Die beste Bildung

My fourth and last full day in Copenhagen turned out to be the most interesting and enjoyable. In the morning I visited the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, an art museum which was originally built to house the personal collection of Carl Jacobsen, the namesake and second generation owner of the Carlsberg family. I was drawn here by its collection of 19th century art, for Jacobsen was an enthusiastic patron of some prominent contemporary artists such as Auguste Rodin and acquired for the Glyptotek the most important sculpture collection outside France. But as I would soon discover, this very elegant museum had a lot more to offer.

The sculpture collection was breathtaking. At its entrance to was Rodin’s Monument to Victor Hugo – not his most famous work, but nonetheless a perfect illustration of how French excellence in sculpture rooted from a desperate need for public monuments after being defeated in the Franco-Prussian war of 1870. Adjacent to this was a cast of The Thinker, probably the most famous sculpture in the world, and right across the hall was another of The Burghers of Calais. The latter recalled an important scene in French national consciousness: during the Hundred Year’s War, the French city of Calais was sieged by the Edward III of England and its people were starved to the brink of death. Edward III offered to spare the Calaisians, on condition that six of the city’s leaders surrendered their lives to him. The sculpture vividly depicts the six volunteers, capturing their agony in defeat and courage in self-sacrifice with a finesse that is very rarely seen. Though I have always been fond of the Rodin’s work, it was this sculpture which made me truly fascinated by the great French master and opened my eyes to how expressive a chunk of copper can be transformed into.

I also enjoyed the works of other sculptors in an adjacent room – Louis-Ernst Barrias’ The Infant Mozart brilliantly conveyed the unparalled genius of the greatest composer of all time, Jean Gautherin’s Paradise Lost expressed the strong sense of regret and fear of uncertainty experienced by Adam and Eve upon tasting the forbidden fruit, and Laurent-Honore Marqueste’s Perseus slaying Medusa was a stronger representation of the famous Greek myth than any retelling I have read.

But more memorable was my subsequent visit to the rooms which featured sculptured from ancient civilizations. I had avoided the Glyptothek in Munich (yes, Danes and Germans have different ways of spelling the word) because I am not very fond of busts which features have long since been eroded and sculptures missing an arm and a leg. But since I was in this Glyptotek already, I decided to see the ancient art. And it turned out to be a great decision, because the main hall was magnificent and its works extremely well preserved. The smaller rooms were great as well, and one thing I really liked was how the exhibits for the Greek and Roman civilizations were organized according to time period instead of themes. While I still maintain the somewhat Hegelian belief that 19th century pieces are more remarkable in terms of artistic value, I was quite captivated to see how the works on display here reflected developments in history: how cultural changes were echoed in artistic trends and technological development was demonstrated by increasing sophistication. It gave me a new perspective as to how ancient art can be appreciated and for the first time sparked my interest in them.

Left: The main hall of the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek; Right: one of the many rooms with ancient Roman artifacts

A brief break under the palm shades of the Glyptotek’s gardens later, I took the train to the town of Humlebæk, where the Louisiana Museum for Modern Art was located. The walk from the Humlebæk station to the museum was pleasant, but very ordinary – short, small and conventionally Danish houses lined the road, with humble trees interspersed among them. At the entrance was a two-storey white hut which facade was overgrown with ivy, in other words as far removed from glamour as any decent building could be. So as I approached the museum, I honestly did not hold a high opinion of it, and wondered whether it was a wise decision to allocate four whole hours to this visit.

