I am someone who truly believes in museum fatigue, and to be honest, some of my least favourite museums tend to be the ones that brag about being “the biggest” or having the “largest collection” of anything. There is simply too much to see in one space, and you can find yourself either overwhelmed or exhausted at the thought of trying to take it all in.

After years of figuring out how to survive huge museums without burning out, I’ve gotten pretty good at spotting the pieces that are the most meaningful. So, after doing a lot of research and going in with a real plan, when I finally visited the Museo Nacional de Antropología on my 2026 trip to Mexico City, I focused on finding the artifacts that really express the larger story the museum is trying to share, while also highlighting the pieces that actually stay with you long after you leave.

Table Of Contents

1. Practical Tips
2. History of Museo Nacional de Antropología
3. Understanding the Museum Layout
4. The Great Courtyard Umbrella Fountain
5. Begin Your Tour in the Teotihuacan Gallery (Room 4)
6. The Disc of Mictlantecuhtli
7. The Atlantean Warrior of Tula
8. The Sacred Ball Game Hoops
9. Tula Breastplate
10. Chac Mool
11. The Jaguar Cuauhxicalli
12. Cihuacóatl
13. Stone of Tizoc
14. The Aztec Sun Stone
15. The Statue of Coatlicue
16. Xochipilli, the Flower Prince
17. Feathered Headdress of Moctezuma
18. The Jade Bat Mask of Monte Albán
19. Olmec Colossal Head
20. Mictlantecuhtli, Lord of the underworld
21. The Tomb of Pakal the Great

Practical Tips

Hours and Admission

Open: Tuesday to Sunday, 9:00 AM – 5:00 PM
Closed: Every Monday, regardless of holidays
Last Entry: Exhibit halls begin closing at 4:45 PM

I think it’s best to get there early, since that’s usually when the museum feels the calmest and least crowded. Sundays are free for Mexican citizens, so the galleries tend to fill up quickly, which makes it a day you might want to skip if you prefer more space to move around.

Admission Prices (Effective January 1, 2026)

General Admission: $210 MXN
Discounted Admission: $105 MXN for Mexican nationals and foreign residents with a valid ID
Free Admission: Children under 13 years old | Seniors over 60 (with INAPAM card) | Students and teachers with valid Mexican institutional ID | Pensioners and retirees with appropriate credentials | People with disabilities

If you know what day you’ll be visiting, my best advice is to buy tickets online, which you can get from ventadeboletosenlinea.inah.gob.mx. Although you can buy them onside, both at a vendor booth and using the electronic ticket booths, this can be slow on busy days, so it’s always advisable to buy them in advance.

How to Get to the Museo Nacional de Antropología

If you’re staying nearby in the Polanco neighbourhood, you can pretty easily walk to the museum. If you prefer to take a ride share, there is a drop-off point just off Reforma, below the stairs to the museum.

If you are taking the metro, there are two easy options. Chapultepec Station (Line 1, the pink line) is usually the simplest for first-time visitors. From here, you walk into Chapultepec Park and head west toward the museum. The walk is about 15 minutes, depending on pace. Auditorio Station (Line 7, orange line) works well if you are coming from Polanco or the west side of the city. From Auditorio, you can either walk about 15 to 20 minutes through the park.

History of Museo Nacional de Antropología

When the Museo Nacional de Antropología opened in 1964, it was never meant to be just a place to store artifacts. It was designed as a national project. A way to tell the story of Mexico through the cultures that shaped it long before modern borders existed. Architect Pedro Ramírez Vázquez and a team of archaeologists, anthropologists, and historians worked together to create something closer to a narrative landscape than a traditional museum. Each room was built to let a culture speak in its own context, organized by geography and time, but not ranked by importance.

After Mexican independence, and especially after the Mexican Revolution, there was a huge push to reclaim and protect Indigenous history as part of national identity. Excavations across the country, from Teotihuacan to Monte Albán to the Maya regions, began uncovering massive sculptures, tomb objects, murals, and everyday tools. Many of the most important pieces you see today were discovered during scientific excavations in the late 1800s and throughout the 20th century. Others were moved from earlier museums or government collections into this purpose-built space once it opened. Some monumental pieces, like the massive Mexica sculptures, were actually found buried under Mexico City itself during construction projects in earlier centuries and later became foundational pieces in national collections.

What I think is easy to forget when walking through the galleries is that this museum is not just about ancient history. It is also about modern Mexico deciding to preserve, study, and center Indigenous civilizations as part of its identity.

Understanding the Museum Layout

The museum is built around the central courtyard fountain, and each floor tells a completely different part of Mexico’s story. The first floor focuses on ancient Mesoamerican civilizations, with galleries organized by culture and region rather than strict timelines. This is where you see the monumental pieces most people associate with the museum, including massive stone sculptures, ritual objects, and site reconstructions connected to cultures like the Mexica, Maya, Olmec, Teotihuacan, Zapotec, and more.

Many of these ground-floor galleries also open out into their own outdoor courtyard spaces. These exterior areas often feature large stone monuments, architectural fragments, altars, and reconstructions of temple elements that would have originally stood outside in ceremonial plazas. In some sections you can see large-scale carvings that are too massive for interior display, while others recreate the feeling of standing inside an archaeological site rather than a museum room. Stepping into these outdoor spaces gives you a chance to reset between galleries, but it also helps you understand how these objects originally existed in open-air sacred landscapes, surrounded by sunlight, weather, and public ritual life rather than glass cases.

The second floor focuses on living cultures, named the ‘Ethnography Halls’, focusing on Indigenous communities in modern Mexico and how traditions have continued and evolved after colonization. The collection features a myriad of textiles and everyday objects, exploring identity, survival, and cultural continuity, and it challenges the idea that Indigenous history ended in the colonial period. It’s best to visit the second floor after you’ve finished exploring the first floor.

The Great Courtyard Umbrella Fountain

Upon entering the museum, you will walk straight out into the large, central courtyard. Standing in the centre is a massive concrete umbrella fountain. Architect Pedro Ramírez Vázquez designed this structure as a symbolic bridge between ancient and modern Mexico. The column collects rainwater and distributes it naturally, without mechanical pumps, relying on gravity alone.

This design intentionally echoes the sophisticated hydraulic systems of civilizations like Teotihuacan and the Maya, who engineered aqueducts, reservoirs, and drainage networks centuries before European contact. Water was not just a resource. It was sacred. Controlled water meant political power, agricultural stability, and cosmic balance.

Standing beneath the falling water, you’re placed physically inside that idea. The museum doesn’t begin with an object. It begins with a system. Survival through knowledge of nature. Everything you see inside flows from this principle.

Begin Your Tour in the Teotihuacan Gallery (Room 4)

I think one of the best places to start your visit is the Teotihuacan Gallery, in Room 4, containing objects from AD 100 -700. The first three rooms do a good job of laying out basic anthropology and the early peopling of the Americas, which helps set the stage, but they stay fairly general and can feel a bit dry, especially since they’re packed with information right out of the gate. I would say if you’ve been to an anthropology museum before and have a general understanding of what anthropology is, you can skip the first three rooms.

The Teotihuacan Gallery is where the museum really begins to narrow in on artifacts specific to ancient Mexico, and where the deeper story of these civilizations really starts to take shape. At its height, roughly between 100 and 550 CE, Teotihuacan was one of the largest cities in the world. Not just in Mesoamerica, but in the world. Tens of thousands of people lived here, in a carefully planned city built around massive ceremonial avenues, pyramids, apartment compounds, and religious complexes. It was a colossal and well-organized city, suggesting strong political control, advanced engineering, and a shared religious system that shaped everyday life.

What makes Teotihuacan especially important is that we still do not fully know who built it. Unlike the Mexica or Maya, Teotihuacan left very little written record. Much of what we know comes from architecture, murals, and artifacts. But its influence spread across Mesoamerica. Trade networks, religious imagery, and urban planning ideas connected Teotihuacan to distant regions, which is part of why archaeologists see it as one of the foundational civilizations of ancient Mexico.

The Disc of Mictlantecuhtli

Welcoming you into Teotihuacan is the slightly disconcerting Disc of Mictlantecuhtli. At first glance, this stone skull can feel unsettling, grimacing at you with its exposed teeth and intense, almost confrontational expression. But this was never meant to be horror in the way modern culture understands it. In the Mexica belief, Mictlantecuhtli ruled Mictlan, the underworld where most souls travelled after death. He was not seen as evil, but as necessary, because death was understood not as punishment, but as a fundamental part of how existence was structured.

The circular shape of the disc matters because circular imagery in Mesoamerican art is often tied to cycles of time, movement, and the paths of celestial bodies. The disc reinforces the idea that death was part of an ongoing loop. The Mexica believed the sun itself travelled through the underworld each night before rising again. Underworld imagery was not only about endings, but about renewal and continuation.

Mictlantecuhtli imagery also appears in ritual spaces connected to sacrifice and burial. In many cases, death deities were tied to transformation rather than destruction. The body returned to the earth. The spirit moved into another realm. The gods themselves had sacrificed to create humanity, so sacrifice and death were understood as part of maintaining cosmic balance. When you look at this disc, you are looking at that agreement between humans, nature, and the divine. Life required death for the universe to remain.

Pyramid of Quetzalcoatl

Stepping into the Teotihuacan rooms, you will see at the back the overpowering structure that is the spiritual and political heart of Teotihuacan; Pyramid of Quetzalcoatl. This is a reconstruction, of course, but if you have visited the pyramids at Teotihuacan, seeing it here still matters, because it helps you understand how it would have originally looked. Teotihuacan was not originally a grey stone city like it appears today. Buildings were covered in bright pigments, creating a city full of colour. The temple would have been part of an overwhelming visual experience designed to communicate power and cosmic order. Walking into this space thousands of years ago would have felt like stepping into a living religious landscape rather than just approaching a building.

The exterior was covered with carved heads of feathered serpents, usually linked to Quetzalcoatl, alongside heads tied to rain and water symbolism associated with Tlaloc. Quetzalcoatl was one of the most important deities across Mesoamerica, often associated with creation, wind, knowledge, and the movement between the human and divine worlds. Tlaloc, on the other hand, was the powerful rain and storm god, responsible for water, fertility, and agricultural survival, making him essential to everyday life and long-term stability for these civilizations.

Quetzalcoatl appears as the feathered serpent, with a long snout and carved feather patterns that make the figure feel fluid and in motion. Tlaloc is easier to spot by his large circular goggle-like eyes and prominent fangs, giving him a heavier, more powerful appearance tied to storms and rain. Pairing these two gods together reflected the Mexica worldview, where sky, rain, fertility, and survival were deeply connected. Some researchers believe this combination symbolized political authority tied directly to control over natural forces, especially agriculture and water. In a city dependent on environmental stability, this symbolism was extremely powerful.

There is also a political dimension to this structure that often gets overlooked. Teotihuacan controlled major trade routes, especially obsidian, which helped it dominate regional economies. Monumental architecture like this temple reinforced that power. It showed organization, wealth, and religious authority all at once. The city was not just surviving. It was projecting influence across Mesoamerica.

The Atlantean Warrior of Tula

Exiting Room 4 and entering Room 5, you are stepping into the Toltec galleries (AD 700-1200), moving from cultures that feel rooted in priesthood, agriculture, and cosmic cycles into something more focused on warfare. The Atlantean warriors from Tula are probably the closest thing the Toltecs have to a defining image of their civilization. These massive stone figures originally stood on top of a pyramid temple, physically holding up the roof of the sacred structure. That alone shows how the Toltecs understood power, with war, religion, and architecture all functioning as one unified system rather than separate ideas.

Each warrior is carved wearing full ceremonial battle gear consisting of a feathered headdress, ear spools, a butterfly breastplate and weapons like the atlatl spear thrower or bundles of darts. Mexica ear spools were circular ear ornaments worn by nobles, priests, and elite warriors, and they were a clear visual marker of status, identity, and rank. They were placed through stretched earlobes and could be made from materials like gold, jade, turquoise mosaic, obsidian, or carved stone, depending on the wearer’s social position. You’ll notice ear spools on many statues and carvings throughout the museum, so it helps to understand what you’re looking at when you spot them.

