Hanging out with the masters in Munich
THE great and very wonderful art museum Pinakothek der Moderne in Munich has fired one of its employees, rather unfairly it would seem.
The museum is one of the great repositories of European art, with more than 20,000 pieces, including works by Pablo Picasso, Paul Klee, René Magritte and Salvador Dalí. For a while it had one more painting, by a local man, a 51-year-old employee — well, now ex-employee.
According to Munich newspaper Süddeutsche Zeitung, a spokeperson for the museum said they did not know how long the piece hung between paintings by some of the world’s most august artists. But it has emerged that it was probably only on show for a day. Measuring 60x120cm, it was returned to the artist after it was removed. The employee was sacked and banned from visiting the museum again.
But, you really have to admire his hubris.
The Pinakothek der Moderne is part of the museum quarter in Munich. Few cities house so many treasures in such a compact area. The Alte Pinakothek boasts one of Europe’s most significant collections, with works by Botticelli, Raphael and Van Gogh jostling for space with local boys Dürer and Altdorfer. A couple of Rubens’ cherubs with pudgy faces give hope that a good feed may be available in the afterlife.
For a further brush with greatness, just across the street is the Neue Pinakothek with European paintings from the 19th century — French impressionists, art nouveau etc.
The Pinakothek der Moderne is four modern museums in one — art, paper, architecture and design — while Museum Brandhorst contains everything post-modern from Andy Warhol to Damien Hirst. Hanging’s too good for some of ’em is my honest opinion.
But for the best painting in Germany, head north to the old city of Dresden.
There, in the Galerie Neue Meister, is one of a limited series of paintings by Caspar David Friedrich. Two Men Contemplating The Moon, painted in the early 19th century, is beautiful, eerie, and the very antithesis of postcard painting — it draws you into a dark forest silhouetted by a pastel sky. You are, in effect, spying on the two men, and you are transfixed.
Or at least Samuel Beckett was. He once said of the painting to American theatre historian Ruby Cohn: ‘This was the source of Waiting for Godot, you know.’ The opening scene of Godot sees two bedraggled friends, Vladimir and Estragon, meeting by a leafless tree. Estragon notifies Vladimir of his most recent troubles: he spent the previous night lying in a ditch and received a beating from a number of anonymous assailants. It’s pretty much downhill after that.
To look at the Caspar David Friedrich painting and know that Beckett, an Irishman, also rested his eyes on this German work of art, then in French created one of the gems of the English language, is a magnificent experience.
But you might also spare a thought for our 51-year-old down in Munich. What was he trying to achieve? It doesn’t seem to have been a social media prank and for visitors it must have been a surprise — but isn’t great art at its most potent when unexpected?
Of course, maybe it was part of one of those ‘Giving bad advice to the tourists’ tricks. You know the sort of thing. ‘While in the National Museum in Dublin, why not add your name to the signatories on the Proclamation of the Republic as a show of solidarity? You may need a pen.’
Or: ‘When entering a public toilet in Ireland, it is customary to shake hands with the other users before beginning your ablutions.’
Maybe: ‘As The Book of Kells is in the Trinity College library, it can be borrowed just like any other library book. Make sure to bring a big bag.’
But I prefer to think that our Munich painter was after fame, not just for 15 minutes as Andy Warhol would have it, but fame for a full eight hours before being lobbed out on his ear.
This column salutes him.