Vienna is densely populated with an array of museums and exhibitions. On the way to the opera to watch Carmen with my wife, we visited the National History Museum, by accident I think, as I thought my wife would not enjoy the experience, but to my surprise she was mesmerised by the metallurgy collection, pouring over glass cabinet after glass cabinet of shiny metals and big rocks, and I still haven't got the hint. But as I predicted when we reached the taxonomy section, she experienced extreme museum fatigue.
We all experience museums differently of course, but are museum visits a sensory, emotive, or intellectual experience?
I can only speak for myself, but I can't say that in the very moment it's an intellectual experience. I barely read a word of text and often find the written explanations cumbersome and detracting, though audio guides can be transformative. Yet I find I am fascinated but usually in a pre-language cognitive state, like an infant mesmerised by some shiny object that they can't quite comprehend.
The Victoria and Albert Museum (V&A) in London is famous for its temporary exhibitions, which provide a multi-sensory experience. Notable recent exhibitions include The Pink Floyd, Christian Dior and Alice in Wonderland Exhibition.
Emotional? I can remember feeling overwhelmed, standing amongst the crowd before the Mona Lisa. Was I overwhelmed by the fame of the iconography, dazzled by its celebrity or was there something in the painting? I don't really know. And if I regard a Van Gogh painting and see the dazzling colours and swirling patterns woven into the heaps of paint, depicting some representation of reality, I can feel the artist's passion and angst imbued into the painting. The largest such collection is of course in the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam.
Story telling can redefine a museum experience. One of the best examples I have experienced is the Sisi Museum set in the magnificent Hofburg Palace in Vienna. The exhibition tells the story of Empress Elisabeth of Austria, who was one of the most glamorous women in the world. However, she felt being part of the monarchy was utterly stifling to her free-spirited nature. The exhibits make this fascinating and contradictory character incredibly relatable, making you feel as you almost know the person.
A remarkable feat given that she lived pre-television. Lack of moving pictures seems to diminish our interest in those who didn't get to grace the screens, so much so that they may only have been regarded as being brought back to life once featured in a period drama.
The connection to the experience remains long after the visit. As I reacquaint myself with the necessary facts to construct this article, I can recollect my experience and impression of this person, gained only through the museum exhibit.
When we finally reached the Opera, my wife switched shoes to a pair of brand-new heels from a French designer brand. The last 20 yards were on cobbled stone and as she walked the first strides, the heel of her shoe was momentarily caught between two pebbles and as she raised her foot, alas the strap broke. Devastated, she switched back to her flat shoes.
The opera was spectacular, but we didn't understand the seating arrangements in the cubicle - we were at the back, peering at some oblique angle between the heads of those in front of us, though I suspect we had paid more for our last-minute tickets. My wife always jokes that when we first started dating, we were right there at the front, by the stage at shows, practically feeling the sweat fly off the performers. But as time has gone on, the seats seem to get further and further from the action. Now, we're practically hugging a pillar.
To my wife's relief when she returned to the UK and recounted her Vienna Opera story to the shoe vendors, they were good sports and provided her with a brand-new pair of shoes free of charge.
There can be no greater story than that of Van Gogh which he clearly journaled. His tragic life was intimately intertwined with his artworks.
Many paintings survived because their custodian fell in love with them. It was known that Napoleon admired the Mona Lisa and many of the most famous paintings in the world have incredible histories. Some of which are detailed below.
This fascinating portrait, shown above, shows Giovanni di Nicolao di Arnolfini, a wealthy Italian merchant, standing with his wife in their Bruges home. Van Eyck signed it with "Johannes de Eyck fuit hic 1434" - basically his way of saying "I was here." After bouncing around private collections, it mysteriously appeared in Spain before being looted by Napoleon's troops in 1794. Eventually it made its way to England, where it's been at the National Gallery since 1842.
Every detail tells a story: the convex mirror reflects two mysterious figures (possibly witnesses), the little dog symbolizes fidelity, and those oranges on the windowsill? They cost a fortune back then - pure flex. The single burning candle might represent God's presence... or memorialize Arnolfini's first wife who died before this was painted. Art historians still debate whether this shows a wedding, engagement, or something else entirely.