But this unostentatious museum soon won me over with its wonderful collection, and more importantly, its detailed yet accessible descriptions for them. The first gallery I visited showed 48 pieces acquired in the past year, and there alone I spent more than an hour. I was greeted by Shadows, a typical Warhol piece which involved silk-screening, painting and the use of diamond dusk. It was at first rather difficult for me to comprehend, for all I could say about the piece was that it was pop art, and pop art represented ordinary objects in an extraordinary manner so as to invite viewers to reassess their meaning. The explanation provided by the museum therefore proved to be very helpful. I learned that silk-screening aimed at removing all traces of the painter’s emotions or life, but the use of paint and diamond dust achieves a sensitivity associated with shadow and limelight. An abstract distance is therefore created. Upon reading this, I was reminded of encountering Warhol’s works in other venues – MoMA in New York City, Museum Brandhorst and the Pinakothek der Moderne in Munich, and the Hamburger Bahnhof in Berlin. Everything I had seen, from the four-metre high Mao painting with red lipstick to the cans of Campbell Soup of different flavours, made a lot more sense immediately.

This was only the beginning of the many treasures that Louisiana had to offer. There was a set of three paintings by Eugene Leroy nearby, all of which I found extremely interesting. Leroy’s paintings, at a first glance, were very chaotic and reminded me of the messes by Cecily Brown which I had seen in Hamburg’s Deichtorshallen. But careful observation revealed that each stroke he applied and each shade of colour he selected worked in brilliant harmony to create a subtle but striking image. This was what Leroy himself called “slow art”, art that only because obvious after in-depth study and endless absorption. It required a lot of patience, but the reward of seeing a hidden world open up in front of your eyes was well worth its while.

Other works that I enjoyed included the young British artist Peter Doig’s Music of the Future, which odd colours had a dark but somewhat calming effect that I cannot quite explain. The fluidity of the image and the dream-like theme prompted me to admire the painting for a good five minutes even while other visitors walked right in front of me. Then there was David Hockney’s A Closer Grand Canyon, which seemed to be the anthesis of the works of Gerhard Richter. While many of Richter’s works are created such that the viewer can only appreciate them as organic wholes (see my entry on the Martin-Gropius-Bau), Hockney deliberately painted A Closer Grand Canyon on many small canvases pieced together, inviting the viewer to focus on one detail at a time. It was a technique aimed at simulating natural human vision, which pieces things together in living, changeable relationships insead of encompassing reality in one uninterrupted moment. Though the depiction of the Grand Canyon itself was not very special, and I think that the Grand Canyon as a geographical phenomenon receives more hype than it deserves, the painting became enormously interesting once I had this piece of information.

One storey below I found my two favourite pieces in the museum, both by the artist duo Michael Elmgreen and Ingar Dragset, whose brilliant The Incidental Self, Fig 4 I had encountered in Nikolaj Kirke three days before. First was Uncollected-baggage reclaim, which showed a piece of luggage being continuously carried around a circular conveyor belt. It was a twist on a regular activity in life – collecting baggages at airport arrival terminals – but through simple modifications it expressed a sense of abandonment, repetitiveness, solitude and insecurity which seemed to be a commentary on modern human anxieties. Right behind it was a photograph titled When a country falls in love with itself, a parody of Danish self-satisfaction. Elmgreen and Dragset placed a mirror next to Edvard Eriksen’s famous Den lille havfrue, such that instead of gazing at the far horizon, the mermaid would seem as though she were admiring her own reflection. It made a national icon into a remarkable protest against conservatism and indulgence. I thought both pieces were absolutely genius.

Left: Elmgreen and Dragset’s Uncollected-baggage reclaim
(When a country falls in love with itself in the background);
Right: Peter Doig’s Music of the Future

The older items in the permanent collection were also delightful. There was an entire room featuring the works of Asger Jorn, one of the most important 20th century Danish artists, whose innovative use of colour and contours were very refreshing. Another room nearby had a collection of Arnold Newman’s portraits of prominent 20th century artists such as Picasso, Strawinsky, Pollock and de Kooning. Neuman adjusted his perspective, framing and staging so as to reflect the styles of the artists he photographed rather than that of his own. Picasso, for example, had one hand covering part of his eye in homage to his revolutionary method of reinterpreting shapes, and Strawinsky sat unconspicuously in the corner of a photograph which ostensible subject was a grand piano in the middle, so as to demonstrate how music itself instead of the musician was of highest importance. It was a very intimate experience, because through these portraits you could feel the personalities of the artists, and catch a glimpse of their triumphs and tribulations as though you knew them as personal acquiantances.

