work, life, and the small joys of living in New York. Then, pushing our little rolling cart (our portable welcome desk, really), we’d start gathering a group.
10:30 AM – The First Talk Begins
Cart in hand, sign perched on top, we’d slowly collect curious museum-goers—tourists, school kids, locals. The regulars made my heart swell. New Yorkers who came week after week, hungry to connect with the art and each other.
We’d dive into the day’s theme. Impressionism, surrealism, the psychology of a tortured artist—each talk was a living, breathing conversation, not a lecture.
11:30 AM – Reset and Reflect
After the first session, we’d regroup. Maybe grab a coffee, maybe just take a breath. Sometimes the educator and I would debrief what surprised us. Other times, we’d fall into a quiet rhythm, knowing another group awaited. This meant mostly reading a book in the Sculpture Garden.
1:00 PM – The Second Tour
Group two would assemble, just as eclectic and eager. I’d steer the cart like a beacon, welcoming each guest into a moment of cultural communion. On drawing days, we’d sketch. On discussion days, we’d challenge each other’s interpretations. It never got old.
2:00 PM – Clock Out, But Not Really
Technically, my shift ended. But I'd often linger—revisiting a piece that struck me during a tour, waving goodbye to the educators, soaking in the quiet energy of a place that felt like a second home. I left each day fuller than I arrived.
THE EDUCATORS
Each tour centered on a theme, whether a temporary exhibition or a section of the permanent collection. And each educator brought a unique lens. Jane might lead us deep into the world of Impressionism—exploring how the invention of paint in tubes, something so small, allowed artists to leave the studio and capture fleeting light outdoors. That little technological breakthrough? It changed art history.
Then there was Paula, who delved into the psychology of the artists, weaving their personal stories into interpretations of their work. My mom adored her—her cadence, her perspective, her generosity in helping viewers understand not just the what, but the why. On Paula’s days, we sometimes held drawing sessions where visitors created their own interpretations of artwork. I would never have done that on my own, but with her guidance, I felt brave enough to try. It was magical.
Of course, MoMA has its own version of celebrity moments
Now, I’m not one to be star-struck—my career in marketing has given me proximity to many A-listers—but even I felt a little flutter the day Yoko Ono leaned against my cart and struck up a short conversation. Her sunglasses were impeccable, her presence radiant. She wasn’t just "John Lennon’s wife"—she was a pioneering artist in her own right. I stayed calm, but inside, I knew I’d remember that moment forever.
And then there was the time Jake Gyllenhaal casually lingered at the back of our tour group, quietly taking in the discussion. I didn’t blow his cover, of course, but it was one of those “Stars—They’re Just Like Us” moments. Especially when it comes to art.
What Keeps Me Coming Back
Though that particular role ended during the pandemic, my commitment to arts volunteering never wavered. The lessons I learned at MoMA continue to shape how I engage with art and community. Volunteering in that space wasn’t just about helping others—it deepened my own understanding of how art moves people, brings strangers together, and reminds us of our shared humanity.
And maybe most importantly: it showed me how giving back can fill your own soul in unexpected ways.
I hope one day I’ll walk back through that staff entrance with my badge again. Until then, I’ll keep finding new ways to give back to the art world that’s given me so much.
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