best paintings at moma

Ever walked into a room and felt like your whole soul just let out a big ol’ sigh? That’s MoMA for ya. It ain’t just some fancy art joint—it’s more like a spiritual pit stop where paintbrushes spill tea and canvases hold centuries of heartbreak, hype, and everything in between. When we talk about the best paintings at MoMA, we’re not just ticking off names—we’re following a trail of feels that somehow always circles back to who we really are. Whether you’re a born-and-bred New Yorker who’s seen more bodega cats than Broadway shows or a wide-eyed tourist still trying to figure out if the L train actually goes to Brooklyn (spoiler: it does… mostly), MoMA’s got that one painting that’ll make you pause mid-scroll and actually *feel* something real. And let’s be honest—in a world running on TikTok dopamine hits and AI-generated memes of Shrek as a Renaissance prince, that kind of raw, unfiltered humanity? Rarer than finding a quiet subway car during rush hour.

Let’s keep it 100—most of us first met The Starry Night crookedly taped above a mini-fridge full of ramen and energy drinks that probably expired in 2019. But seeing it IRL at MoMA? Whole different ballgame. Those swirls ain’t just eye candy—they’re practically buzzing with Van Gogh’s late-night, asylum-view genius. Painted in 1889 from a window that saw more stars than therapy sessions, this piece is the original mood ring of modern art. Every brushstroke screams, “I’m a mess, but look how gorgeous the chaos is.” And yeah, it’s 100% one of the best paintings at MoMA—not just ‘cause it’s famous (though, duh), but ‘cause it makes you wanna plop down on the floor and ugly-cry in the most beautiful way. Fun fact: it’s been chillin’ at MoMA since 1941, and they’ve never loaned it out—not even for a Beyoncé-curated exhibit. Now that’s loyalty.

Picasso didn’t just drop a painting in 1907—he dropped a truth bomb wrapped in African masks and shattered perspective like it owed him money. Les Demoiselles d’Avignon ain’t your grandma’s Sunday brunch portrait. Five women stare you down like, “We see you, boo,” with eyes that don’t match their noses and angles that straight-up defy physics. This bad boy kicked open the door to Cubism and basically told the old masters, “Appreciate ya, but we’re doin’ things differently now.” At MoMA, it hangs like a silent revolution—bold, awkward, and absolutely necessary. If you’re hunting for the best paintings at MoMA, skip the overpriced tote bags and plant yourself in front of this one till your neck cramps. It’s art that demands you lean in—even when it’s side-eyein’ you hard.

Clocks drippin’ off tree branches like forgotten gum? Yep, that’s Salvador Dalí telling clock time to take a seat. Painted in 1931, The Persistence of Memory is surrealism’s ultimate flex—dream logic painted so sharp it feels like a fever dream you can reach out and touch. And get this—it’s barely bigger than your laptop, yet it stops crowds dead in their tracks like someone just yelled “free pizza.” At MoMA, it’s displayed like a sacred relic, which, honestly, it kinda is. This piece proves that the best paintings at MoMA don’t need to be huge to wreck you emotionally. Sometimes, all it takes is four melting clocks and a weird fleshy blob to make you question if you’ve been living life—or just sleepwalking through it.

After Diego Rivera broke her heart (again), Frida didn’t just cry—she chopped off her hair, threw on his suit, and painted herself surrounded by fallen locks and lyrics that read: “See, if I loved you, it was for your hair. Now you’re bald, I don’t love you anymore.” Mic drop heard ‘round the art world. This 1940 self-portrait isn’t just personal—it’s a feminist manifesto soaked in pain, pride, and pure sass. Hanging quietly at MoMA, it’s one of the most intimate entries in the roster of the best paintings at MoMA. You don’t just look at it—you feel the scissors snip, the tears dry, and the glow-up begin. And let’s be real: we’ve all wanted to wear our ex’s hoodie while dramatically tossing their stuff into a dumpster fire. Frida just did it with oil paint—and made it iconic.

Andy Warhol looked at a can of tomato soup and said, “That’s art, baby.” And boom—pop art was born. His 1962 series of 32 identical soup cans wasn’t just cheeky; it was a full-on middle finger to the idea that art had to be “fancy.” At MoMA, they’re lined up like pantry staples, forcing you to ask: “Is this deep or just extra?” The answer? Both. Warhol blurred the line between commerce and culture so hard, even your local gas station snack aisle feels kinda profound now. Among the best paintings at MoMA, this one’s the ultimate conversation starter—especially when your cousin Vinny from Jersey goes, “My Nonna buys that soup for $1.99!” Exactly, Vinny. That’s the whole damn point.

Jackson Pollock didn’t use a brush—he danced around a canvas on the floor like he was exorcising his demons with house paint. The result? “One: Number 31, 1950,” a massive drip painting that looks like a Jackson Pollock action figure exploded mid-tantrum. But don’t call it random. Every splatter’s calculated, every puddle placed like a mad scientist with rhythm. At MoMA, it sprawls across the wall like a cosmic Rorschach test—some see anxiety, others see freedom. Either way, it’s undeniably one of the best paintings at MoMA, especially if you’ve ever wanted to scream into the void but settled for aggressively shaking a ketchup bottle instead.

“I don’t care! I’d rather sink—than call Brad for help!” reads the thought bubble in Roy Lichtenstein’s 1963 masterpiece. Lifted straight from a romance comic, blown up, and rendered in bold Ben-Day dots, this painting turns teenage drama into high art. The girl’s tears are perfect circles, her hair flows like liquid soap opera, and the whole thing winks at you like, “Yeah, love sucks—but look how pretty the pain is.” At MoMA, it’s a pop art punchline with emotional depth. And among the best paintings at MoMA, it’s the one that reminds us that sometimes, the cheesiest feelings hit the hardest.

Edward Hopper painted loneliness like nobody’s business. “House by the Railroad” (1925) shows a Victorian mansion loom over empty tracks, bathed in that golden-hour light that somehow feels cold as a January morning in Chicago. No people. No trains. Just silence and shadows. It’s the visual equivalent of eating cereal alone at 2 a.m. while wondering if your Alexa judges you. MoMA’s got it hanging like a ghost story, and it’s absolutely one of the best paintings at MoMA for anyone who’s ever felt invisible in a city of eight million. Fun fact: it inspired the Bates Motel in *Psycho*. So yeah—it’s iconic, eerie, and low-key haunting.

If you’ve stared at the best paintings at MoMA till your feet ache and your phone’s full of blurry close-ups, congrats—you’re officially an art junkie. But don’t tap out yet. Dive deeper with Hong Seon Jang, where modern art gets unpacked without the pretension. Craving more museum magic? Hit up our Museums category for hidden gems and exhibition deep dives. And if you’re still buzzing from MoMA’s star exhibits, check out our full breakdown in Best Pieces at MoMA: Star Exhibits—because some paintings deserve more than a passing glance (and definitely more than a filtered Instagram story).

References

• https://www.moma.org/collection/
• https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection
• https://www.nga.gov/collection.html
• https://www.britannica.com/art/greatest-paintings