This Is Now & That Was Then

On the wonderful afternoon of September first I visited the Rijksmuseum on a solo excursion. I figured what better way to celebrate the coming of September than to see some Golden Age art. While the museum is very large, it still manages to maintain its Amsterdam sense of charm. I am coming hot off of a visit to Paris, where I was fortunate enough to spend an afternoon in The Louvre. Developing comparisons proved to be quite challenging because the environment and general ambience was entirely different. Russell Shorto, in his book Amsterdam, chooses the word “charming” to describe the essence of Amsterdam, whereas he uses the term “grandiose” to describe Paris. This could not be more on point in relation to each city’s most famous museum, and it resonated deeply with me during my time in the Rijksmuseum.

            While I could choose to talk about Rembrandt’s The Night Watch, or Van Gogh’s self-portrait, I was fascinated by the space in which the museum’s artwork was displayed. I will begin with the Rijks garden, which is situated right beside the entrance to the museum. Cutely groomed and “charming,” the garden modestly flaunted its trimmed bushes, small fountains, windmill-esque contemporary art, and randomly placed canvas chairs. It is a garden you can imagine strolling through with your significant other back in the day when you were in love in the 17^th century. Only the abstract windmills pull you away from this daydream, and added a harmonious twist of modern appeal. These brightly colored and oddly shaped metal panels illicit our sense of now. The garden serves the role to introduce you to the mix of modern space and historical construct. These thoughts were bubbling in my mind as I walked into the building.

Rijks Garden

            Upon entering the museum, the atrium took me aback. With a glass roof, the area gave off the strong feeling of an outdoor space with ambient light pouring through the ceiling. Cube shaped metal scaffolding hanging from above gave off a seemingly contradictory feeling of being enclosed yet unconstrained in such a large space. Much like the glass-roofed areas of the Louvre, this space fascinated me. Upon inquiring the museum employees, who were all dressed in slim dark suits and ties in stark contrast with the colors of the space, I learned that the space was recently renovated and opened in 2013. Queen Beatrix re-opened the museum after about 10 years and 350 million euros in expenses. As for the atrium that had me trapped in some sort of airy confinement, it was designed by the Spanish architects Antonio Cruz and Antonio Ortiz. Interestingly enough and on par with my impression of the garden, these designers sought to merge the old with the new. In a space as historic as the Rijksmuseum, they sought to create a subtle, natural, and synergistic relationship between the new atrium and the older elements of the past building. Indeed, as you continue through the area, the brown brick speaks to you and presents itself in a manner that does not compete with the impressionable simplicity of the sharp, angular white metalwork overhead. It is as if you are walking through some sort of 4 dimensional timeline where you know old is enveloped in the new, and vice versa. Along this vein, I found the temporary displacement of Rembrant’s The Night Watch to the “fragment building” during the renovations to be interesting. It is as if the old is being taken out of its place in order to realign it with the new in a harmonic relationship. But rightfully so, it was replaced to its renowned place at the end of the hall of Dutch Masters, all of which is masterfully illuminated by natural light.

The metalwork in the atrium

            I walked through the various exhibits trying to pick apart the works made as early as the 1200’s. I was engrossed in biblical scenes, accounts of battle, marble sculptures, and Rembrandt’s famous sense of motion in his work. As I try to understand the artist and place myself behind his shoulder as he was painting the work that stood in front of me, my moment of contemplation and minor zen seemed disrupted by the continuous clicking and clacking of digital cameras and phones. This is the age we live in, where sheer experience alone is not enough. It seems more difficult these days for people to simply enjoy the work and attempt to wrap their minds around the piece in front of them. Instead, a blurry, pixelated iPhone snapshot of the painting will suffice. It is as if to say, “been here seen that. Look here’s proof!” Are they really going to look at those pictures on their computers later and marvel at them just as they should the original, physical piece? You can’t get lost in the texture, intricacies, and intent of an artists work by looking at your own photo of it. And I am almost certain that the blizzard white iPhones and reaching arms weren’t originally in the painting I am looking at from behind the crowd. Why not keep the experience entirely in the moment and hold onto it emotionally rather then on some hard drive tucked away in the bottom drawer of your desk? Of course I understand it all, and I am being critical, but it created another interesting juxtaposition in the sense of past vs. present. While the mixed architecture created a silent and fluid relationship with regard to appearance and impression, the consumers of the art stood in strong contrast with the art they were consuming.

            All in all, the museum did a wonderful job of creating a fusion between history and modernity. Their attractive renovation created an airy entrance to a maze of historic works that seemed to invite you to get lost in it. While I may have gotten bit lost in the screens of other’s iPhones, I surely found a heightened sense of appreciation for the Dutch Masters, and the two designers, Antonio & Antonio.

Portrait of Gerard Andriesz Bicker by Bartholomeus van der Helst (1613-1670)

Just because I like it so much.