Do you hate art museums? Why (and how) to take a 2nd look

We tend to assume that, if you’re cultured and have good taste, you will, naturally, love going to museums. So in we go. On vacation, on our days off, on a day-trip, we wander through the exhibits, strolling from room to room looking at each picture for an average of 20 seconds before moving on. After a while, even if you enter eager and excited, the museum steals all your energy. At the exit, you can actually watch people stumble out, blank-eyed and weary. This happens even in world-class museums like the Vatican and the Uffizi.

If we dislike the museum, it isn’t because the artwork isn’t stunning. Museums really do great work in preserving world-class treasures and making rare beauty accessible to everyone. The secret dislike of museums isn’t because they’re bad or even that we are uncultured philistines. The problem is actually one of abundance. There’s too much in one place. We try to see it all and are overwhelmed.

I actually would like for there to be many more museums in existence, but I would like them to be smaller and less sterile (and for each one to have a really good coffee shop, but I digress). I think that, if museums were more intimate, we wouldn’t be pressured to move through the exhibits so quickly. We would have more time and could sit with the pictures for longer.

Becoming cultured shouldn’t be torture. I worry that the museum experience makes us feel self-conscious, as if we’re missing something because we aren’t part of the elite. This is when people give up, think that art isn’t for them, and retreat into more entertaining pursuits like sports and television. It seems to me that we aren’t being set up for success when, in fact, art is for everyone.

I have an art degree from college. Before I became a father and ran out of time, I regularly painted. I love art and, at one point, was considering pursuing the making and selling of art as a full-time pursuit. I bring this up to make a point; just because I like a picture doesn’t mean you have to like it also. Just because I have an art education doesn’t necessarily mean that I am any better than you at looking at a picture. Sure, I have some advantages in looking at art, but the main advantage I possess is simple. I have a lot of practice. I’ve painted a lot. I’ve looked at a lot of paintings. I write about paintings sometimes for Aleteia. For those essays, all I do is look at the picture for a long time and think about it. I write notes about absolutely everything that comes to mind, most of which I end up deleting. Often, when I choose a picture to write about, I have no idea why I like it. I figure that out as I look.

Being good at looking at art isn’t a matter of elite education or being a rare artistic genius. It isn’t that hard. It’s all about time, patience, and practice. That’s why I want museums to be smaller. The first mistake most of us make is moving past the picture far too quickly and smaller museums would minimize that problem.

What I recommend is to only look at a handful of pictures during a visit but to take much more time with them. The first question to ask is, “Do I like it?” Feel free to not like it. You might not like the picture for any number of reasons and you don’t need to justify yourself. As Cicero famously said, “de gustibus non est disputandum,” which means, “there is no disputing about taste.” Sometimes we like things, other times we don’t. That’s perfectly fine. The only thing to keep in mind is that it’s very much worth it to look at even the pictures we don’t like. Sometimes we have good reasons for our opinion, other times the reasons are more hazy. Sometimes I start out not liking a painting but grow in appreciation for it the longer I look. Often what I realize is that the dissatisfaction isn’t with the picture, it’s with me. If I’m bored by a masterpiece, it might be because my sensibilities are disordered, I’m impatient, or maybe just hungry and tired. We learn a lot about ourselves by looking at art.

With the extra time with the painting, we can ask some basic questions. What shapes, colors, and textures are there? Are there any odd details? If there are figures, what might they be thinking? Where are they looking? Which figures are central and which seem peripheral? Do the light and shadows highlight anything important in the picture? Is the painting beautiful, by which I mean does it display harmony, form, craft, and evince delight? Does it radiate truth?

Don’t worry about intellectual, theoretical concerns about what the picture “should” mean. Academic theories aren’t important when it comes to art. What’s important is the image. Beauty unfolds slowly within us and a connection is made as the image communicates more deeply than any explanatory words can. There’s a painting of the "Ecce Homo" by Titian in my local art museum. I’ve looked at that picture for a long time. When I look, I intuit the soul of Christ. Some sort of sacred knowledge is communicated and I am powerless to explain it. All I can do is be grateful. I look at Christ. He looks at me. Something inside me changes.

All this said, of course it’s helpful to read the card next to the painting or track down some information about it. If we do this we can begin to appreciate how much of the artist is revealed in his work. Maybe the painting meant something quite profound to him because of the time in his life he painted it or an event that was the occasion for the work.

I usually wait for a while, though, before I seek more information. To me, artwork is best approached without any preconceptions, as pure color and form. The image is what it is. If we explain it too much in terms of theory, we explain it away. The whole experience becomes nothing more than acquiring academic knowledge. This makes visiting the museum into a chore.

My main point about looking at art is that it shouldn’t make us tired but, quite the opposite, it should impart energy. If we take our time and pay close attention, the art starts to “look back” at you. It’s a sacred communication via a contemplative glance. A door opens. Step through it. There’s a whole, amazing and beautiful world and the surface appearances are just the beginning of what is being unveiled. At the heart of it all is the God who loves us dearly. All beauty leads to him.