Atlantean Warriors of Tula are not just any ol’ soldier; they are meant to be designed to represent idealized warriors. Almost mythological versions of real military power. The Toltecs were ruled by a military elite rather than priest-kings, which makes these sculptures feel almost like official state messaging carved in stone. Some Atlante figures are connected to the planet Venus. In Toltec belief, Venus was not just a star. It was tied to warfare cycles, time, and the movement between darkness and light. Some interpretations describe these warrior figures as manifestations of Venus itself, fighting darkness and maintaining balance in the universe.

The Sacred Ball Game Hoops

Just left of the Atlantean Warrior, you’ll see what otherwise might be missed as a simple round structure with a hole in the center. But what you’re actually standing in front of is something that once sat at the center of ritual life across Mesoamerica. The sacred ball game, known in some regions as tlachtli, was played by moving a heavy rubber ball across the court using only hips or knees. The goal was to send the ball through stone rings mounted on the side walls. And this ring here is one of the ancient hoop used to play the game. Above the stone, you’ll also see a painting depicting people playing the game.

The hoops were mounted high above the playing surface, making successful shots rare and almost miraculous. Again, here we see the image of the circle, both in the hoop and a ball, representing celestial bodies like the sun or moon moving through cosmic space. When a player successfully sent the ball through the ring, it was not just about scoring points. It was reenacting cosmic balance, the constant struggle between day and night, life and death.

There was also a more serious side tied to the game. In some cases, players, often team leaders, were sacrificed after major matches. This was not understood as punishment, but as an offering meant to help maintain cosmic balance and support fertility, rainfall, and survival. The game itself dates back to at least 1600 BCE and spread across many civilizations, which makes the hoop one of the strongest symbols of a shared Mesoamerican worldview that lasted for thousands of years. You can also see several of these hoops displayed in the exterior corridors just outside the gallery, where you can compare different sizes and regional styles.

Tula Breastplate

The Tula Breastplate is a fantastic work of art and a piece of jewellery that archaeologists found in what they call the Burnt Palace complex. Today, this piece is considered one of the best surviving examples of ceremonial warrior dress from the Toltec world. Finds like this are rare because organic materials and detailed costume pieces usually do not survive over centuries, which makes this breastplate especially valuable for understanding how elite warriors presented themselves during ritual and state ceremonies, not just in battle.

The piece was constructed using hundreds of small seashell plates carefully arranged to form a protective and decorative surface, with an additional necklace layer made from shell elements placed above it. The use of the shell was not random. Shell materials were highly valued in Mesoamerica, often associated with water, fertility, and connections to distant trade networks, since many shells had to be transported from coastal regions. When you imagine this breastplate worn during ceremonies, it would have caught light, reflected movement, and visually reinforced status, power, and sacred authority all at once.

Chac Mool

If the Atlantean Warrior represents how the Toltecs saw power, the Chac Mool statue shows you how they saw communication with the divine. At first glance, the figure looks almost relaxed, their head is reclined, knees bent, with a small bowl or disk resting on their stomach. The body position is passive, almost resting, but the head, especially the eyes, appear to be on alert, watching and waiting

The Chac Mool is a figure that appears across multiple Mesoamerican cultures, but they are especially tied to Toltec and later Mexica religious practice. It was seen as a ritual object where offerings were placed directly onto the bowl, creating a physical point where humans and gods could meet. They were usually placed at the entrances of temples or near sacred altars. Offerings like food, incense, blood, or sometimes even a human heart would be placed into the bowl before being symbolically passed to the gods.

Some scholars believe this pose may reflect a state between worlds, not fully human, not fully divine. It physically creates a bridge between earth and sky. When you think about how much Mesoamerican belief systems focused on balance, cycles, and layers of reality, this body position starts to feel very intentional.
Another layer that makes Chac Mool figures fascinating is how long they stayed culturally relevant. The Mexica adopted the form centuries after the Toltecs, which tells you how influential Toltec religious imagery became. Later cultures often looked back at Toltec civilization as a kind of cultural golden age. Reusing the Chac Mool form was not just copying art. It was claiming legitimacy, history, and connection to an older sacred authority.

The Jaguar Cuauhxicalli

Moving into Room 6, the Mexica (1200-1521), you’ll be greeted by the grinning faces of the Jaguar Cuauhxicalli. A cuauhxicalli was a sacred stone vessel used to hold offerings, most famously human hearts taken during sacrifice rituals. The word itself roughly translates to something like “eagle gourd,” but many surviving examples, including this one, take the form of powerful animals like jaguars. The jaguar was one of the most important sacred animals in Mesoamerica, associated with night, the underworld, warfare, and elite warrior orders.

Jaguars were apex predators; they were silent, powerful and most importantly, deadly. In the Mexica belief, they were connected to the night sun, the version of the sun that travelled through the underworld after sunset. That symbolism made the jaguar the perfect guardian figure for offerings tied to sacrifice and cosmic renewal. When hearts were placed into vessels like this, it was understood as feeding the gods and helping maintain the balance that kept the universe functioning.

From a craftsmanship perspective, these vessels also show how advanced Mexica stone carving was. The musculature, teeth, and posture are all carefully controlled. The bowl is integrated directly into the body of the animal, merging ritual function with symbolic meaning. You are not just looking at a container but a living symbol of sacred power. Objects like this would have been placed in temple settings, where they became part of large-scale ceremonies tied to state religion and political authority.

Cihuacóatl

Down the stairs, to the right of the Jaguar, you will see a series of sculptures depecting Cihuacóatl, a mother goddess who existed at the exact point where life and death meet. Cihuacóatl was connected to childbirth, warfare, and the earth itself. The Mexica thought that these were not separate forces. Birth involved blood and risk, war involved sacrifice. The earth received the dead and produced new life. And Cihuacóatl embodied all of that.

Cihuacóatl was especially tied to women who died in childbirth, who were honoured in a way that mirrored fallen warriors. The Mexica believed childbirth was a form of battle. A woman bringing life into the world was seen as fighting between life and death. If she died in that process, it was understood as a sacred sacrifice. Cihuacóatl protected these women and guided them in the afterlife. Visually, figures associated with Cihuacóatl often combine symbols of beauty, power, and death. You might see serpent imagery, heavy ritual jewelry, or skeletal facial features.

Stone of Tizoc

On the far left side of the gallery, you’ll spot an enormous round stone, sitting on a plinth. This is the Stone of Tizoc, created in the late 15th century during the reign of the Mexica ruler Tizoc. This circular basalt monument would serve as a ritual altar, political propaganda, and cosmic symbol. The sides of the stone are where the political message really comes alive. Carved in a continuous band are scenes of Mexica warriors capturing enemies from other regions. These are not chaotic battle scenes, but carefully controlled and repeated images meant to reinforce the same message of Mexica victory, capture, and dominance. In Mexica society, capturing enemies was more important than killing them in battle, because captives could be used in ritual sacrifice. That means these carvings are not just about war. They are about feeding the gods, maintaining cosmic balance, and reinforcing imperial authority at the same time.

The top surface adds another layer of meaning. The radial design feels solar, almost like movement or energy spreading outward, and at the center is a deep circular cavity. Many researchers believe this may have been used during ritual ceremonies, possibly connected to sacrifice or offerings. What matters most is that the stone physically places ritual action at the center, with empire literally carved around it. Religion, warfare, and cosmic survival were never separate ideas in the Mexica world. They were all part of the same system of responsibility between humans and the gods.

The Aztec Sun Stone

Doubtlessly, the most famous object in the museum is the Aztec Sun Stone. While it is often called the “Aztec Calendar”, that description is incorrect. The stone is better understood as a cosmological map than just a simple calendar. Created in the late 15th century during the height of the Mexica Empire, the massive circular stone represents the era the Mexica believed they were living in, known as the Fifth Sun.

At the center is the face most scholars identify as Tonatiuh, the sun deity, surrounded by symbols representing earlier worlds believed to have existed and been destroyed before the present one. The Mexica believed that the sun required nourishment through sacrifice in order to continue moving across the sky. Tonatiuh is depicted in the center of the stone, his tongue extended in the shape of a sacrificial blade, and his clawed hands are gripping human hearts. The surrounding rings include day signs, ceremonial time cycles, and symbols tied to ritual life.

The history of the Sun Stone after the fall of the Mexica Empire adds another layer of meaning. It was rediscovered in 1790 beneath what is now Mexico City’s main square during colonial construction. Many Indigenous religious objects were destroyed during this period, but the Sun Stone survived. For a time, it was even incorporated into colonial architecture, reflecting the complicated relationship between suppression and preservation of Indigenous history. Its rediscovery helped spark early efforts to preserve pre-Hispanic history and played a role in shaping the development of Mexico’s national museum system. The Sun Stone also became a symbol of Mexican identity beyond archaeology. The rediscovery of major Mexica sculptures in the late 18th century helped shift how people understood Mexico’s past, transforming Indigenous civilizations from something colonial authorities tried to erase into something central to national identity.

The Statue of Coatlicue

Just to the left of the Sun Stone, you can see the ominous figure of Coatlicue standing in front of you. The scale alone is overwhelming, towering above the visitors. Serpents twist where her head should be. A necklace of human hands and hearts hangs across her chest. Her skirt is made of intertwined snakes. Every surface feels charged with meaning. Coatlicue was not meant to be comforting. She was meant to show the full truth of existence. Creation and destruction were never separate forces in the Mexica belief. They were the same cycle, happening over and over again.

Coatlicue was the mother of the sun, moon, and stars, which immediately places her at the center of the Mexica universe. But unlike later Western ideas of a nurturing earth mother, Coatlicue is fierce, terrifying, and powerful. One surviving description describes her with a serpent-like head, a necklace of human body parts, and a skirt of serpents, all symbols tied to sacrifice, rebirth, and the movement of cosmic energy. This was not horror for shock value. It was theological storytelling in which life required death, crops required sacrifice, the sun required nourishment, and the world continued only through balance.

There is also a psychological impact that is hard to ignore in this statue. The statue forces you to confront how differently the Mexica understood existence. There was no clean separation between life and death. The earth was not gentle. It was powerful, hungry, and sacred all at once. I think this is one of the moments in the museum where you really feel the distance between modern worldviews and ancient ones.

Xochipilli, the Flower Prince

Hidden against the wall on the left side of the gallery is the emotionally provocative statue of Xochipilli. Unlike the heavy, intimidating presence of figures like Coatlicue, Xochipilli feels delicate and vulnerable. He is the Mexica god of flowers, music, dance, art, beauty, and sacred pleasure. But he is not just about celebration in a simple sense. In Mexica belief, flowers symbolized poetry, truth, and the fragile beauty of life, representing something temporary and precious that blooms, fades, and returns again, a cycle embodied by Xochipilli.

What makes this statue especially important is the detailed carvings covering its body. Researchers have identified many of these carvings as sacred plants, including species associated with altered states of consciousness. These were not recreational symbols. In ritual contexts, these plants were connected to communication with the divine, prophecy, and spiritual transformation. The statue is believed to show Xochipilli in a state of sacred ecstasy, sitting upright but leaning slightly back, as if caught in a moment between the physical and spiritual worlds. It gives the figure a feeling of intensity rather than relaxation. The posture is important because he is not seated casually, but instead appears alert, lifted, and almost vibrating with energy. In Mexica culture, music, dance, and altered consciousness were part of religion and were ways to connect with the gods and understand existence, with Xochipilli representing sacred joy rather than escape.

Feathered Headdress of Moctezuma

Few objects carry as much emotional weight, political history, and artistic brilliance as the feathered headdress often associated with Moctezuma II. The piece you see in the museum today is a replica, but even that tells an important story. The original is housed in Vienna, after being sent to Europe in the early years of Spanish contact. According to historical records, it was part of the group of gifts Moctezuma gave to Hernán Cortés when the Spaniards first arrived in 1519, and it was later transferred to the Habsburg court. 

The headdress itself is an extraordinary example of Mexica featherwork, one of the most technically advanced art forms in Mesoamerica. It was constructed using long green quetzal tail feathers arranged in a sweeping arc, mounted onto a base decorated with turquoise, gold, red beads, and leather. Featherwork was not casual decoration. It was reserved for specialists who built feather mosaics by attaching feathers to a prepared base structure, layering materials to create both durability and visual depth. Feathers were markers of rank, power, and divine association. Only the highest levels of nobility and elite warriors were allowed to wear the most luxurious feather adornments. Clothing and adornment were part of a strict visual system that reinforced social order and identity.

