What's the point of museums, anyway? | Altes Museum

For someone who travels a fair bit, I gotta say I hate doing the tourist things. I mean, a castle/museum/square/monument's gotta be really spectacular for me to wait in line or pay the admission fee it entails. Maybe I'm just a little ignorant, I just don't feel waiting in line with a bunch of other tourists who read the exact same Tripadvisor article is the best way to experience a place. People who, in other words, have no real motivation for being there.

Nevertheless, when we were in Berlin last week, I got myself a museum pass thingy so I could visit a bunch of different museums. It wasn't a quick choice, we spent quite a bit of time researching the accessible museums, to understand if there was something there of personal interest.

I don't get going to gawk at some 9th century pots if the 9th century or pottery mean nothing to you. And frankly, I'm not a fan of the faux pensive reverence people seem to adopt whenever they step into a museum. All of a sudden, they're walking around, hands clasped behind their backs, pursing their lips at fucking Rembrandt or somebody. All the while, wondering what they're gonna have for lunch, where they might buy a bottle of water for less than $5, and whether their mom would like this or that magnet.

I don't think you should do things because they're on some online stranger's itinerary. I think you should do them for you, because they mean something to you.

Visiting the Altes Museum, inside a room full of statues, I got the clear impression of someone staring at me. I turned around to find a security guard eyeing me suspiciously. I'd been tracing my nose. My face, really. See, I've been working on my drawing skills, specifically on drawing statues. So I was trying to memorize inside my brain certain curves and stuff. What marble cloth looks like. I guess I was a bit immersed, but realizing he was looking at me so oddly made me feel self-conscious. And amused, at the same time. The guard seemed genuinely confused at seeing someone actually interacting with the art. I guess I'd dropped my pursed lips and thoughtful frown for a moment, but isn't that what art's supposed to be?

If that doesn't shake you out of that placid, contemplative, no-idea-what-this-is-about empty gaze, what will?

Anyway, I reeled myself in as much as I could, and moved on to other exhibits. Practically ran over to this guy when I saw him,

But in my defense, ain't he something to look at?

He feels like such a character from a story, with his sunken eyes and his stooping figure. The destruction spreading across his face. He's stunning. More dirty looks from the security guard.

When we reached this final room, we were about 15 minutes from the museum closing, so couldn't give it nearly as much time as it deserved. Did giggle copiously, eliciting glares from fellow "art lovers". 'Cause you know, you're not supposed to giggle at this sort of blue collar humor. It's certainly not in keep with the high-brow persona of a certified museum-goer. Obviously made me laugh even more.

I did go home and google this peculiar custom, of wearing phallic charms around your neck, or placing them in your home for good luck. It's a genuinely interesting thing to do. Ironically, it's a slap in the face of these serious, won't-flinch "cultured" others. As a symbol of virility and an affirmation of life, it's no wonder the phallus was worn as a good luck charm. Now, it's been reduced to gag gifts inside oddity shops, not to be dignified with so much as a glance by these pompous asses. Never trust someone who doesn't at least smile at this kind of thing.

I'm a menace when I go to museums. I'm also someone who lives surrounded by art. The vast majority of my day goes into artistic pursuits and explorations of some kind. In other words, it's something that interests me outside of the mandated visit to a foreign place where I feel obliged to tick off must-see museums. I don't purse my lips or nod thoughtfully. I don't think art's supposed to be on a pedestal, unless for purely practical reasons. Art is supposed to be experienced, interacted with, and remembered. You don't remember much wandering from one room to the next in the Ancient Egypt wing when you don't care about Ancient Egypt.

I love travelers who do their own thing. Who aren't embarrassed to say "no, as a matter of fact, I did not visit any museums on this trip, as none interested me". Who go explore twelve different sushi places 'cause they're hella into sushi, or trace obscure street art spots across a city. The whole point of travel is getting a better understanding of yourself while exploring the larger world out there, I'd argue. And you can't do that ticking off the same list as every other tourist in the city.

Speaking of travel, I started my day by booking airfare for this year's Hivefest. Hell yeah, baby.