The Albertine
When Fran and I had visited Vienna before, we spent our museum time at the Kuntzhistoriche Museum (wonderful, full of European masters, and other works too numerous to mention), Museum Square, where they had a great exhibit of Schiele landscapes, as well as some modern conceptual art, that did not really float my boat down the Danube, and the Secession museum, where Klimt did a great mural, and were there was indeed some better conceptual art on display. Jane Kallir from Galerie St Etienne in New York City told us that we had missed a good bet by missing the Albertine, her favorite museum in Vienna, and as she deals with a lot of Viennese art, here advice is usually good.
The Albertine had a show that tried to connect, historically, the work of the impressionists with that of the more modern artists, such as Picasso. A pretty straight forward format, and seemingly an easy show to hang. At least that is what I thought when I walked in. Fran and I both loved the Impressionists, as well as the works of Picasso. However, even with the endless list of Impressionist Museums and shows we had gone to, I was not prepared for what I saw.
I am posting no pictures of this show on the blog, as I would not defame the art that I feel now must be seen in person. But it must be seen in person.
The first room was full of Monet. I remembered the Monet exhibit we went to in San Diego, after visiting the zoo there. This had not as many works, but well chosen, and hung with an idea of flow, an idea of history. The museum was divided up into fairly small rooms, and walking through, there were only a few artists represented in each room.
I was overwhelmed. Usually I tend to walk fairly quickly through museums, spending time with only a few paintings. This time, I kept being told to slow down. The paintings held me, took my breath away, took away my sense of time. I stopped. I sat down. I stared at paintings. Twice, guards came over to ask me if I was alright, as I was overcome to the point of tears.
Four hours later, when I got to the room full of Picasso's, I was emotionally exhausted. Words can not do justice to the feelings that I felt there. The beauty was overwhelming. The emotions of the painters, and even the colors, to these partially color blind eyes, the care with which everything was done.
It was the only art I saw in Vienna this time. It was not enough. It was too much.
The Albertine had a show that tried to connect, historically, the work of the impressionists with that of the more modern artists, such as Picasso. A pretty straight forward format, and seemingly an easy show to hang. At least that is what I thought when I walked in. Fran and I both loved the Impressionists, as well as the works of Picasso. However, even with the endless list of Impressionist Museums and shows we had gone to, I was not prepared for what I saw.
I am posting no pictures of this show on the blog, as I would not defame the art that I feel now must be seen in person. But it must be seen in person.
The first room was full of Monet. I remembered the Monet exhibit we went to in San Diego, after visiting the zoo there. This had not as many works, but well chosen, and hung with an idea of flow, an idea of history. The museum was divided up into fairly small rooms, and walking through, there were only a few artists represented in each room.
I was overwhelmed. Usually I tend to walk fairly quickly through museums, spending time with only a few paintings. This time, I kept being told to slow down. The paintings held me, took my breath away, took away my sense of time. I stopped. I sat down. I stared at paintings. Twice, guards came over to ask me if I was alright, as I was overcome to the point of tears.
Four hours later, when I got to the room full of Picasso's, I was emotionally exhausted. Words can not do justice to the feelings that I felt there. The beauty was overwhelming. The emotions of the painters, and even the colors, to these partially color blind eyes, the care with which everything was done.
It was the only art I saw in Vienna this time. It was not enough. It was too much.
posted by Steve at 3:38 PM
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