A woman’s dead husband, whose powdery face streches six feet wide, smiles eerily from the corner of the room, broken light bulbs emphasizing the folds of his puffy disco cap. The portrait is too heavy to hang on the museum wall, so it simply rests against it, waiting patiently for the next unsuspecting passerby (in this case, myself). There’s no getting around it: this painting is bad--bad enough to warrant a confused double-take by any onlooker, never mind conventional museum goers. However this painting, aptly titled “Man in a Puffy Disco Hat,” hangs not in a foyer or over a dinner table, but on the wall of the Museum of Bad Art.

While some of the museum’s pieces have evidence of artistic talent—deft brush technique, attention to detail, innovative use of color—there is something off the mark about every work in the museum’s collection. “Our definition of ‘bad art’ is pieces that cannot be ignored but will never make it into a traditional museum;” says Louise Sacco, Director of MoBA. “It’s something that is compelling but you can see there’s something that went wrong there.” Looking at a painting of a tree with massive eyes for leaves and bulging breasts coming out of the trunk, I could see Sacco’s point.

Identifying bad art is a matter of gut instinct, according to JamesHallowell, self-proclaimed bad-art connoisseur and long-time supporter of the museum. He has a very simple definition of bad art. “Bad art to me is very different from just lousy or boring art,” he says. “Bad art is not just badly done art; you have to look at it and go, ‘What the fuck?!’” There is no need to scrutinize and analyze what precisely makes the art so bad; the answer becomes clear walking into the museum. In a world where art is easily over-thought, MoBA stands out for its accessibility to visitors.

BASEMENT MONSTROSITY

Similar to the pieces it exhibits, MoBA began by accident. but with good intentions. On a night in the early 90s, Scott Wilson, antiques dealer and former curator of MoBA, was looking through trash for salvageable antiques when he found an awful painting. He figured he could reuse the frame, but Sacco’s brother, Jerry Reilly, insisted that Wilson give the piece to him to hang in his basement. This led to a sea of friends donating their cherished eyesores until it culminated in a celebration, in jest, of ‘the opening of the Museum of Bad Art.’ Through word-of-mouth, 200 guests attended the opening in the basement brimming over with atrocities.“

He had the museum in his house for probably two years,” Sacco says. “The day a bus load of seniors from Rhode Island showed up at his house, we knew we had to change it.” And thus  MoBA moved to the Dedham Community Theatre and has since grown to three galleries in the Boston area: one in Brookline, one in Dedham, and one in Somerville.

What started as a joke between friends soon grew to be a world-renowned collection. “We’ve been featured in Wired; The Rolling Stone; the London Times; the Bulgarian version of Playboy, every in-flight magazine, even ones I’d never heard of. We’ve had a T.V. crew with Katie Couric turn up, we’ve been on Indonesian radio… It just goes on and on,” Sacco says.

Despite the extent of their media attention, MoBA is still very much a mom-and-pop gallery that cares about its local supporters. “It’s really interesting: by some measures, it’s been enormously popular,” Sacco says, sitting with me in a sleepy, Davis Square café.  “We have a big mailing list, thousands of followers on Facebook. But ask the next people walking down the street,” she says, gesturing out the window with her mug of coffee, “and maybe one will have heard of us.” Though the museum has earned Katie Couric’s attention, the institution maintains a low profile in the neighborhood.

ISLAND OF MISFIT TOYS

The museum has exhibitions all over the country and receives art from all over the world. When MoBA started before the digital age, it would receive anonymous submissions—some of which would have a future in the gallery—rather than emailed photos from fans. Now, pieces are usually pre-approved by the museum’s curator, Michael Frank. I was at his house to witness the welcome arrival of such a piece.

“It’s like Christmas,” Frank says, bringing over a large, brown-colored box to his dining room table. He looks at the return address and ponders for a moment. “Rochester, NY. Hmm… I think I know who this is from.” Carefully slicing the bubble wrap with an X-Acto knife, he studies the art piece. He uses the same scrutiny any curator would use in examining a historical masterpiece even though the painting in question is a reddish-orange scene of cartoon-eyed spiders dropping from the sky, preying on ant-covered peaches with giant droplets of juice dripping from the fruit. “It’s on the border,” Frank says. By that he means that it’s not quite bad enough.

