[2] The interior of the Guggenheim's spiral ramp was covered in reflective stainless steel, a design by Frank Gehry, with a stylized pavement under the tires of the exhibits, and the bikes not leaned over on their kickstands, but rather standing up, as if in motion, held by thin wires and small clear plastic chocks under the wheels.

Hoving would go on to a successful career as director of the Met that would reach a high point with the even larger The Treasures of Tutankhamun show, setting attendance records that are still unbroken.

It was at this point also when performance artist Karen Finley was denied NEA funding, and Andres Serrano's Piss Christ became another center of controversy.

In the summer of 1999, the Brooklyn Museum did battle with then-New York Mayor Rudolph Giuliani over the exhibition "Sensation," with charges of presenting sexually and religiously offensive art.

In the face of all this, and the series of battles in the American culture war, The Art of the Motorcycle stood as a counterpoint, and possibly the high-water mark for the other kind of museum show: not offensive, not exclusive, but welcoming to the sensibilities of the general public.

The show was by nature consented to directly by those who paid the bills, rather than passive taxpayers, and it was aimed at keeping the audience happy, rather than inciting rage with, say, US flags stuffed into toilets, as had been done in one famous museum exhibit decades earlier.

[30] The New York Times' Holland Cotter has declared the blockbuster exhibition dead, victim of a weak economy that cannot afford such expensive excess, though this was on a positive note, suggesting a new and exuberant role for independent artists and smaller venues.

Rather than guide the masses toward works they might not have considered or been aware of, The Art of the Motorcycle showed them things they already were familiar with, and already liked; in other words, pandering to the lowest common denominator by giving people more of what they wanted and none of what they needed.

To the extent that the exhibition responded to desires other than what made the public feel good, the Guggenheim was catering to the marketing needs of the shows sponsors, in particular BMW.

Armani had pledged US$15 million to the Guggenheim Foundation and appeared to be rewarded in a quid pro quo manner with an uncritical and otherwise unjustified marketing coup at one of New York's most prestigious venues.

This type of criticism was described by Jeremy Packer as an ad hominem attack on the stereotypical biker in service of a "rear-guard line of defense" of Western cultural and aesthetic values, perceived to be overrun by the "spiritually poor, oversexed, and insane.

[12] Among critics who accepted the premise of the show and the legitimacy of motorcycles under the Guggenheim's roof, since museums have included design exhibitions before, and shown, for example, utilitarian bowls or ancient chariots as art,[12][28] many still had misgivings about the way in which it was financed.

[10] While appreciative of Thomas Krens' innovative museum direction, The New York Times mused that, "one can't help wondering which came first, the idea for the exhibition or the realization that money [from BMW] would be available for such a show.

"[28] While there were many who lauded Frank Gehry's spare design, with only the reflective stainless steel and a terse string of words on the walls behind the bikes to evoke the decade they came from,[37] others saw this as shallow or a failure to offer as much insight as the show could have.

[citation needed] Some of the text was criticized as flippant, and the connection between the social and historical context and the motorcycle designs produced from that was left unexplained.

"[13] Packer also argues that "progressivist, developmentalist logic was underpinned by the chronological ordering" of the exhibits themselves, with the clean, productive member of the establishment image of motorcyclists found at the end of the progression.

[13] The New York Times' Jim McCraw was satisfied that, "All the great bikes of the 20th century are represented," and the catalog is "impressive in its depth, breadth and purpose, worth several visits for avid motorcyclists."

In contrast to critics like Zakaria, Perl, and Hilton Kramer, who want museums to challenge and educate the public with difficult art like abstract expressionism, which might require a little homework to learn to like, Weisberg complained that the information accompanying the motorcycle exhibits was too technical and bewildering to the non-gearhead, with talk of self-aligning bearings, compression ratios and near-hemispherical combustion chambers.

That is, he wrote, "the approach is design-technical rather than design-aesthetic or design-cultural," and thus it failed to make the case that industrial design is more than just the "stepchild of fine art" and that "the cross-fertilization of high and pop is an important part of the story of artistic modernism.

There were critics, such as The New York Times' Michael Kimmelman, who, somewhat playfully, shared this US-centric point of view, in that "motorcycles are frivolous to begin with: they're about irresponsibility, about not conforming, about getting away.

[43][44] The Motorcycle Hall of Fame museum's 2008 MotoStars event, designed to "go even further" than the Guggenheim shows, was anchored by celebrity appearances, and included Krens and co-curator Charles Falco.