Left: Exhibition room dedicated to works of Asger Jorn;
Right: Works by international artists, with Andy Warhol’s Marilyn Monroes in the centre

The temporary exhibition in the basement of the museum was titled Frontiers of Architecture II: Green Architecture for the Future, and presented very bold visions of what architecture can be. The first section, titled “Cities”, asked some very inspiring questions as to what defines a city and how its relationship with inhabitants can be. It was, to employ a common cliche, some good thinking outside the box. The next section, titled “Climate and Comfort”, was an illustration of how modern-day buildings conserve resources and maximize utility by taking climate into consideration. As usual there were some cutting-edge buildings with environmentally-friendly designs, but more surprising was how simple structures created for impoverished or disaster-stricken areas could also fully utilize and harness their surroundings. The final section, titled “Metabolism”, featured William McDonough and Michael Braungart’s idea of “Cradle to Cradle”. In opposed to the artificial model of cradle to grave, in which an object loses utility as it ages and ultimately becomes waste, McDonough and Braungart envisioned the lifetime of a product as a cycle where “the very concept of waste does not exist”. It is an extremely ambitious idea, but it can indeed be realized, and one very memorable illustration stood at the end of the exhibition. It was a small pavilion made up of material that would decompose upon coming into contact with water, an example of temporary architecture of the future. This exhibition was so good that I had to pick up the corresponding book at the museum store before I left, though I had warned myself that I had already purchased too many books on this trip.

Inside Frontiers of Architecture II: Green Architecture for the Future

As I walked along the galleries, I saw many windows letting in the view of the lush sculpture gardens surrounding the museum building. The juxtaposition of nature and art gave rise to their presentation as continous rather than opposing entities, reminding me of Nietzsche’s discussion on art which I had studied with Professor Jennings in the previous semester. Anyway, the garden itself was very large and had an unbelievable view of the sea. Works on display there included a big mobius strip on which visitors could try walking, and a Joan Miro sculpture which I believe could have been an inspiration for Stephen Spielberg’s ET. It was hard to resist having a photo taken with that one.

Left: Joan Miro’s Personnage and I; Right: Part of the sculpture garden

I spent the evening at the Tivoli Gardens, the world’s oldest amusement park. The admission fee was quite reasonable by Danish standards, and despite it’s very limited size and the cluttered placement of attractions, I felt that this was what a great amusement park should be. It had something for every taste and budget – roller coasters, theatres, band shows, carnival parades, both classical and rock concerts by well-known groups, small video game arcades, fashion and design boutiques, fast food stands, cafes, even two restaurants with Michelin stars (unfortunately, those were way beyond what I could afford). I especially enjoyed the Rutsjebanen, a wooden roller coaster built in 1914. Very interestingly, the roller coaster required drivers to control the brakes so that they would not go too fast when rushing downhill. Imagine sitting in a roller coaster for six hours a day! That must be one of the professions I ever have heard of. Equally special was the Himmelskibet, which at 80m was the world’s highest carousel. Due to Tivoli’s central location, the view that the Himmelskibet provided were even better than what I had on top of the Vor Frelsers Kirke. It was beyond doubt the highlight of my visit.

Tivoli Gardens, the world’s oldest amusement park

And however beautiful Tivoli is by day, it is after the sun sets that it trully becomes a sight. The lighting was traditional, but arranged in a brilliant way that created sights which look as though they come from paradise. I stayed until 11pm to take photos. And by the time I left, I was convinced that I will have to come back to Copenhagen some day. And I hope my next visit will be as memorable (but much more extravagant, of course) than this one.

More Tivoli: the Chinese pavilion and the main entrance