PINAKOTECH DER MODERNE AND MAX BECKMANN

Opposite the Alte Pinakotech is the 2002 Stephan Braunfels designed Pinakotech der Moderne (photo from the website).

The four museums inside hold a vast wildly eclectic collection over several floors. The special exhibition on now is Frauen - Women by Picasso, de Kooning and Beckmann. More details including an invaluable virtual tour are here. There are 22 de Koonings for a start, including one from Canberra, more than I'd ever imagined seeing together and the impact of this scale of exposure is huge. But Max Beckmann is really the core of the exhibition.

"Since the early 1970s and the transfer of the Günther Franke Foundation, Max Beckmann’s works had been the subject of a research project that so far culminated in two highlights: the large “Max Beckmann Retrospective” of 1984 and “Max Beckmann. Exile in Amsterdam” of 2007/8, both exhibitions having been curated primarily by Carla Schulz-Hoffmann. Beginning with Max Beckmann, whose paintings reflect the fundamental questions of human existence, not least in his diametrical juxtaposition of self-portraits and depictions of women, the present exhibition would not have been complete without Pablo Picasso, whose depictions of women reflect everything that preoccupied him, both negative and positive, and Willem de Kooning, who for his part shifted the focus from the level of content to that of the painterly.  That this initially visionary project has finally been realized in the concrete form of an exhibition is due to the generous support of important international public institutions and private collections. With only a few exceptions, it has been possible to all obtain all works of decisive importance for the theme of the exhibition, making possible a presentation of extraordinary breadth and depth.             

The Beckmanns alone, dark and mysterious, will take at least one more visit. I struggled with them on first acquaintance, these unfamiliar works not easy for someone trapped down under. Most I think are in American collections. It is especially significant that this is happening here in Munich where the Saxon born Frankfurt based modernist, having raised the fury of and been denounced by Hitler and his NS goons, had his confiscated works put on display in the 1937 Munich Degenerate Art Exhibition. Beckmann self exiled to Amsterdam and poverty during the War before being finally accepted into the United States.

I have another week here for a focused Beckmann return.

The lower floors of the International Design Museum were a bit of relief.

ALTE PINAKOTHEK

The Alte Pinakothek is a few tram stops from the leafy north Munich suburb where we are staying.

Inside a restored severe exterior, fronted by a massive Henry Moore, with generous interiors and unexpected beautiful lighting,

are the city's (Ludwig's) 14th to 18th European paintings, a staggering collection of masterpieces in room after room after room.

Raphael (1483-1520) DIE MADONNA TEMPI (above) and DIE MADONNA  DELLA TENDA (below)

And nearby hangs the earliest known (teenage) Da Vinci (1452 - 1519) MARIA MIT DEM KINDE

And one needs years, not weeks, let alone days. It is quite draining, and the temptation is to try to embark on too much. But hopefully something is brushed, and absorbed

and you leave the better.

MUNICH

FRANKFURT

Sunday afternoon in Frankfurt am Main is mild and sunny and the triathlon is in its final stages, the running circuit along the river banks and across two bridges several apart.

The old iron bridge is some sort of lover's lane where passions are aroused and promises made.

Banking is the name.

Protest is the game.

Or is it the other way around.

THE NEIGHBOURS

At the start of the bus trip to and from Narita comes a softly spoken recorded female voice advising travellers in perfect English english that

"portable telephones should not be used as they annoy the neighbours".

It says so much about Japanese style and respect. The other very noticeable and not unrelated characteristic is patience and its acknowledgement. "Thank you for waiting" invariably precedes even the promptest service.

TURNING LEFT

K'nji brought his new CFO to dinner last night. He likes his CFOs to be female, and young and gorgeous. We ended up in his friend's little bar before walking back to the hotel in the rain. It's not hard to feel awkward, big and clunky and overtly alien.

Rested and rather pampered, it's back to the airport this evening.

Reading:
Cutting for Stone, Abraham Verghese
Wagner, Barry Millington
A History of God, Karen Armstrong.

EN ROUTE

Usually it is a (JAL) day flight to Tokyo but this time courtesy of frequent flyer points we took the (Qantas) night flight. From a cold rainy Sydney.

'The party starts at midnight' he grinned handing out the jarmmies, and the next thing it was 'breakfast in bed?'

After weeks of the helter-skelter of getting away, missing concerts, end-of-year panic, general clearing the decks, lists upon lists, and even a day's work on departure day, we'd made it.

The luggage man bows as the bus leaves the kerb. The policeman with the stick and shield bows at every passer-by.

How green it is I always forget.

Thick tensile stands of bamboo, hills dense with firs, sudden sweeps of chequered rice paddies - all receding as we head into the great grey overcast metropolis, back to Shibuya.

It's not raining - just hot and humid.

Come the morning - Nah, must have been spitting which was impossible to tell from the 31st floor through the misty fug of the Tokyo air.