“People send us things for the same reason we collected them,” Sacco says. “They know it’s not good. Maybe they hang it up in the dining room and their family yells at them, but it’s so compelling, engaging, exciting that they don’t want it to disappear.” The museum serves as a refuge for this orphaned art, provided it meets a certain level of repulsiveness. “We have been very clear in our mission and that is to collect, exhibit and celebrate the worst of the art world,” Sacco says. “In our world, [art] has to do with things that are sincere, things that are trying to communicate something. We think art is something that looks for an audience.” MoBA is perhaps the only place these unappreciated artworks can fulfill their purpose; to be seen and enjoyed.

HAPA GAUGIN

It may seem odd that artists would send in their artwork to the museum, acknowledging that this time, their artistic endeavor was less than successful. And what about the artists whose work is simply found in a thrift store and displayed, unbeknownst to them? Is it not a bit offensive?

Sacco acknowledges this concern. “That was a big worry for us at the start. We don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings. Then artists started to send in their own work, which was puzzling. But when you think about it, an artist can’t lose: if we turn them down they say, ‘Okay, I’m not that bad,’ and if we accept them they can say, ‘I’m in a museum,’” Sacco says. She estimates that as many as 20 pieces in the museum’s collection have been donated by professional artists.

Roger Hanson is among them. An eighty-year-old former salesman, he now spends his retirement touring the globe, writing novels and selling his artwork at shows featuring mostly abstract art. A few years ago, before driving from Minnesota to New York for a show, Hanson stumbled across an article in the local paper written by Louise Sacco.“My first reaction was, ‘Who would want to be in the Museum of Bad Art?’” he says. “But then the more I thought about it, a museum is a museum.” Hanson gave Sacco a call and then swung through Boston with two of his paintings that he figured suited the museum. Sacco accepted his submission and now both pieces are featured at the museum. Hanson looks upon his inclusion in the museum with no shame. On the contrary, he takes pride in having his work, including the Gaugin-inspired painting “Half Polynesian, Half Norwegian,” which features a naked woman with long blond hair and a platter of flowers, exhibited at the MoBA.

“DRILLING FOR EGGS”

Though the artists can benefit from inclusion in the museum, why employees would volunteer their time to celebrate what is, by conventional standards, unimportant art is less clear. All of those affiliated with MoBA, including Sacco and Frank, devote their time without pay solely because they enjoy the work. Sacco is retired and Frank is a musician and balloon maker, yet both are devoted to making the museum as quirky and beloved as possible. With an active Facebook page, two published books featuring the museum’s work, and a mobile phone App in the works, MoBA admittedly requires more work than your typical hobby, which is perhaps why most volunteers come and go. “We get some of the real stereotypical, academic artsy types and people who are deep in the world of art and appreciate what we’re doing,” Sacco says.

Given the museum’s mission, it might seem strange that art professionals volunteer, but Sacco sees it differently. “If anything, we’re making fun of the critics, not the artists,” she says.The MoBA is serious about not taking things too seriously. The collection is supplemented more often than not by yard sale or thrift store runs, but the descriptions accompanying each piece on display are written in the air of very serious captions seen in more conventional museums. Frank, who writes many of the labels, puts considerable time and effort into formulating just the right zing to adequately capture the atrocity of each piece.

Frank’s talent shines in a description of the piece, “Drilling for Eggs”: “Green alligator flames dominate the foreground and a bright pink sky provides the backdrop for this disquieting depiction of a color-altered future in which eggs, a renewable resource, have replaced traditional hydrocarbon fuels. The artist is saying, in no uncertain terms, that unless we learn to conserve our priceless resources, the yolk will be on us.” Aside from providing museum visitors with a chuckle, the captions are one of many lighthearted ways MoBA uses to contrast their mission from those of their more academic counterparts.

