BRANDON LY
The Van Gogh Museum experience is a
grand yet overwhelming one. Visiting
starts with a long half-hour wait in a single-file line that inches forward at
an abominably slow pace, of which the results are only a series of security
checkpoints and roadblocks. Further on, museum-goers
are corralled into the open atrium which instantly diverts them toward two
paths: the quiet serenity of the Impressionist paintings, or the bustling
clamor of tourists at the gift shop.
If not evident by now, the reviewer
finds himself at odds with the exhibition’s general layout and experience, as
if the results of Van Gogh’s work have resulted in a voyeuristic prying of a
private life. And while I enjoyed that
the museum pays tribute to number of worthy things including his influences,
peers and also his family and legacy, the presentation of them in the museum
was such that I found myself unable to privately indulge in the expression of
one painter’s life. Instead, a barrage
of images are presented to the viewer in a quick succession, which for this
reviewer detracted from the individual thought and emotion that went into each
piece.
With all reviews of Van Gogh’s
incredible painting skill aside, the first thing one notices about the
exhibition’s layout is both the immediate abundance and dearth of open
space. By this statement I mean to reference
that while each viewing room was vast and more than well accommodated the
incredible amount of work Van Gogh produced, I found the division of wall space
allotted to each painting to be rather distasteful. Only about half a meter of white surface
area separates each oil in its gilt frame, which resulted in an effect that one
could liken to a Powerpoint presentation. This not only gives the paintings a
false sense of continuation linking paintings from drastically different time
periods and general themes, but also forces other museum attendees to assemble
in a crowded line along each wall, preventing personal time and reflection with
each piece. I was particularly miffed
when I attempted to make quick ink sketches of various pieces and found myself
the subject of an intrusive group of other tourists who began to critique my artwork
instead of Van Gogh’s.
Relieved as I was to escape the
admirers as well as critics of my own drawings, I found the museum’s gift shop
to be just as problematic. While the
concept of selling reproductions of famous paintings is already simply curious
to me, the discovery of reproductions that were bigger than the original paintings themselves was a completely
astounding one. Here was a museum
attempting in its best way to portray and preserve the finest insights into Van
Gogh’s techniques, motivations, styles, and symbolism, and here they were
plastering cropped and exploded caricatures of his life’s work on umbrellas,
scarves, and mugs. This all left a
bitter taste in my mouth—that an organization so committed to the attentive
presentation of a master of our time could so easily turn around and commercial
his career for monetary gain.
Van Gogh’s legacy is one shrouded
by mystery, psychological problems, and a dark history, but his work was
definitely one of great genius and deliberation. Had the museum’s exhibition coordinators and
designers been so dutiful to his work and presentation as he was, the museum
experience would have altogether been a more enjoyable and interactive
one. While I can do no more than hope
for a renovation to its layout, I only suggest a visitor to attempt to find
their own solitude with each painting and appreciate Van Gogh’s genius in a
completely objective and private setting.
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