What makes this object especially complex today is that it sits at the center of ongoing conversations about colonial history, ownership, and cultural heritage. The original headdress has been in Europe since the early 16th century, and it remains one of the most famous contested cultural artifacts connected to Mexico. Seeing the replica in the museum can feel bittersweet. It represents artistic brilliance and cultural identity, but also the moment when two worlds collided and reshaped the future of the Americas forever.

The Jade Bat Mask of Monte Albán

Moving into Room 7, containing the Oaxaca Galleries, you’ll find one of the most intrancing pieces in the museum, in my opinion, the Jade Bat Mask from Monte Albán. The mask comes from the Zapotec culture in Oaxaca and was discovered in the elite tomb complexes connected to Monte Albán, one of the most important ancient cities in southern Mexico. Masks like this were not decorative objects. They were funerary and ritual pieces, meant to accompany elite individuals into the afterlife or to be used in ceremonies connected to death, rebirth, and transformation.

The choice of a bat is incredibly intentional. Across Mesoamerica, bats were associated with night, caves, sacrifice, and the boundary between life and death. Caves were seen as entrances to the underworld and places of creation at the same time, and bats lived in those spaces. That made them natural symbols of transition, not evil or good, but powerful creatures that moved between worlds. In Zapotec belief systems, this connected bats to ideas of regeneration, ancestry, and the journey of the soul after death.

The material matters just as much as the animal symbolism. Jade was one of the most valuable materials in ancient Mesoamerica. It was associated with life force, breath, water, and fertility. It was harder to obtain than gold and was often reserved for rulers, priests, and the highest ritual contexts.

Olmec Colossal Head

Moving to Room 8, the Gulf Coast Galleries, step outside to the garden areas where you can see the enormous Olmec Colossal Heads. The giant heads are some of the oldest and most powerful human portraits in the entire museum. Carved from massive blocks of basalt, these sculptures date roughly between 1200 and 400 BCE. Each head is believed to represent a specific ruler rather than an anonymous figure.

When you stand in front of one, it does not feel symbolic or mythological. It feels personal. Like someone important is still watching the room. Each face is individualized, with different expressions, helmet styles, and proportions. One of the most remarkable parts of these sculptures is the effort it took to create them. The basalt was quarried from mountains sometimes more than 50 kilometres away and then transported across rivers and swamps without metal tools or wheeled vehicles. Some heads weigh over 20 tons. That level of labour tells you something about Olmec society.

The helmet-like headgear has led some researchers to connect the figures to ritual ball players or warrior elites, though most interpretations still lean toward them representing rulers. The Olmec are often called the “mother culture” of Mesoamerica, not because they were the first civilization, but because many core ideas appear here early.

Mictlantecuhtli, Lord of the underworld

Also found outside in the Gulf Coast Galleries is one of the most striking and widely recognized depictions of Mictlantecuhtli, the Mexica lord of the underworld. In this replica, it shows him seated on his throne with his arms stretched outward, as if reaching toward or emerging to meet the souls entering his domain. Rather than appearing passive or distant, this posture gives the impression that the deity is actively rising to commune with the dead who arrive in his realm. The imagery reflects the Mesoamerican understanding of death not as disappearance, but as a transition into another state of existence governed by powerful forces.

The original version of this scene is a clay sculpture and is considered one of the highest artistic and symbolic achievements of the Remojadas culture, discovered at the archaeological site of El Zapotal on Mexico’s Gulf Coast. The sculpture is especially powerful because it blends skeletal imagery with posture and presence, creating something that feels both terrifying and ceremonial at the same time.

The Tomb of Pakal the Great

Head down to the basement of the Maya Galleries, in Room 9, where you literally descend into the underworld. Here, you’ll find the Tomb of Pakal the Great, one of the most important archaeological discoveries in all of Mesoamerica. It received this designation not just for what was found inside, but for what it revealed about how the Maya understood life, death, and the universe. Pakal, whose full name was K’inich Janaab Pakal, ruled the Maya city of Palenque in the 7th century and oversaw one of its greatest periods of architectural and cultural expansion. When his tomb was discovered inside the Temple of the Inscriptions in 1952, it changed how archaeologists understood Maya kingship.

The most famous part of the tomb is the massive carved stone sarcophagus lid. At first glance, it looks incredibly complex, but the imagery tells a very specific story. Pakal is shown falling or descending into the underworld, while at the same time rising along the World Tree, the sacred axis that connects the underworld, the human world, and the heavens. Around him are symbols of the cosmos, ancestors, and divine forces. Some early interpretations misunderstood the image, but research now shows it represents rebirth. Pakal is becoming part of the cosmic cycle. A king transforming into an ancestor and divine presence.

The objects buried with Pakal reinforce this idea. He was buried wearing an elaborate jade death mask, along with jade jewelry, shells, and ritual items. Jade was especially important in Maya belief because it symbolized life force, breath, and eternal renewal. Covering the dead ruler in jade was not just decoration. It was protection and transformation. It prepared him for rebirth in the afterlife and reinforced his divine status even after death. The tomb itself was built deep inside the pyramid, reinforcing the idea of returning to the earth before rising again spiritually.

By the time you leave the museum, it stops feeling like you just walked through a collection of ancient objects and starts to feel more like you moved through thousands of years of living history. Each artifact, from massive imperial monuments to delicate ritual objects, tells part of a much bigger story about how people understood time, nature, power, life, and death. The Museo Nacional de Antropología is not a place you have to see all at once, and honestly, you shouldn’t try to. If you focus on the pieces that speak the loudest and give yourself space to absorb what you are seeing, you leave with something much more valuable than rushing through the entire space, trying to see it all.

Happy Travels, Adventurers

The post Ultimate Self-Guided Tour of the Museo Nacional de Antropología CDMX first appeared on The Creative Adventurer.

Table Of Contents

1. Understand the Why Behind the Fatigue
2. Be Picky with Your Picks
3. One Museum a Day Rule
4. Book Your Tickets in Advance
5. Be Selective with Audio Guides
6. Curated Playlists
7. Focus only on what truly interests you
8. Take Breaks
9. Don't Always Start at the Beginning
10. Don’t Read Every Plaque
11. Stand and walk
12. Visit during Off-Peak Hours
13. Comfort is Key
14. Set your own time limit
15. Go with someone enthusiastic
16. Keep a Journal
17. Eye-Spy Game

Understand the Why Behind the Fatigue

Museum fatigue isn’t just a fancy buzzword; research going back to the 1920s has shown that most people’s interest begins to fade partway through a visit. It’s what happens when your brain is inundated with information, visuals, and sensory input for hours on end. Factors like repetitive themes, excessive information, or even the way exhibits are designed can lead to what psychologists call “wear-out.”

You might find yourself tuning out, skimming past exhibits you would have otherwise loved, or even feeling irritable. If you’ve ever travelled with a partner or friend, I think we’ve all been there when you find yourself falling out halfway through the museum and not knowing why. Well, now you do! Dating back to the 1st century CE, even Pliny the Elder, in his writing, noted that the endless marvels in Egypt’s Labyrinth could “dull one’s sense of wonder”.

Be Picky with Your Picks

You don’t need to see everything. In fact, you shouldn’t. Before I even step foot in a museum, I look at a map or guide and pick 5-10 things I really want to see. That’s it. It might be a specific painting, an ancient artifact, or even a room I’ve heard whispers about. The rest? Bonus. Prioritizing like this avoids overwhelm and ensures the experience feels purposeful rather than punishing. It can also help you plan out the structure of your visit and will help prevent aimless wandering or backtracking.

One Museum a Day Rule

I know that when you’re short on time and think you might never be back in that city or country, you feel the urge to see everything you can in as little time as possible. But as much as you might feel this is a good strategy, the truth is, everything is going tos tart blending together, and you won’t end up truly remembering anything. I try to advise people to stick to only visiting one museum or art gallery a day. Break it up with a long lunch and a cultural activity to give your brain a break to rest, relax and absorb better what you just saw.

Book Your Tickets in Advance

There’s nothing more deflating than arriving at a museum excited, only to be met with a snaking queue stretching around the block. Long waits sap your energy before you’ve even crossed the threshold, and can leave you feeling impatient and irritable by the time you finally get inside.

Booking timed-entry tickets online is one of the simplest ways to preserve both your time and mental stamina. Many major museums now offer advance reservations, often with dedicated entry lines or time slots that help avoid crowds. Not only does this streamline your experience, but it also gives you more control over your schedule, especially useful if you’re juggling multiple sights in a single day. Starting your visit feeling calm and unhurried makes a big difference in how much attention and enjoyment you’re able to bring into the galleries.

Be Selective with Audio Guides

Audio guides can be a brilliant way to deepen your understanding of a collection, offering context, storytelling, and behind-the-scenes insights that bring artworks and artifacts to life. But they can also become overwhelming if overused. Hours of constant narration, especially in a museum that’s already packed with visual and written information, can lead to cognitive overload and fatigue.

Instead of trying to listen to every track, use audio guides intentionally. Start with an introductory overview to orient yourself, then choose highlights that truly interest you, whether it’s a favourite artist, a period of history you’re curious about, or a specific object that catches your eye. This keeps your experience focused and enjoyable, rather than turning your visit into an endless lecture. And if you’re visiting with someone, don’t forget to take out your headphones every now and then. Sharing your thoughts and impressions in real time often leads to some of the most memorable moments in a museum.

Curated Playlists

One of my personal favourite strategies for beating museum fatigue, especially in busy, echoing institutions like the Uffizi or the British Museum, is bringing along a custom playlist. I curate it in advance to suit the mood: ambient instrumentals for reflective viewing, dreamy classical pieces for slow wandering, or even the occasional moody soundtrack. When I visited Versailles, I downloaded the ‘Marie Antoinette’ Sofia Coppola movie soundtrack and found it absolutely perfect for exploring the space, and it allowed me to feel like I was inside the movie and going back in time rather than focusing on the hordes of tourists chatting around me.

Putting on headphones helps me tune out the crowds, the clatter of tour groups, and the thrum of footsteps, letting me settle into a more meditative, focused state. It acts like a sonic filter, helping me see better by quieting everything else. Sometimes, the right song can make your observations all the more introspective. I urge you not just to play anything, but really take your time to select something special for your visit, as then this music will always remind you of your visit!

Focus only on what truly interests you

Many travellers fall into the trap of chasing the so-called “must-sees”, famous masterpieces they feel obligated to view, rather than pieces that genuinely speak to them. It’s easy to get swept up in the pressure to check off the Mona Lisa or The Night Watch, even if those works don’t particularly move you. But museum visits become far more meaningful, and less draining, when you skip the crowd-pleasers and follow your own curiosity instead.

Take Breaks

It sounds obvious, but you’d be amazed at how many of us power through hunger and fatigue like we’re on a cultural treadmill. When you’re visiting a museum like the Louvre or the Museum of Anthropology, which sprawl kilometres, you really need to be sure to take breaks. Don’t be scared to sit down, have a coffee, and if you can, go outside for some fresh air. I know museum cafés aren’t exactly budget‑friendly, but if you can swing a coffee, even a short pause to sip something warm or refreshing can help.

Depending on the museum, you may also be able to bring in food or drinks, which you can enjoy in the café even if you didn’t buy them there. You can usually check the rules about this on museum websites, but very often, museums are family-friendly and pretty lenient when it comes to picnic lunches.

Breaks are more than just rest; they’re a way to refresh your senses and reset your attention span. I try to schedule a pause every 45 minutes. Research has revealed that most people stop fully absorbing information after 30–45 minutes, with average viewing times per artwork dropping as you progress deeper into a gallery. It’s not that we aren’t interested; it’s that our brains are full. So take a minute to sit on a bench, grab a sip of water, or spend a moment simply not looking at anything.

Don’t Always Start at the Beginning

We all instinctively start at the beginning. But what if you didn’t? Some of my best museum experiences have come from flipping the script and diving into a side gallery first that interests me more than the first exhibition placed in the front entrance. By doing this, you’ll often find fewer crowds since the start of the museum can be a bottleneck. This is when people have the most energy and attention, and they usually move pretty slowly at the start. Whereas towards the end, people are exhausted and are just breezing past, trying to get out. Interestingly, research in zoo environments (which share similarities with museum design) shows that reversing traffic flow can dramatically shift visitor engagement.

