An uninterrupted view of Claude Monet's Water Lillies.

It was a complete frenzy, like shark feeding time at Sea World, but with cameras.

No, this was not a Hollywood movie premiere, nor was there a single celebrity in sight.

For the hordes of visitors at the New York Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) masquerading as wannabe paparazzi, the lack of VIPs didn't matter.

Twelve metres long, across three panels, Claude Monet's oil on canvas, Water Lilies, hung in all its grandeur on the white wall.

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The French impressionist master set out to create "the refuge of a peaceful meditation in the center of a flowering aquarium."

Had Monet lived to meet the iPhone generation, who have the attention span of goldfish, he might have drowned himself in his beloved Japanese pond in complete disgust.

For the majority of art gallery attendees the sole purpose of their visit was not to admire the art on display, but to manufacture records of their physical presence in close proximity to some of the world's most iconic masterpieces.

I spent 45 minutes in front of Water Lilies, letting my eyes dance across its colour and light.

The longer I looked at this painting, the greater the sense of wanting to dive into the pond.

But I despaired as my fellow visitors posed for happy snaps in front of the canvas, as if they were standing next to Mickey Mouse at Disney Land.

Many were too busy instantly uploading the photos online for their Facebook audience to actually appreciate how Monet had spent years pouring his heart and soul onto the canvas.

"Look at me! Look how cultured I am! I'm in New York! I'm standing in front of Monet's famous painting!"

Why bother?

Instead, head down to Times Square where tourists clamour around a TV camera like monkeys for their five seconds of fame and the chance to take pictures of themselves up on a giant screen.

When art gallery visitors weren't posing for pictures, many felt compelled to take a photograph of every single painting on display in the gallery - despite the fact there was a well-stocked gift shop downstairs full of art books with high quality images.

Point, shoot, move on, point, shoot, move on.

They barely spent 20 seconds in front of Van Gogh's Starry Night and paid about the same disrespect to Picasso.

When I politely asked people to explain why they were preoccupied with looking at art through the camera screen, they said the photographs were about proving they had been there, or having a free souvenir.

Some even admitted they were unlikely to look at the pictures again when they went home.

On its website, MOMA says its mission is the encouragement of "an ever-deeper understanding and enjoyment of modern and contemporary art by the diverse local, national, and international audiences that it serves."

I don't believe the museum and other galleries of its kind will achieve this lofty aim until they decide whether phone and point-and-shoot cameras have a place within their walls.

But perhaps they are simply happy to pocket the happy snappers' entrance fees, championing a lazy and superficial appreciation of art.