Ah, the art museum. Always a spot for the quiet, studied contemplation and enjoyment of art… Ah, the art museum. Always a spot for the quiet, studied contemplation and enjoyment of art works. To most Americans, it is an awe-inspiring place where the collectively assumed code of conduct mandates silence, mannerly and orderly procession and a polite restraint from the use of flash photography.

I’m talking about Americans in American art museums and galleries. This is the predominant type of conduct you’ll find at the Carnegie Museum of Art, the Hirshhorn Museum, or even the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Barring a tour group of elementary school children or the occasional disruptive gallery-goer, you’ll find American art appreciators trying their hardest to remain respectful, even in the most crowded art-loving situation.

With this etiquette — which I hold sacred — ingrained in my mind since childhood, nothing could have prepared me for what I experienced this summer: tourists in Parisian art galleries — tourists from all over the world — acting like they were attending a three-ring circus or raucous sporting event rather than observing some of the most valued artistic treasures in the world.

They spoke. They spoke in more languages than I could count, let alone identify, and they were not whispering. No shushing noise or disapproving glare could stop these masses. The noise was so bad in some galleries, especially the Louvre and the Musee d’Orsay, that I sometimes found myself concentrating on trying to block it out so I could enjoy the artwork. Therefore, I didn’t have a fully satisfying gallery experience.

You know it’s bad when gallery tour guides have to use microphones to speak to their headset-wearing listeners because there is no way to be heard over the perpetual din. It seems to me that gallery tour guides in the United States must try their hardest to not disturb those people outside their tour groups by huddling their own listeners closely and speaking just above a whisper. Guides in Paris are equipped for opposite conditions. Apparently, this is the norm.

And then there’s the pushing. There’s the shoving. There’s the utter lack of orderly procession. Who cares if someone else is looking at a painting? Jump in front of them. Better yet, push them out of the way with your elbow or shoulder, step on their feet, and block them out with the help of your friends so that they can see little more than the top right corner of that Manet while they rub their sore ribs. Is someone standing in a group of people through which you’d like to pass? Don’t tap on shoulders and smile or offer an “excuse me” in any language — barrel your way through the crowd while making sure to knock bystanders into other bystanders. Oh yes — and do it while talking loudly.

This, appalling in itself to any self-respecting patron of the arts, was then repeatedly trumped by the cardinal sin of the gallery visit: the flash photography of paintings. Most U.S. galleries don’t even allow photography, let alone the presence of someone who blatantly disrespects the integrity of the art therein. Yet I saw it at nearly every museum in Paris — tourists talking, pushing, and shoving their way into a good position to take a flash photo of an unprotected oil painting.

Doesn’t anyone care that those abrasive beams of light will eventually alter the painting’s hue and brilliance? Sure, they got to see the painting and make a record of the occasion, but what about prospective viewers in the years to come? They may potentially view a painting that is very unlike the artist’s original work because of deterioration, or they may only get to view the work through the expensive and difficult handiwork of restoration artists.

Don’t get me wrong here, I’m not condemning foreigners. I’m sure there were many Americans among the throngs of people who were committing the very offenses that I attack. I’m condemning the obvious lack of respect and manners that I observed in these museums. I don’t buy for one second that this behavior is pardonable because it takes place in one of the best-known galleries and museums in the world that contain some of the most recognized and lauded pieces of art in the world.

Yes, the galleries of Paris are exceptional places with highly important and famous collections. But this is not an excuse. American galleries also have a plethora of very important works. We can keep our cool and remain respectful in the presence of works by Picasso, Monet and Delacroix. We can calmly move around other people in the gallery without nearly knocking them down. We can keep our cameras in our pockets, purses or cars.

Perhaps it just isn’t important to these tourists to show deference to the art with silence and respect, to show thanks for being among the few people in the world who will ever see the “Mona Lisa” or “Le Dejeuner Sur L’Herbe” in person. Perhaps it’s just not the custom in their countries. Perhaps these poor art-viewing conditions are more a product of feebly delineated and laxly enforced gallery regulations. Perhaps this behavior is as culturally ingrained as my aversion to it, and I’d need to do some serious cultural research to understand the origins of and viewpoints behind such behavior.

Whatever the case, this proved to me that culture shock can include more specific and unexpected instances than meal times, food choices, appropriate dress and expected conversational behavior. In a time and place where many around me found it difficult to burst with patriotic pride, I found myself longing for the American way: a leisurely Saturday afternoon at the museum without the necessary aides of earplugs and body armor to view works behind protective glass casings.

I’ll be forever thankful that I was able to see such places and the artworks contained therein, but I’ll also forever wish that I could have experienced it American-style.

Erin Lawley is a staff writer for The Pitt News and enjoys the finer things in life, like appreciating an art exhibit without being elbowed in the ribs.