Don’t Read Every Plaque

Look, I love me some context, but reading every single wall label can turn a leisurely visit into a slog. Instead, I focus on one or two pieces per room that really speak to me, and then dive deep. Sometimes I’ll snap a quick photo of the label to read later over lunch. Reflecting on my instant interpretations versus the official story.

Stand and walk

A handy physiological tip: standing still for long stretches in galleries can actually tire you out more than walking. Short strolls and “moving breaks” help keep your circulation flowing and delay that sluggish, heavy-legged feeling. If there’s a piece you’re especially drawn to and want to spend time with, see if there’s a bench nearby where you can sit and absorb it slowly. No bench? Try circling the artwork instead, observe it from different angles, step in close for the details, then pull back for the full effect. Not only does this keep your body in motion, but it also opens up new perspectives and interpretations with every step.

Visit during Off-Peak Hours

Whenever possible, I go early or late and try my best to always avoid weekends and holidays. The first hour after opening and the last hour before closing are usually calmer, quieter, and less chaotic. Some museums also offer evening entry or special late-night events, which can feel less rushed and more intimate.

Comfort is Key

Pack for museum days like you would for a hike: comfortable shoes, light layers, and minimal baggage. I always check the museum’s bag policy ahead of time to avoid surprises at the door or having to lug around gear I could’ve left behind. Often, when museums don’t let you bring anything more than your phone or camera inside, I find this a blessing in disguise as it totally frees you up to relax and enjoy the space without being encumbered by carrying your coats or a heavy knapsack. Even if coat checks cost a few dollars, I think it’s worth it for the freedom I feel.

Set your own time limit

Some people swear by a self‑imposed rule: spend, say, two or three hours in a museum, or in a section that intrigues you, then call it. Don’t feel the guilt, just remember that setting these limits will actually help you maximize your enjoyment. Often, I try to book a restaurant reservation to ensure I have a reason to leave, so I stick to these self-imposed limits.

Go with someone enthusiastic

Something that’s made a huge difference for me is visiting museums with someone who’s genuinely passionate about the subject. Their enthusiasm can be contagious, turning the whole experience into something far more dynamic and energizing. Instead of just passively looking, you’re having conversations, bouncing ideas off each other, and noticing things you might have missed on your own. On the flip side, I think we’ve all made the mistake of dragging along someone who isn’t interested, and their boredom can subtly drain the joy from your own visit.

Keep a Journal

If you are travelling solo, or don’t have anyone to bring to a museum you are intensely keen on, one piece of advice is to bring a little notebook and jot down your thoughts, impressions, and favourite pieces. It helps me stay engaged and gives me something to look back on, especially when details start to blur. A doodle of a sculpture or a few lines describing a painting can anchor the memory in a way a thousand photos never will.

Eye-Spy Game

One of my favourite ways to keep kids engaged in museums or galleries is by turning the visit into a visual scavenger hunt. I have them choose a simple motif, like a bird, a feather, a heart, or even just a specific colour, and challenge them to spot it in as many artworks or objects as they can. It’s a playful, accessible way to help young visitors stay curious, especially if they’re too young to grasp the historical or cultural weight of certain pieces. They light up with excitement every time they make a discovery, and it keeps their eyes (and minds) actively searching.

What’s even better is using those findings to spark conversations: why is that symbol represented differently here? What might it have meant in another time or culture? And while I originally came up with this idea for kids, I’ve found it’s just as fun for adults. We’ll each pick something to look out for, snap photos along the way, and share them later. It’s always fascinating to see what others noticed that you completely missed.

Museum fatigue is real, but it doesn’t have to steal your joy. With a little planning, a bit of grace for your limits, and a curious heart, you can walk away inspired rather than exhausted.

What are your best tips for avoiding museum fatigue? I’d love to hear how you keep your curiosity sharp and your legs from falling off by noon!

Happy Travels, Adventurers

The post Museum Fatigue Is Real, Here’s How to Beat It first appeared on The Creative Adventurer.

Calling it a museum doesn’t really cut it. It’s more like stepping into one of his paintings, a maze of illusions, strange symbols, and theatrical flourishes that mess with your sense of time and space. At one moment, you’re looking at a golden mannequin. Next, you’re standing inside a room that transforms into a human face. And beneath it all, literally, Dalí is buried beneath the stage. Because…of course he is.

This guide was created for travellers who want to go deeper. The museum doesn’t offer an audio guide, and most visitors wander through without much context. Here, you’ll find a step-by-step self-guided tour, moving room by room through the building, with descriptions of the major artworks, stories behind the strangest details, and historical insight you won’t find posted on the walls. It’s a surrealist playground, but with this guide in hand, you’ll know exactly where you are, what you’re looking at, and why Dalí made it that way.

Table Of Contents

1. How to Get There from Barcelona
2. Ticket Information
3. History of the Dalí Theatre-Museum
4. Who was Salvador Dalí
5. Torre Galatea
6. Exterior Architecture
7. Former Audience Area
8. Fishmonger’s Hall
9. Grand Hall
10. Dali's Tomb
11. The Treasure Room
12. The Mae West Room
13. The Palace of the Wind
14. Cybernetic Princess
15. The Dalí d’Or Room
16. Dalí Jewels

How to Get There from Barcelona

By Train: The easiest way to reach Figueres from Barcelona is by train. The high-speed AVE train from Barcelona-Sants to Figueres-Vilafant takes just under an hour. From there, it’s either a 20-minute walk to the museum or a quick cab ride. Slower regional trains are also available and take closer to 2 hours, but they drop you at Figueres’ central station, which is only a 12-minute walk from the museum.

By Bus: Buses leave regularly from Barcelona’s Estació del Nord and take around 2.5 to 3 hours. Not as fast, but budget-friendly.

By Car: Driving up the AP-7 highway will get you to Figueres in about 1.5 hours. Follow signs to the city center; there are public parking lots nearby.

Ticket Information

This place gets busy. Like, really busy. Over a million people pour through its surreal corridors each year, especially in the summer. So booking your ticket online in advance is essential. Not just to save a few Euros, but to avoid being turned away or stuck in a massive queue snaking around the block.

• General Admission: ~€18 online (expect it to go up to around €21.50 in July and August).
• Discounts: Students and seniors (65+) pay around €15–€17.50.
• Children under 9: Free.
• At the door: Add €2 extra per ticket, and brace yourself for a wait.

History of the Dalí Theatre-Museum

Before it became a surrealist wonderland, the building we now know as the Dalí Theatre-Museum had an entirely different life. In the 19th century, it was Figueres’ municipal theatre, a grand space for operas, plays, and civic events. It stood just steps from the church where Dalí was baptized and across the street from where he spent much of his childhood. He knew it well. In fact, Dalí held his first-ever public art exhibition there, in the foyer, when he was just a teenager.

But in 1939, during the Spanish Civil War, the theatre was bombed and burned, leaving only a shell behind, open to the sky, charred, and crumbling. For decades it sat abandoned, a ghost of its former self. That is, until the 1960s, when the town of Figueres asked its most famous son for a single artwork to display in their local museum. Dalí, never one for modest gestures, said no. Instead, he offered them an entire museum.

Not just any museum, but one built on the ruins of the very theatre that had shaped his earliest experiences with art and performance. It was symbolic, theatrical, and deeply personal. As he put it:
“Where else, if not in my own town, should the most extravagant and solid of my works remain? Where else, if not in the theatre, the place of my first exhibitions, should it be installed?”

Work on the Dalí Theatre-Museum began in 1968, with Dalí himself obsessively involved in every detail, every design choice, every optical illusion, every golden statue. He treated it like one final, all-encompassing masterpiece. The museum officially opened in 1974, though Dalí kept adding to it through the 1980s. He didn’t just curate the space, he lived there, sleeping in the Torre Galatea (the tower annex of the museum) in his final years. And when he died in 1989, he was buried in a crypt beneath the stage, the very heart of the museum. It was his last performance.

Who was Salvador Dalí

Salvador Dalí was born in Figueres in 1904, in the very same town where his theatrical, maze-like museum now stands. From the start, he stood apart. Even as a child, he was intense, unpredictable, and obsessed with dreams. He studied at art academies in Madrid and was expelled more than once, not for lack of talent, but because he claimed no teacher was qualified to judge him. That mix of arrogance and brilliance became a kind of signature.

Though he first gained attention for his technical skill in painting, Dalí shot to international fame in the 1930s as a key figure in the Surrealist movement, a group of artists and writers fascinated by dreams, the unconscious, and the irrational.

But Dalí’s version of surrealism was more theatrical, more flamboyant. He didn’t just make strange art, he became his art, dressing in velvet suits, crafting his signature mustache into gravity-defying shapes, and staging public stunts that blurred the line between genius and performance.

Central to all of this was Gala, his lifelong partner, muse, and the woman who anchored his chaotic world. Born Elena Ivanovna Diakonova, Gala was older than Dalí, and when they met in the late 1920s, she was married to the poet Paul Éluard. But once she and Dalí found each other, they became inseparable. Gala became his manager, protector, and icon. She appears in countless paintings, sometimes saint-like, sometimes sensual, and Dalí often said that without her, there would be no Dalí.

In his later years, Dalí became increasingly reclusive, especially after the death of his wife and muse, Gala. He moved into the Torre Galatea, a tower attached to the museum, where he lived surrounded by his own creations, drifting further into solitude and symbolism. It was here that he spent his final days, and where he chose to be buried, beneath the stage of his surrealist theatre, quite literally at the heart of his most theatrical work.

Torre Galatea

Approach the Dalí Theatre-Museum via the Pujada del Castell, a quiet road that curves along the side of the former theatre and gradually leads you toward the most iconic view of the museum. The entire façade is painted a bold, burgundy red, and covered, quite literally, in golden bread rolls. Approaching via this direction, you are led towards the famed Torre Galatea.

This rounded tower was once part of an old fortification. Above, mannequin-like figures strike dramatic poses from balconies, and lining the roof are giant white eggs, balanced like alien ornaments. The giant eggs crowning the Torre Galatea aren’t just for show, they’re classic Dalí symbols of birth, transformation, and creative potential.

Church of Sant Pere

Continue walking along Pujada del Castell, and turn down the narrow pedestrian street Carrer Maria Àngels Vayreda, which leads towards the Church of Sant Pere, where Dalí was baptized in 1904, and where his funeral was held in 1989 before he was interred inside the museum.

Francesc Pujols

Just outside the entrance, there’s a strange monument that might catch your eye: a tall column wrapped in what looks like a raincoat, topped with the head of a solemn-looking man. That’s Francesc Pujols, a Catalan philosopher and close friend of Dalí, immortalized here in one of the museum’s more peculiar tributes. The raincoat draped around the pedestal might reference Pujols’ intellectual vagabond nature, or the idea of protecting philosophy from the weather of public opinion. Or maybe it’s just absurd, and that’s the point. Dalí once said that in the future, all Catalans would be so brilliant that they’d be exempt from paying to live anywhere in the world. That idea came from Pujols.

Exterior Architecture

While standing outside the entrance, take a few minutes to study this side of the exterior. Up along the balconies and cornices, a cast of gilded mannequins stands frozen in theatrical poses, their arms stretched wide as if mid-performance, or maybe mid-ritual. Some are headless. Some look like they’re about to leap. They shimmer in the sun like golden ghosts from a dream, giving the building a strangely glamorous but slightly eerie vibe. It’s hard to tell whether they’re welcoming you or warning you.

Look closer at the walls and you’ll notice something even stranger: rows of mannequin heads and golden bread loaves embedded like ornaments. These are Dalí’s beloved pan de crostons, Catalan-style rolls used here as decorative motifs. It’s not a joke. Dalí once said that bread was a powerful symbol of nourishment, tradition, and eroticism, and he treated it almost religiously in his work. So here, it becomes part of the architecture, a building quite literally “breaded” in surreal symbolism.

