You can see the works, surround them, smell them, get close to see the details. You can find the artistic and technical virtuosity, the defects of execution. You can discuss with your neighbor the immorality of the works, the nakedness of a body, the numbing simplicity of a piece or the gratuity of an element. You can recognize the exhibited artists, talk about the famous pieces and the new ones. You can mention anything you want on the social network, you can photograph, record, draw on paper a sketch of the works on display. You can feel good or bad. You can be happy or angry, feel indifferent or in awe. You can think that you would do it better, that the artists have gone crazy, or that they have succeeded. That what you see is fashionable, outdated, that it is timeless or trendy, that it is superficial or deep, with or without concept, ethical or aesthetical, you can imagine being the owner of an artwork, or destroying one. You can even talk about the admirable or unfortunate state of the pedestals.
You can get close to the exhibited works, very, very, very close. You can even brush against them. But you CAN’T TOUCH THIS.