Icons

It's the title of the current exhibit at the Kunsthalle (art museum).  We took a day and wandered into the city and played art connoisseur.

Frankly, it's the most interesting exhibit I've seen at the Kunsthalle, though it may not be the most ambitious.  Hard for me to say.  But we loved it.

They cleared the whole museum of their permanent exhibit, loaned many of the works to the Guggenheim in Bilboa and other European museums, and in each of the emptied gallery rooms, installed one work that could be considered iconic - something that inspired adoration, or worship and of course a following.  Many of course were paintings, but there were sculptures, music, even pop icons on YouTube.

And each room was repainted - and not just neutral off-white but purple, ochre, blue.  Wow.

It was more or less chronological, and of course a traditional icon from Russia started us off.

A number were religious in nature, including this piece.  It's a many-times enlargement of the plastic statues sold by the millions at Lourdes, this one in yellow, though the artist reproduced them in a myriad of colors.  Religious icon transformed into commercial product.

It seemed there were many visitors taking pictures of each and every exhibit. But people were also sitting and contemplating.

Damien Hurst, perhaps most (in)famous for his animals in formaldehyde, was represented by butterflies.

Frankly, I find this equally disturbing as the calf in formaldehyde.  Thousands and thousands of butterfly wings, frozen forever in plastic resin, their iridescence and color mocking the life they once had.  Death is often iconic.

Artists and their art are intertwined, it's hard to say what is more iconic - the person or the work.  Here, dear Vincent.  It's easy to see how the presentation amplified the "icon" and made it worshipful.

Naturally, there were pieces that spoke to me not at all. A lot of framed black.

Playfulness isn't always accepted in artsy circles, and Jeff Koons hasn't found universal agreement with his depictions of the ordinary and ephemeral in permanent form.  But don't we worship the fleeting?

Rothko.  Nothing else needs to be said.

There were 60 works.  We looked at them all, including one where we could lie on the floor in overstuffed beanbags and watch a kaleidoscope-like video with soothing, repetitive music.  Great placement near the end of those 60 works!

So we were done.  We don't usually spend more than two hours at an exhibit, but this visit was over three!  Werner will go back with his art group, I'll go back again with my ladies club, and we're both looking forward to a second look. 

P.S.
Before leaving, there was a necessary stop. Even the Ladies' looks a bit artsy. Don't know about the men's.