In the center of the balcony, a diving suit stands guard. This diving suit is a nod to one of Dalí’s most bizarre real-life stunts. In 1936, he gave a lecture in London wearing a full deep-sea diving suit to symbolize “diving into the subconscious.” But he nearly suffocated mid-speech, the suit had no air supply, and he had to be rescued onstage. The suit now hangs above the museum as a surreal reminder of Dalí’s intense dedication to merging art and life into a performance.

Former Audience Area

Stepping through the doors, the first space I invite you to explore is the old theatre’s former audience area, a place once filled with rows of velvet chairs and polite applause, that has now been cracked open and transformed into a wild, open-air courtyard, drenched in sunlight and surrealism. What used to be a traditional auditorium has been completely reimagined by Dalí into a theatrical and vibrant space.

The roof is long gone, so light floods in from above, bouncing off strange sculptures and casting moving shadows on the weathered brick walls. You can still see the bones of the old theatre if you look closely, arched balconies, crumbling beams left exposed like old scars, and the curve of what was once a proscenium arch. Dalí kept the damage from the Civil War bombing visible, using it as a backdrop for his imagination instead of hiding it. He turned destruction into a stage set. Grief into spectacle.

The atmosphere here is part Roman ruin, part dream sequence. Dali filled the balconies with shimmering golden statues, nude, faceless figures with outstretched arms. They look part cheer squad, part cult ritual, and they catch the sunlight like they’re about to take flight. Locals sometimes call them the Dionysian maidens, which somehow feels exactly right.

Rainy Taxi

Right in the center gleams a vintage black Cadillac, and it’s no ordinary car. This is Dalí’s “Rainy Taxi,” one of his most theatrical and unsettling installations, a surrealist sculpture that fuses machinery, mythology, eroticism, and absurdity into one unforgettable scene. Perched stiffly on the hood is a towering statue of a nude woman, her stance frozen and formal, her body stylized like something out of ancient Greece.

She wears a classical helmet, the kind worn by warriors or goddesses, Athena, perhaps, if Athena had wandered into a dream halfway through a noir film. Her pose is deliberately awkward, as if she’s too rigid to be real, too exposed to be a mere decoration. The juxtaposition is jarring: a polished, luxury American car, symbol of wealth, modernity, and masculine power, colliding with this stark, vulnerable, almost divine female figure. It’s not just surreal. It’s deeply layered. Dalí was fascinated by contrasts like these: beauty and discomfort, motion and stillness, the organic and the industrial.

The car itself plays a huge part in the drama. It doesn’t just sit there. Pop in a coin, and it begins to rain inside the vehicle. Water drips onto the mannequin seated within, ivy covering the interior and winding itself around the lifeless passengers dressed in stiff clothing, forever soaked in a mechanical downpour. Dalí created the first “Rainy Taxi” for the 1938 International Surrealist Exhibition in Paris. The idea was to shock. To subvert. To make people uncomfortable. And it still works.

Car-Naval

Above the Cadillac, perched improbably on tall spindly columns, floats a wooden rowboat, just hanging there in the air like it belongs. Dangling from its hull are dozens of glassy blue droplets, giving the impression that the boat is constantly weeping a surreal rainstorm down onto the car below. This isn’t just any boat, it was Gala’s, Dalí’s lifelong muse and partner. He suspended it here as part of a bizarre installation he called “Car-Naval” or “Naval Rain”, tying sea and sky together in one theatrical downpour.

Supporting this upside-down boat is an astonishingly peculiar column: a towering structure composed of stacked black car tires. This pillar rises from the ground in a twist of industrial surrealism, unexpectedly beautiful in its repetition, almost totem-like. If you look closely at its base, you’ll see it rests on an abstract, writhing statue of two black figures: they appear to be wrestling or entangled, their limbs locked in a dramatic pose. One figure holds the weight of the boat above, arms raised as if bearing the burden of this nautical dream.

Embedded into the tire column’s surface are numerous white sculpted faces, eerily calm, identical, and spaced rhythmically up the length of the support. These expressionless visages peer blankly out from the dark texture, creating an unsettling contrast. They might evoke death masks, or dreamlike repetitions of a forgotten identity. They feel ghostly. Anonymous. As if the column is not just holding up the boat, but memorializing lost souls beneath it.

Fishmonger’s Hall

Heading back inside, make your way to Room #5, known as the Fishmonger’s Hall (Sala de les Pescaderies). The room gets its unusual name from the fact that it once housed the fish market back when the site functioned as Figueres’ municipal theatre. Today, it’s one of the more spacious galleries in the museum and serves as a sort of stylistic sampler of Dalí’s work across the decades.

The walls are lined with paintings that span his career, from early pieces tinged with the influence of Picasso and Matisse to his more surreal and theatrical later works. One standout is the whimsical and bizarre “Soft Self-Portrait with Fried Bacon” (1941), where Dalí’s own face droops like melted wax, held up by wooden crutches.

Dalí’s portrait of Picasso is part tribute, part psychological riddle. While he admired Picasso’s genius, he also saw him as a rival, and painted him accordingly: distorted, strange, and filled with symbolic oddities. It’s not a straightforward homage, but a surreal interpretation that reflects both reverence and unease.

This is The Seed of a New Generation, one of Dalí’s later works. It shows a seated female figure, possibly Gala, whose body appears to dissolve into roots or branches, dotted with blue seed-like forms. Set against a soft coastal background, the painting blends themes of decay, rebirth, and transformation. It’s a quiet but eerie meditation on legacy and the strange beauty of regeneration, typical of Dalí’s final years.

Grand Hall

As you leave the gallery, you step into one of the museum’s most striking spaces: the grand hall beneath the impressive cupola. This vast, echoing chamber once served as the theater’s stage, and Dalí turned it into the beating heart of his museum. Looking up, the ceiling isn’t just a ceiling. It’s a massive geodesic dome, its glass panels forming a shimmering, faceted eye that seems to watch over the room. Sunlight pours through, bouncing across the floor in geometric patterns. Dalí imagined this as a kind of cosmic lens, his personal center of the universe. He even claimed, with typical flair, that the exact middle of the cosmos was located right beneath that very spot.

But your gaze won’t stay upward for long. Across the room, rising almost to the top of the dome, is a colossal painting. It shows the towering torso of a faceless figure, rooted with a tree growing from its neck and a gaping arch through its center. This towering mural is known as “Labyrinth.” Dalí originally painted it in 1941 as a backdrop for a ballet inspired by the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, and here, in this reimagined theatre, it finally found its permanent stage.

The image is surreal, haunting, and almost cinematic. A giant, faceless human form dominates the canvas, its body transformed into a kind of living landscape. There’s an arched doorway carved straight through its chest, opening into… something. A passage? A void? A memory? Beyond it, you can just make out shadowy cypress trees and a flicker of blue sea, like fragments of a dream slipping out of reach. The figure’s head is gone, replaced instead by a gnarled bare tree that seems to grow from the neck and reach up toward a pale sky.

Cliffs and waves bleed into skin and stone, the Catalan coast becomes anatomy, and the body becomes geography. It’s unsettling, beautiful, and weirdly still. Like the rest of the museum, it doesn’t hand you answers. Instead, it dares you to step into the unknown, through that chest-shaped portal, and follow your own thread through the maze.

Now take a moment to scan the ceiling and upper walls of the stage hall. Dalí couldn’t help himself when it came to adding more drama. Look closely, and you might catch his cheeky nod to Michelangelo: a pair of outstretched hands, nearly touching, float high above you. It’s a clear wink to the iconic Creation of Adam, only this time, filtered through Dalí’s surrealist lens.

Along the ledges, more mannequins and statues linger in shadowy niches. Some draped, some contorted, some just quietly watching. The entire space begins to feel less like a museum and more like a stage set, where painting, sculpture, architecture, and illusion all blend together into one dreamlike performance.

“The Louse and the Flea” is a surrealist installation that serves as a playful tribute to two eccentric street performers from Dalí’s childhood in Figueres. These local characters were known for cranking out tunes on a barrel organ, though by most accounts, they weren’t exactly musical virtuosos. Still, they made their rounds through the city streets, trading their off-key melodies for a few coins and plenty of curious glances. Dalí, ever the collector of odd memories, immortalized them here in his own wonderfully strange way.

Dali’s Tomb

Before you head deeper into the museum, there’s one small but powerful detail you shouldn’t overlook: a plain white stone set into the floor near the center of the courtyard. It’s easy to miss, surrounded by all the theatrical chaos, but this unassuming slab marks Dalí’s final resting place. Beneath it lies the artist himself, buried in 1989 exactly where he wanted to be, at the very core of his greatest creation.

The Treasure Room

From the stage area, most visitors proceed to the Treasure Room, or Sala Tresor, a quiet, dimly lit gallery located on the ground floor. It’s small, easy to miss if you’re not paying attention, but worth the detour. This intimate space was designed to evoke a vault, rich in red paint like velvet, creating a sense of a sacred chamber where Dalí kept some of his most prized works, the crown jewels of his painting career.

Leda Atomica

“Leda Atomica” (1949) is one of Dalí’s most precise and philosophical works, capturing his muse Gala seated beside a swan in a composition where nothing touches, everything floats, suspended midair in perfect isolation. Inspired by the myth of Leda and the Swan, Dalí reinterprets the ancient tale through the lens of atomic theory and reverence.

In the original Greek myth, the god Zeus transforms into a swan and seduces, or assaults, Leda, the queen of Sparta, an encounter that results in the birth of Helen of Troy. But Dalí strips the scene of sensuality and instead renders the Gala divine, mathematical, and untouchable.

Objects like books, pedestals, and even droplets of water hover weightlessly around her, casting no shadows. This stillness and separation reflect Dalí’s “nuclear mysticism,” his post-World War II artistic philosophy influenced by the atomic age and the revelation that all matter is made of particles suspended in space. The result is both a portrait of Gala as a celestial ideal and a metaphysical meditation on the structure of reality. She becomes not just a muse, but the gravitational center of a carefully balanced universe.

Basket of Bread

Another unexpected piece is Basket of Bread (1945). At first glance, it’s deceptively simple: a single loaf resting in a round wicker basket, set against a deep, almost velvety black background. No surreal symbols, no floating body parts, no dream logic. Just bread. But the realism is startling. Dalí painted every crack in the crust, every fold of the cloth beneath it, with such precision that it seems almost sacred. You can practically smell the flour, feel the rough weave of the linen, and hear the crunch of the crust if you reach in and tear off a piece.

Dalí often returned to bread throughout his career; it wasn’t just food, it was a symbol. Of nourishment, yes, but also of tradition, of ritual, even eroticism. He saw it as a kind of visual shorthand for life’s essentials. However, this version, painted in the aftermath of World War II, feels especially poignant. Created just months after the atomic bombs fell on Japan, Basket of Bread seems to ask: What still matters when everything else breaks down? What survives? Maybe it’s this, a humble loaf, rendered with reverence.

Dalí once called it one of his finest technical works, and you can see why. It’s so controlled, so still, that it almost feels like time has stopped around it. Placed here, among works where gravity is optional and flesh becomes landscape, this quiet little painting hits differently. It’s grounding. A moment of pause in a museum that rarely stops moving. And maybe that’s the point. Even in the most surreal corners of his mind, Dalí made space for the real.

The Mae West Room

Next, we climb into one of the museum’s most iconic and wonderfully disorienting installations: the Mae West Room. This one’s an absolute must-see. At first glance, it appears to be a quirky little sitting room filled with mismatched décor: a bright red lip-shaped sofa, a fireplace shaped suspiciously like a nose, two paintings hanging side by side, and a massive blonde curtain billowing around the space. It all feels a bit odd… until you climb the short staircase at the back and peer through a special lens or arched viewing frame.

And then it clicks. In an instant, the room transforms, you’re looking straight into the face of Mae West, the glamorous 1920s Hollywood star. The sculptures become her eyes, the sofa her lips, the fireplace her nose. The curtain? A voluminous sweep of platinum hair, draped like stage curtains framing her larger-than-life persona. It’s an astonishing anamorphic illusion, a 3D trompe-l’oeil that turns a space you can walk through into a portrait you can only see from one precise angle.

Dalí first dreamed up this visual pun in the 1930s with a collage titled “Face of Mae West (Useable as an Apartment),” imagining her features made entirely from furniture. Decades later, with the help of architect Oscar Tusquets, he brought the concept to life here in full scale.