SURROUNDED BY CLOWNS

The act of distinguishing between good and bad art may come with criticisms from the art world, but MoBA has no qualms about stepping on a few toes.“ There are people who want to say there is no such thing as bad art and I have no patience for that. If there’s no such thing as bad art, there’s no such thing as good art,” Sacco says. “Others want to question, ‘What is bad art?’ Well, we are the museum, we get to say, and there is a huge consensus of people who agree with our judgment.” Though the museum has a sense of humor about their mission, they have firm criteria. “If it’s bad and boring, we don’t care,” Sacco says.

However, Justine De Young, Harvard preceptor in Expository Writing for courses including ““Orientalism in Art, Literature & Film” who holds a Ph.D. in art history from Northwestern University, questions the validity of passing such judgments. “The whole concept makes me nervous because a lot of art movements were considered bad art at the time and we’ve come to realize their value today,” De Young says. “The Impressionists, the Fauvists… A lot of artists have been misunderstood.” It is doubtful that in thirty years, “A Man in a Puffy Disco Cap” will be considered a masterpiece, but the subjectivity of artistic judgment influence the designation of art.

Hallowell is quick to note the blurry divide between good and bad art. “I’ll be in a gallery or museum and think, ‘that’s MoBA quality! It’s in the wrong place!’” he says with a laugh.

The museum holds high standards for its badness, holding an auction once a year that they affectionately call the “salon des rejetées,” of work not deemed “bad enough,” yet another example of the aura of humor surrounding the MoBA. Walking into their collection in the basement of the Somerville Theater—just a few T stops away from Harvard Square—my first instinct was to laugh. Surrounded by pictures of sickly clowns and demonic babies staring down from the walls, one can’t help but feel a bit refreshed by the monstrosity. It is especially hard to take the museum seriously when they themselves have such an unorthodox press and management approach. In 1996 a piece called “Eileen” was stolen from the museum and a jest reward of $6.50, later raised to $36.73, was offered for its return. The museum now has fake video cameras up for protection.

GUGGENHEIM SCUFFLE

Frederick Ilchman, Mrs. Russell W. Baker Curator of Paintings at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, acknowledges that while the MoBA’s curation process may differ, their selection criteria has merit. “Unlike reality T.V., these artists aren’t looking for fame,” Ilchman says. “Anyone can do something poorly, but to do something professionally and poorly, that’s something else.” He compares their sincerity with the recent botching of a Christ fresco restoration in Borja, Italy by 80-year-old Cecilia Giménez, who has no professional experience in restoration. “It’s become this pilgrimage site; it’s so bad it’s good. There, [Giménez] was trying very hard, just like some other people [in the museum] were trying to make good art.” The fresco is now ruined by the failed restoration attempt, but Ilchman says with a chuckle, “Maybe the larger lesson is that we shouldn’t take anything too seriously.”

The climate in the art world is changing, but Ilchman says it’s not necessarily a bad thing. “The Guggenheim had five locations and two have closed, while the MoBA has three outposts and is only expanding; they’re challenging the Guggenheim!” Ilchman says. “A lot of art can make the viewer feel ill informed. Some of it has been criticized by people saying, ‘My kid could do that.’ The wonderful thing about the Museum of Bad Art is that yeah, your kid probably could do that. The Boston cultural landscape is all the richer for it.” Although far from high-brow, the MoBA provides perhaps the only artistic niche not filled in a culture-laden city.

Despite potential arguments to be made against labeling art as good or bad, the enjoyment one gains from the museum is unquestionable. The MoBA is less of a rebellion against the world of art criticism than it is a celebration of all the art world has to offer, gruesome or gorgeous. “I enjoy the MoMA, I enjoy the ICA, but I do a lot of eye rolling at those places,” says Frank. “I think many people, whether consciously or subconsciously, roll their eyes, also. Something about the art world and the pomposity, the museum speak and self-conscious art—it takes itself so seriously that it leads itself to being made fun of.”

—Anneli L. Tostar can be reached at annelitostar@college.harvard.edu.

This article has been revised to reflect the following correction:

CORRECTION: March 2, 2014

An earlier version of this article incorrectly identified a connoisseur of bad art and longtime supporter of the Museum of Bad Art. In fact, the connoisseur of bad art in question is James Hallowell.