This massive multi-panel masterpiece in Belgium's St. Bavo Cathedral is like the Sistine Chapel of the North. The central "Adoration of the Mystic Lamb" scene is surrounded by incredibly detailed biblical figures. During WWII, the Nazis became obsessed with it - they dismantled the whole thing and hid pieces in an Austrian salt mine. While most were recovered, one panel called "The Just Judges" vanished without a trace. Some say it's buried in a Belgian garden, others claim it was destroyed... the mystery continues.
Before 1911, this was just another nice Renaissance portrait. Then Italian handyman Vincenzo Peruggia walked out of the Louvre with it hidden under his coat. For two years, he kept it in his Paris apartment like it was a poster from the gift shop. When he finally tried to sell it to an Italian gallery (claiming he was "returning it to its homeland"), he got caught red-handed. The media circus made it world-famous - today it sits behind bulletproof glass with its own climate control and bodyguards.
Klimt's golden portrait of a wealthy Jewish socialite has a backstory worthy of Hollywood. The Nazis stole it from the Bloch-Bauer family during WWII, and after the war, Austria kept it in their national gallery. Decades later, Adele's niece Maria Altmann (then in her 80s!) fought an epic legal battle to recover it. When it finally sold in 2006 for $135 million (to Ronald Lauder for his Neue Galerie), it became a symbol of justice for Holocaust victims. The painting's intricate gold leaf patterns still dazzle viewers today.
Munch's iconic image of existential anxiety holds the dubious honor of being stolen - twice. In 1994, thieves broke into Oslo's National Gallery and left a note mocking the security. Then in 2004, armed men stole another version from the Munch Museum in broad daylight. Both were eventually recovered, though not without damage. The painting's turbulent history seems fitting for its subject matter - that agonized figure on the bridge has become the universal emoji for "I can't even."
This quiet scene of domestic music-making became the art world's most famous missing painting after the 1990 Isabella Stewart Gardner heist. Two thieves dressed as cops talked their way into the museum and walked out with 13 works, including this Vermeer. Thirty years later, the empty frame still hangs in the museum as a placeholder. Some think it's hidden in Ireland, others believe it was destroyed. With a $10 million reward still unclaimed, this remains one of art history's greatest unsolved mysteries.
Adele Bloch-Bauer's second portrait (because apparently one golden masterpiece wasn't enough). Like its predecessor, the Nazis stole it during their occupation of Vienna. After Maria Altmann's landmark legal victory, this too was returned to the family and sold at auction. Klimt used actual gold leaf in his "golden phase" - the intricate patterns shimmer as if lit from within. Today it hangs near its sister painting in New York, where visitors can appreciate Klimt's radical blend of Byzantine splendor and modern psychology.
Vermeer's tranquil study of a scientist got caught up in 20th century chaos. Hermann Göring - yes, Hitler's right-hand man - acquired it during WWII, probably looted from a Jewish collection. After the war, Allied forces found it among Hitler's private hoard of stolen art. Now in the Louvre, it's often overlooked by tourists rushing to see the Mona Lisa. The astronomer seems unbothered though - he's too engrossed in his celestial globe to care about the crowds.
Years before the Mona Lisa, Leonardo painted this stunning portrait of Cecilia Gallerani, the 16-year-old mistress of Milan's Duke Ludovico Sforza. The white ermine she cradles symbolizes purity (ironic, given her position). The Nazis stole it from Poland during their occupation, but the Monuments Men recovered it. Today it's back in Kraków where it draws admirers who appreciate its psychological depth - you can practically see Cecilia's quick wit in her sideways glance.
Rembrandt's only seascape became the most famous missing painting after the 1990 Gardner heist. The dramatic scene shows Jesus calming a storm while panicked disciples cling to their boat. Art detectives have chased leads from Boston to Dublin to Tokyo, but after 30+ years, it's still gone. Some think it was destroyed; others believe it's in a private collection. The empty frame at the Gardner Museum serves as a haunting reminder - sometimes the storm doesn't get calmed.
The art world's juiciest drama in decades. This portrait of Christ as "Savior of the World" disappeared for centuries before turning up in 2005, badly overpainted. After a controversial restoration and authentication, it sold for $450 million in 2017... then promptly vanished again. Rumor says Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman bought it, though no one's seen it since. Scholars still debate if it's truly by Leonardo - but the mystery only adds to its allure. Sometimes the most valuable thing about art is the story behind it.