What seems like a set of simple framed eyes on the wall when you step closer, you’ll see they’re tiny Catalan landscapes, cleverly disguised as eyeballs. The two fireplaces that form her nostrils even flicker with glowing light, breathing a little life into the illusion.

Retrospective Bust of a Woman

Upstairs, the hallways are lined with small glass cases, each displaying a fascinating mix of artworks from different phases of Dalí’s eclectic career. One of my favourites is Retrospective Bust of a Woman (1933), one of his earliest and most iconic surrealist assemblages. At first glance, it’s both humorous and unsettling: a mannequin-style bust of a woman is adorned with unexpected, dreamlike elements. Corn cobs are fastened like earrings or breasts, a loaf of bread rests precariously on her head like a crown, and her shoulders are draped in a necklace made from an old zoetrope film strip. All of it is backed by a vivid red velvet display covered in taxidermied birds, further pushing the piece into bizarre, theatrical territory.

Each element is carefully chosen, as always with Dalí. The corn might hint at fertility, food, or even absurdity. The bread, an obsession of Dalí’s, blurs the line between the sacred and the mundane. And that film strip, showing a head repeatedly being removed and restored, plays with themes of identity, repetition, and time.

Make a quick detour as you approach Rooms 15-22, then take the staircase up to Rooms 12-14. Up the stairs you find a decorative doorway installation, designed to resemble a grotesque or caricatured face, made from unexpected materials in true Dalí fashion. The arch of the door becomes a pair of exaggerated red lips, an upside-down doll’s legs form the nose, and the eyes are made from doll heads surrounded by dark, nest-like lashes. The upper part of the “hair” is made of bundled corn cobs, cascading like curls from behind golden velvet curtains. There’s even a massive rock seemingly crushing the top of the head, adding to the theatrical absurdity. It’s unsettling, playful, and unmistakably Dalí.

The Palace of the Wind

Coming back down the stairs, make your way towards one of the most expansive and dramatic spaces in the entire museum, the Palace of the Wind Room (Sala Palau del Vent). Once the main audience hall of the old theater, it’s now a soaring gallery filled with Dalí’s more personal and late-career works. But the first thing you’ll notice isn’t on the walls, it’s above your head.

Look up. Spanning the entire ceiling is a monumental mural Dalí painted between 1972 and 1973, titled Palace of the Wind. It’s a dizzying, celestial vision of Dalí and Gala seen from below, their nude bodies floating skyward, arms outstretched, as though they’re ascending into the heavens. The figures are dramatically foreshortened, giving the illusion you’re lying flat on the floor looking up at gods, or ghosts, disappearing into the clouds.

Open drawers slide out of Dalí’s leg, a recurring symbol he used to represent hidden memories or thoughts, drawing from his fascination with Freud. Long-legged elephants, their delicate limbs stretched impossibly thin, drift across the sky. And in one corner, Dalí and Gala stand watching a ship sail off, a poetic nod to their homeland of Empordà, and Dalí’s idea of destiny drifting just beyond reach.

Just off this gallery is a dim side room where the surreal continues in a more futuristic form. Dalí was fascinated by holograms, and this space often displays some of his most experimental 3D works.

Galatea of the Spheres

Galatea of the Spheres (1952) is one of Dalí’s most striking tributes to Gala, his muse, blending atomic theory, spiritual symbolism, and personal devotion. At first glance, the painting appears as a constellation of floating spheres, but step back and her face emerges, serene, fragmented, and ethereal. Dalí was obsessed at the time with “nuclear mysticism,” the idea that matter was made up of invisible particles, and this work reflects that fascination. Gala’s portrait is constructed entirely of softly shaded spheres, as if her form is dissolving or being reassembled at the molecular level.

The title references the myth of Galatea, the statue brought to life by love, casting Gala as both muse and divine creation. By portraying her in this way, Dalí merges science with spirituality, depicting love as a force that transcends physical form. Technically, the painting showcases Dalí’s classical training, chiaroscuro, and anatomical precision, but the composition is pure surrealism. It’s a work that asks you to step back, look again, and consider the invisible forces that hold everything, matter, memory, devotion, together.

The Bedroom

Tucked quietly away on the first floor, the bedroom offers a rare and unexpectedly intimate glimpse into Dalí’s world. It’s not flashy like the courtyard or mind-bending like the Mae West Room; instead, it feels curiously grounded, yet still deeply surreal. The centrepiece is a shell-shaped bed, opulent and strange, said to have come from the famed Parisian brothel Le Chabanais, a louche nod to history and desire. Once rumoured to have belonged to a mistress of Napoleon III, it adds a theatrical layer to the space, as if even rest had to be performed. The mattress, framed in soft curves, sits low and regal, almost like a clamshell waiting to close around its occupant.

In place of a nightstand, a skeletal golden gorilla is looming in the corner. It’s haunting and absurd all at once, but look closer, its hollow torso contains a delicate bust of the Virgin Mary, tucked inside the ribs like a strange relic. A reminder that for Dalí, the sacred and the bizarre always shared a bed.

One quieter gem in the room is a tapestry version of “The Persistence of Memory”, Dalí’s famous melting clocks. While the original painting lives in New York, this richly colored woven piece still captures the essence of that dreamlike unravelling of time. It fits perfectly here, reminding you that in Dalí’s world, nothing is fixed, not even time itself.

Michelangelo’s sculpture of Moses

Stepping back out, you follow the corridor until it opens onto a small balcony overlooking the Stage Hall you visited earlier. From up here, the perspective completely shifts, offering a striking, bird’s-eye view of the space below. It’s the perfect moment to pause and take it all in from a new angle.

Just at the end of the hall, stands a replica of Michelangelo’s sculpture of Moses, created by Catalan sculptor Frederic Marès. But in true Dalí fashion, the scene gets stranger: perched above the statue are a carved wooden octopus and the head of a rhinoceros, adding a surreal twist to this otherwise classical composition.

Gala Contemplating the Mediterranean Sea

Above your head, you can admire one of Dali’s double-image prints, called “Gala Contemplating the Mediterranean Sea”. Up close, it appears to show Gala gazing out of a sunlit window. But from about 20 meters away, the image dissolves and reassembles into the unmistakable face of Abraham Lincoln. Dalí loved playing with visual perception in this way, and these works reward patience and movement.

Cybernetic Princess

Stepping up a few steps into the dark Room #18, you’ll find one of the museum’s most quietly haunting pieces: the Cybernetic Princess. At the center is a funerary heart, constructed with delicate printed circuits that shimmer like something halfway between machine and relic. It’s Dalí’s surreal homage to Princess Tou Wan, a real-life Chinese noblewoman from the Han Dynasty whose body was buried in a suit of articulated jade panels, stitched together with gold wire to preserve and protect her in the afterlife. Here, Dalí replaces that ancient jade with modern circuitry, technology reimagined as spiritual armour.

The princess herself appears as a kind of cyborg relic, part sacred object, part post-human vision. She’s framed by a softly glowing folding screen adorned in silk with traditional Oriental patterns, floral motifs, birds in flight, and curling gold lines, all of which contrast sharply with the cold logic of her mechanical “heart.” The screen acts almost like a shrine enclosure, turning the entire scene into a delicate paradox: emotion and machine, past and future, human and synthetic.

The Dalí d’Or Room

Moving along our route, we make our way to the back of the room, into the Dalí d’Or Room (the “Room of Gold”). This is a small, vault-like gallery named after Dalí’s fascination with gold (he once designed Dalí d’or golden coins). Among its standout pieces is a striking gilded bust of Jesus wearing a crown of thorns. Rendered in gleaming gold, the sculpture merges sacred symbolism with Dalí’s signature surreal flair, echoing his later artistic phase of “nuclear mysticism,” where science, spirituality, and classicism intertwine. The use of gold here isn’t just decorative; it elevates the piece into a kind of religious icon, both radiant and haunting. Much like his famous Christ of Saint John of the Cross, this work reflects Dalí’s evolving reverence for divine imagery, filtered through a lens of theatricality and philosophical inquiry.

Optical Illusions and Oddities

As you make your way toward the museum’s end, you pass through the upper loggias and corridors that host Dalí’s experiments with perception. In one area, you’ll find a collection of stereoscopic paintings: paired canvases that look abstract until you view them with special 3D glasses or from a certain angle, suddenly merging into a single 3D image. Dalí was fascinated by depth, so he painted scenes in double to create a crude 3D effect. One such pair is “Dalí Lifting the Skin of the Sea”, two seemingly identical paintings that reveal 3D relief when properly viewed.

Dalí Jewels

As you make your way toward the exit, you pass through the Galeries Dalí, arcade-style corridors that often house rotating exhibits or supplemental collections. One of the highlights here is the Dalí Jewels gallery, located in a climate-controlled annex next door. Inside, you’ll find 39 of Dalí’s fantastical jewelry creations, including the iconic ruby heart brooch that literally beats, and a dazzling necklace featuring ruby lips set on a cascade of pearls and diamonds.

Dalí’s jewellery designs are a brilliant yet often overlooked extension of his surrealist imagination. Between 1941 and 1970, he created 39 original pieces, crafted in New York by jeweller Carlos Alemany, using gold, platinum, and an array of precious stones. These were not just decorative objects; they were miniature sculptures infused with Dalí’s signature symbols: beating hearts, floating eyes, ruby lips, and elephants with spindly legs. Dalí saw these jewels as expressions of beauty with no practical function, designed to provoke wonder and invite the viewer into his dreamlike world.

And so the tour comes to a close, leaving you wide-eyed, maybe a little dazed, and stirred. You’ve just wandered through the inner workings of someone else’s imagination. And not just anyone’s, Dalí’s. It’s strange, overwhelming, and brilliant. But that’s the point. This isn’t the kind of museum you breeze through to tick boxes. It’s a place to get lost in. To marvel. To second-guess what you thought you knew about art. To smirk, to gape, to feel something shift. You won’t leave quite the same as you came.

Happy Travels, Adventurers

The post Ultimate Self-Guided Tour of the Dalí Theatre-Museum in Figueres first appeared on The Creative Adventurer.

Table Of Contents

1. Visitor Information
2. Ground Floor: Cabinet de Réception
3. Moreau's Chimeras
4. The Study & Reception Room
5. Dining Room
6. Bedroom
7. Boudoir
8. Hercules Among the Daughters of Thespius
9. Tyrtée chantant pendant le combat
10. The Muses Leaving Their Father Apollo to Go Out and Light the World
11. The Chimeras
12. Leda and Jupiter
13. Jupiter and Semele
14. The Life of Humanity
15. The Unicorns

Who Was Gustave Moreau?

Born in Paris in 1826, Gustave Moreau was a pivotal figure in the Symbolist movement. Raised in a cultured household, his father an architect, his mother a musician, Moreau’s childhood was embedded with classical literature and the visual arts. After studying at the École des Beaux-Arts, he developed a distinctive style that fused biblical, mythological, and literary themes with intricate details and jewel-toned palettes. His work, often described as dreamlike and esoteric, influenced a generation of artists, including Henri Matisse and Georges Rouault.

Symbolist Style

Gustave Moreau’s art style is best described as Symbolist, though his work transcends easy categorization. At its heart, Symbolism was a reaction against realism and naturalism, aiming instead to express the intangible: dreams, emotions, spiritual truths, and the mysteries of myth and religion. Moreau embodied this movement with an almost obsessive intensity.

His paintings are lush, fantastical, and densely layered with allegorical meaning. You’ll often find figures from Greek, Biblical, or literary sources, Orpheus, Salome, Oedipus, and others, placed in otherworldly settings teeming with jewel-toned detail. Rather than narrate myths straightforwardly, Moreau reimagines them through his own psychological and spiritual lens. His compositions are ornate and sometimes deliberately ambiguous, filled with intricate patterns, golden halos, and surreal architecture that blurs the line between the divine and the dreamlike.

A Museum Born from a Vision

In 1895, Moreau began converting his family home at 14 Rue de La Rochefoucauld into a museum dedicated to his life’s work. He meticulously designed the space to showcase his paintings, drawings, and personal artifacts, ensuring that future generations could experience his art in its intended context. Upon his death in 1898, he bequeathed the house and its contents to the French state, stipulating that the collection remain intact.

Ground Floor: Cabinet de Réception

Your journey begins on the ground floor, and you enter the various rooms which have been transformed into the Cabinet de Réception, or reception room. Each of the six rooms serves as a modern cabinet of curiosities. But rather than the walls being lined with shelves holding collections of strange, rare, and wondrous objects, the rooms are stacked with over 400 paintings, hundreds of drawings, and an exceptional collection of watercolours.

The paintings spanning his entire career, from dramatic works like Lady Macbeth, inspired by Shakespeare, to more experimental pieces like a delicate, almost abstract Bathsheba. So by now, you might be thinking, how on earth can only six rooms hold so many paintings? Well, the answer is that there are hidden cupboards, pivoting display panels, and even doorways that open to reveal more paintings inside. It’s like discovering a secret archive within the museum walls.

Moreau’s Chimeras

One of the most recurring figures in Moreau’s work is the chimera, a creature reimagined far beyond its classical origins. Rather than the traditional lion-goat-serpent hybrid, Moreau’s chimeras often have the hindquarters of a horse and broad, shadowy wings, combining elements from various animals into something fantastical and wholly his own. In French, the word chimère also suggests an unattainable dream or illusion, adding another layer of meaning. Moreau often used these beings to symbolize woman as the embodiment of unconscious desire and the magnetic pull of the unknown. In Les Chimères, the women aren’t passive muses but active participants in their own fantasies and illusions. Through his layered symbolism and exquisite detail, Moreau invites us to reflect on the dualities at the heart of human experience: beauty and danger, illusion and truth, desire and destruction.

First Floor; The Sentimental Museum

The Study & Reception Room

After taking in the treasures of the ground floor, make your way upstairs to discover the rooms preserved just as they were when Gustave Moreau lived here, his former apartment, frozen in time. The study or library is a testament to Moreau’s intellectual pursuits. Lined with bookshelves filled with volumes on art, mythology, and literature, the room also houses a substantial desk where the artist would have engaged in reading and writing. Personal artifacts, including sketches and correspondence, are displayed, offering a deeper understanding of Moreau’s scholarly interests and artistic inspirations.

A standout is the glass case with brass doors, home to ancient ceramics and two striking kraters from the tomb of an Apulian princess, part of a collection once owned by his father, Louis. Scattered among these are small bronzes, plaster casts, and intaglio reproductions that Moreau often referenced in his work. The adjoining library shelves are stacked with 16th- and 17th-century architectural treatises, Vitruvius, Serlio, Vignola, many from his architect father’s collection. One highlight is a beautifully illustrated 1836 edition of Flaxman’s work, a major influence on Moreau’s style.

Dining Room

Continue into the house, you stop by the dining room, which stands out with its distinctive sea-green and red walls, a colour choice that adds a serene yet sophisticated ambiance. The room is furnished with a polished wooden dining table surrounded by matching chairs, and the walls are embellished with decorative mouldings and framed artworks.

Bedroom

Moreau’s bedroom is small, featuring a modest bed with an ornate headboard, a writing desk, and various personal items. The room is illuminated by natural light filtering through lace-curtained windows, casting a gentle glow on the patterned wallpaper and antique furnishings. One the wall are paintings of his family, many of his mother and family, and one beautiful self-portrait.

Boudoir

Adjacent to the bedroom is the boudoir, a small yet elegant room designed for relaxation and contemplation. Furnished with a comfortable armchair, a delicate writing table, and adorned with decorative objects and artworks, the boudoir reflects Moreau’s penchant for creating spaces that inspire creativity and introspection.

The Second-floor workshop

Climbing to the second floor, I stepped into the first of Moreau’s grand studios, purpose-built in 1895 by architect Albert Lafon at the artist’s request, specifically to display his monumental canvases. The scale of the room alone is breathtaking, made to house Moreau’s most ambitious and deeply symbolic works. This studio is where you feel Moreau pushing the limits of painting, not just in scale, but in the emotional and mythological weight of every image.

Hercules Among the Daughters of Thespius

Moreau likely began Hercules Among the Daughters of Thespius around 1853 and though he enlarged the painting in 1882, Moreau never fully completed it, calling it a work still in progress. The composition draws heavily from Théodore Chassériau’s Tepidarium, which Moreau admired. But his version of this rarely depicted myth, too risqué for many, is deeply personal. Here, the young Hercules, fresh from slaying the lion of Cithaeron, prepares to father children with all 50 daughters of King Thespius, offered to him in gratitude.

Moreau freezes the moment before this mythic act of generation. Hercules sits contemplative, echoing Michelangelo in form and mood. Behind him rise two pedestals bearing sun and moon symbols, bulls and sphinxes, representing the dual forces of life and creation. The daughters drift around him, some asleep, others lost in reverie. For Moreau, this isn’t just a sensual episode, it’s spiritual, almost sacrificial. Hercules, he writes, is “filled with immense sadness… and the solemn exultation of one who gives life, bound by destiny to acts of creation and sacrifice alike.”

Tyrtée chantant pendant le combat

As I turned the corner into the studio, I found myself face to face with something monumental, Tyrtée chantant pendant le combat. The sheer scale of it stopped me in my tracks. Stretching nearly two stories tall, it felt less like a painting and more like a portal into an ancient world, where poetry and battle collide in a moment of raw, mythic power.

The scene centres on Tyrtaeus, the semi-legendary Spartan poet-soldier, raised above the chaos of war, singing amidst the clash of spears and shields. Though his body is dwarfed by the canvas, his presence is magnetic. With arms outstretched and face lifted skyward, he becomes a conduit for divine inspiration—his voice both battle cry and hymn.

What struck me most was the stillness around him. In a swirl of movement, soldiers frozen mid-charge, horses rearing, limbs tangled, Tyrtaeus stands serenely unshaken. Moreau captures not just the violence of war, but its spiritual theatre: this isn’t just combat, it’s a stage where art uplifts the soul and lends purpose to struggle.

The Muses Leaving Their Father Apollo to Go Out and Light the World

The Muses Leaving Their Father Apollo to Go Out and Light the World captures the moment when the nine Muses depart from their father, Apollo, to fulfill their divine mission of inspiring and enlightening humanity through the arts and sciences. In this composition, Apollo is portrayed with a serene yet commanding presence, seated at an elevated position as he oversees his daughters’ departure. The Muses, depicted as graceful and ethereal figures, embody various artistic and scholarly domains. Some of them look back to Apollo, fearful of departing, while others look down as if resigned to their fate. Moreau captures a wonderfully human moment of emotion from the gods here in this painting.

The Chimeras

To the left of the staircase stands one of the unfinished masterpieces of the collection, Les Chimeras. Gustave Moreau’s Les Chimères (The Chimaeras), was painted in 1884, a painting that deptcts a mythic, dreamlike forest teeming with nude female figures and fantastical hybrid creatures, centaurs, winged beasts, fauns, and minotaurs. It’s a visual tapestry of illusion, desire, and the untamed recesses of the human psyche.

At the centre, Lust rides a goat; nearby, a mysterious Eve-like figure embraces a serpent with a human face. On the right, women appear with mythic creatures: Europa astride a winged bull, another caressing a unicorn, reminiscent of The Lady and the Unicorn tapestries. One woman pauses to listen as an angel whispers music into her ear.

The composition is both lyrical and chaotic, with women dispersed across a shadowy, enchanted landscape. Unlike passive muses, these women are active participants in their own surreal visions, locked in silent communion with their mythological companions. Some embrace their chimera-like counterparts, others appear lost in reverie, their expressions unreadable. The setting, part wilderness, part stage, evokes a world that is both ancient and psychological, where every figure and form is charged with symbolic weight.

Leda and Jupiter

The myth of Leda and Jupiter, who seduced her in the form of a swan, has long captivated artists seeking a poetic excuse to explore this salacious tale. Moreau, too, was drawn to its sensual and symbolic layers. For his 1865 version, he recalled a lost Michelangelo Leda, known through a sculpture by Ammannati, of which Moreau owned a plaster cast. But his Leda is more than mythic seduction; she’s rendered with a spiritual ambiguity, evoking both the Virgin of the Annunciation and the Queen in a Coronation. Earthly Love flutters away in triumph, while two winged spirits lift Jupiter’s thunderbolt and diadem, symbols of divine authority, beside his eagle. Below, fauns, dryads, and nymphs kneel in reverence. Even Pan, the embodiment of nature itself, gestures solemnly, summoning all life to witness this cosmic union, a mystery at once erotic, sacred, and eternal.

Third Floor Studio

Make your way up the winding spiral staircase to the third floor which features another grouping of some of Moreau’s best and most sprawling works of art.

Jupiter and Semele

The third-floor studio begins with a showstopper: Jupiter and Semele, painted in 1895 for Léopold Goldschmidt and later gifted to the museum. This towering, radiant canvas commands the room with its electric palette of deep blues, fiery reds, and gleaming greens. At its heart is the myth of Semele, who, tricked by the jealous goddess Juno, asks to see Jupiter in his divine form, an overwhelming vision that destroys her. Semele is shown obliterated in a blaze of divine splendour, while a winged figure, possibly the goat-footed spirit of earthly love, or Bacchus, her unborn son, shields his eyes. Moreau reimagines Jupiter as a youthful, beardless poet-god, cradling a lyre like Apollo.

Beneath the throne, Death wields a bloody sword and Pain wears a crown of thorns, holding a lily, symbols of suffering at the root of human experience. Nearby, Pan, half-goat, stirs with tiny beings struggling to break free, bridging the mortal world with the shadowy depths below. At the base, Night emerges crowned by a crescent moon, surrounded by monsters of Erebus, enigmas still waiting for the light. Twin sphinxes flank the scene, guardians of past and future. From darkness to divine radiance, the painting unfolds vertically like a spiritual ascent, a journey of the soul through myth, mystery, and transcendence.

The Life of Humanity

The Life of Humanity was our favourite painting, a towering polyptych composed of nine panels arranged in three tiers, crowned by a lunette depicting a bloodied Christ, an image of suffering and redemption that frames the entire cycle. In the top row, Adam represents the innocence of childhood: morning prayer, midday ecstasy, and evening rest. The middle tier is devoted to youth, with Orpheus at its heart, flanked by Hesiod, who appears at morning (inspiration) and evening (grief), while Orpheus sings at noon, surrounded by listening animals and the guiding muse Melpomene. The final row descends into the iron weight of adulthood: Cain, symbolizing work, fatigue, and death.

Moreau explained this progression as the arc of all human life: purity (Adam), poetic longing (Orpheus), and suffering (Cain), redeemed ultimately through Christ. The lush, pastoral scenes draw on Hesiod’s mountainous homeland, and Orpheus stands as a figure of balance and beauty. In the final panel, Hesiod grieves, abandoned by his muse, perhaps a nod to the poet’s retreat from epic tales to quiet moral reflection.

Interestingly, Moreau included Orpheus, a pagan figure, between two biblical icons. He believed Orpheus better embodied youth and creative genius than any religious counterpart, calling it “far more intelligent” to choose a figure born of art and imagination over one rooted solely in faith.

The Unicorns

“I saw one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen!” wrote collector Émile Straus on July 14, 1887, after stepping out of Gustave Moreau’s studio and laying eyes on The Unicorns. I can only imagine the spell it must have cast when it was first on display. The painting itself is a luminous dream, clearly inspired by The Lady and the Unicorn tapestries, which had recently been acquired by the Cluny Museum in 1882. In pursuit of what he called “necessary richness,” Moreau blends medieval and Renaissance motifs, sometimes even borrowing from illustrated journals like Le Magasin pittoresque. He once described the setting as “an enchanted island, inhabited only by women, a perfect excuse for every ornamental flourish imaginable.”

In this strange, sumptuous realm, princesses draped in lavish robes embrace unicorns that remain calm and aloof. One woman clutches a lily and a gleaming sword; another’s dress is embroidered with mythical creatures and scenes of epic combat, including Saint George slaying the dragon. A chalice sits quietly in the corner, perhaps the Grail, adding yet another layer of mystery. What strikes me most is the tension Moreau creates between line and colour. The drawing feels delicate and restrained, while the colours shimmer with life, creating a visual rhythm that’s both intricate and elusive. The Unicorns is one of Moreau’s most spellbinding works, a painting that doesn’t reveal itself easily, but stays with you, lingering like a half-remembered dream.

Every inch of this museum reflects Moreau’s singular world, obsessively symbolic, richly detailed, and deeply personal. For those seeking something off the typical museum path, a visit to the Musée Gustave Moreau feels less like a tour and more like stepping into the dreamscape of a forgotten genius!

The post The Ultimate Self-Guided Tour of the Musée Gustave Moreau first appeared on The Creative Adventurer.

If you’ve visited Prague, there is no doubt you will have come across Mucha’s work. He is one of the most prolific Czech painters in the world, and the city LOVES his paintings and posters. They seem to appear on every street corner and postcard in Prague. His famous prints have become so popular they are often sold at University Poster fairs and cover the walls of hundreds of dorm rooms around the world.

Mucha’s Art Nouveau

His style of art is quintessentially Art Nouveau. Most of his more commercial works feature images of beautiful young women in flowing dresses surrounded by lush flowers. He kept the tones for these advertorial pieces in pale pastels, typical of the art nouveau style. But the ‘Slav Epic’ is something completely different. A departure from his commercial work and something genuinely personal to the artist. If you are interested in learning more about the Slavic people and their history, this is an immersive and exciting way to do it!

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Where to Find the Artwork

I am SO EXCITED to finally get to update this blog with the new locations for the Slav Epic. When I visited Prague in 2015, I didn’t know I would be one of the last people to see the Slav Epic in person. I caught the exhibition just a few months before it closed. Until the end of 2016, the Slav Epic was housed in the National Gallery’s Veletržní Palace in Prague.

Moravský Krumlov

Originally, the canvases were exhibited in the city of Moravský Krumlov. They were displayed in the castle and remained a precious treasure of the town for over 50 years. Then, the city of Prague contested that the painting had been left to them by Mucha in the first place. And they shouldn’t be displayed so far away from where most tourists visit. But Prague had no space suitable for showing all these incredibly large works of art. You almost need an airport hanger! The city of Moravský Krumlov felt the paintings needed an appropriately regal and elevated space. They wanted them to be displayed inside the old palace of Moravský Krumlov, where they felt like they belonged. 

Political Battle over the Paintings

In 2012, the city of Prague eventually won the right to display the works. They found a temporary space for them in the National Gallery’s Veletržní Palace. But this space was only to house them for four years. After 2016, the paintings were boxed up, and a political battle between Prague and Moravský Krumlov erupted again. No one could agree on where they would be displayed. They travelled to Japan for international exhibitions, but when they returned, they sat in storage.

Finally, in 2020 the Prague City Council decided to return the paintings to the château in Moravský Krumlov. They will be on display here until 2026. After returning to their original home, the canvas exhibition spaces were repaired to better showcase these incredible works of art.

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Access & Admission 

As the exhibition takes place in Moravský Krumlov, most visitors will arrive via Prague, Vienna or nearby Brno.

The train from Prague to Moravský Krumlov takes about 4 hours (with one transfer.) After arriving at the stations, you can hop on a bus which will take you to the entrance to the castle. If you are travelling from Vienna, the journey is slightly shorter, only 3 hours on the train. The shortest trip will be from Brno, as it is only 1 hour on the train.

Tickets

It’s best to purchase tickets in advance to ensure you won’t be disappointed that they are sold out when you arrive.

Prices: Adults 250 CZK, Seniors 65+ 170 CZK, Students 10-25 years old 150 CZK

Hours

January–May:  9:00 a.m.–4:00 p.m. (last entry at 3 p.m.)
June–August:  9:00 a.m.–5:00 p.m. (last entry at 4 p.m.)
September–December  9:00 a.m.–4:00 p.m. (last entry at 3 p.m.)
all year round: closed on Mondays

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The Size Paintings

Seeing the paintings for the first time in person, you’re immediately awestruck by the sheer size of these canvases. They feel more like walled frescos than simple pictures. Moments are frozen in time, captured in life-sized (and in some cases, larger than life) works of art. Each of the paintings depicts the history of the Slav people, their civilization, wars, and celebrations. The next thing you’ll notice about these paintings is how the people represented differ from Mucha’s other works. These are not the languid, sensual forms of Mucha’s commercial art nouveau posters. These deftly painted scenes profoundly portray the emotions and collective journey of the subjects in each brushstroke.

About Alphonse Mucha

Alfons Maria Mucha, although better known internationally as Alphonse Mucha, was a Czech painter born in 1860. He born in the small town of Ivančice in southern Moravia. Mucha showed an aptitude for painting very early on. He received his secondary education at the Cathedral of St. Peter and Paul in Brno. He was accepted into the arts school firstly as he was also an accomplished singer. Mucha was famously quoted as saying, “for me, the notions of painting, going to church, and music are so closely knit that often I cannot decide whether I like church for its music or music for its place in the mystery which it accompanies.” The dramatic scenes in many religious paintings undoubtedly influenced the art he would later go on to make. 

Mucha in Vienna

At 19 years of age, Mucha travelled to Vienna. There he became an apprentice scenery painter for theatre companies. His flair for the dramatic would continue to be influenced through these explorations. After his apprenticeship, Mucha moved back to Moravia. There he was employed by Count Belize to create portraits, decorative art and lettering for tombstones. Belasi saw Mucha had real talent. He wasn’t just an everyday artist. Belasi brought Mucha with him on his trips to Venice, Florence and Milan. There he was able to introduce him to many more professional artists.

Mucha in Paris

Eventually, Mucha moved to Paris in 1888 and started to professionally study art at the Académie Julian and Académie Colarossi. These schools specialized in studying female nudes and figurative paintings. As well as historical and religious art.

While in Paris, Mucha lived inside the Slavic community boarding houses who famously sheltered struggling artists. It was perhaps living within this community that endowed Mucha to the Slavic people even more. Mucha’s first large client was the Central Library of Fine Arts. It was from here that his career as an illustrator and graphic artist took off. He successfully made a life for himself in Paris for many years, creating commercial art. These printed works featured his iconic attractive sets of women, in flowing gowns and floral backdrops.

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History of the Slav Epic

At the age of 43, Mucha returned to his homeland of Moravia. There, he devoted himself to painting a series about the history of all the Slavic people. Mucha’s inspiration for the series first started when he was researching another assignment. While studying and travelling through the Balkans, he was genuinely struck by the hardships and sufferings of the Slav people. He also noted there was no real documentation of these people’s stories in art. Mucha decided it would be his final task to bring these stories to life with paint.

Although he secured a financier for the giant undertaking, this was more of a passion project for the artist. Sitting in his studio, surrounded by this enormous canvas, Mucha painted the past into reality. The Slav Epic depicts in chronological order the mythologies and histories of the Czechs and Slavic people.

Romanticism

Many of the themes in this series fall under romanticism. Romanticism is characterized by its emphasis on emotion and individualism and the glorification of the past and nature. In these paintings, sensations are portrayed on people’s faces in a far more sophisticated way than before. Looks of horror, terror, awe and apprehension started to round out the range of human emotion in art. Previously emotion had been stunted between pure joy or sadness. Romanticism also elevated folk art, which had previously been thought of as a lesser form of art.

It took Mucha over 14 years to complete the series. In 1928, on the 10th anniversary of Czechoslovakia’s independence, Mucha presented the collection of paintings to the Czech nation. He considered it his most important piece of work he ever created. The Czech Republic cherished the gift. It was like nothing else they had ever seen before. Notably, during World War II, the Slav Epic was one of the first things hidden away before the Nazis took hold of the city and seized works of art.

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The Slavs in Their Original Homeland

The series is set chronological and starts with the painting entitled “The Slavs in their Original Homeland,” painted in 1912. In the 4th to 6th century, the Slavic people lived largely in unpopulated, rural areas, which often were considered marshes. Because there was no national army to protect these farmers, their lands were invaded time and time again.

In this painting, you can see a mother and child hiding in the bushes. Behind them, their village is being burned to the ground. The red fires glowing in the distance to the left of the frame. Their eyes are so vulnerable and seem to cry out to the viewer for help. They look right into your soul. This is a trope that Mucha uses throughout almost the entirety of the series.

In the top corner of the piece, you can see three figures floating in mid-air. The largest of the figures, a priest, holds his hands outstretched. In the same position as Jesus on the cross. The two on either side of him are a young boy and girl. The boy, dressed in blood-red robes represents war. The girl on the right, dressed in white represents peace. The two figures seem to foreshadow the future of the Slavic people. Their history is marred by many wars but also by the hope for peace.

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Colours in the Slav Epic

The colours used in this painting are significant in the series and also in comparison to Mucha’s other works. Most of Mucha’s artworks are pale and delicate. In this series, we find there is definitely a dark tone to his work. Colours here are not just used haphazardly. He uses colour to his advantage and to help tell the story using symbolism.

Many of the paintings throughout the series have two separate planes of existence set in the same scene. Often mythological beings are seen floating above the historic action below. This is Mucha’s way of combining the essential mythologies of the Slavic people to past events.

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 The Celebration of Svantovít 

Sventovit is a Slavic deity of war, fertility and abundance. Sventovit is depicted as a four-headed god with two heads looking forward and two looking back. These four directions are positioned like a compass, looking north, south, east and west. The different directions they point also symbolize the different seasons of the year. Mucha’s next piece, “The Celebration of Svantovít” features the god Sventovit is located in the upper right portion of the painting. The god’s head is just cut off on the top of the canvas. Almost as if we portals cannot look upon him. But we can see some of the branches which sprout forth from his head. He is surrounded by other celestial beings painted in an almost opalescent quality.

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Arcona

Before the 1200s, the Slavs headed westwards and built a temple to Sventovit in the city of Arcona. As Sventovit was also the god of the seasons the Slavs would have a grand celebration every year during the autumn. The festival was obviously held at this temple. Pilgrims would come from all over Europe to celebrate with them here.

In 1168 the Danes attacked the city and destroyed the temple in their conquest of the east. We can see the Danes in the upper left corner of the canvas. They are represented by the fearsome-looking warriors being lead by a pack of wolves.

Celebration

Below the celestial scene, the Slavs are preparing for their autumnal celebrations. The Slavs and pilgrims are all dressed in white, a symbol of purity. Only one character seems to be aware of the incoming attack. A mother holding her child in the center of the frame looks out at the viewer. She is almost begging the viewer to take notice. And save them from the horrors which are about to happen to the peaceful pilgrims and Slavs.

Introduction of the Slavonic Liturgy in Great Moravia

In this painting, the “Introduction of the Slavonic Liturgy in Great Moravia” we have a lot going on. So let’s study the earthly plane first. The scene takes place in Velehrad around the year 880. In the lower right corner of the painting, we see a ray of light shining down. A deacon, with his back turned to the audience, reads out an edict. Sitting on his throne awaiting the reading is Prince Svatopluk of Greater Moravia. The deacon is reading out the announcement that Pope John VIII has officially sanctioned the use of Slavic liturgy.

To the left of the deacon, almost hidden behind a small tree, stands Methodius. Two novices are seen kneeling by his side. The task of translating the Bible into the Slavic language was a job upon which Methodius staked his life. And it would make him a saint. Methodius, and his brother Cyril, both helped with this translation of the Bible. The Pope also made Methodius archbishop for his achievements. In the middle ages, having a bible in your native language was a way of ensuring its legacy.

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Slavic Language

But not everyone is happy to hear this news. The two German priests surrounding Svatopluk, whose faces are shaded and almost hidden in darkness, can barely conceal their anger. These Germans had been making their way through Moravia in the hopes of eliminating the Slavic language for good. They wanted to force the Slavs to learn the German language in order to practice Christianity.

In the very front of the foreground, once more staring out at the audience, stands a young man with his fist clenched. He raises his other hand in the air, which holds a large ring. The circle symbolizes this moment of strength in unity for the Slavic people.

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Boris of Bulgaria and Igor of Russia

Floating above this scene, we have members of the divine realm. In the upper left corner, we can see the Pope sitting on his throne. Beside him, sits the Byzantine emperor, who was the head of the Orthodox Church. Surrounding the great religious leaders Slav who suffered forced Germanification, who now cry out for comfort. In the center of the ethereal world, we see stylized images of Methodius and Cyril as Saints. To the very right, we have the portraits of Boris of Bulgaria and Igor of Russia and their wives. These rulers helped spread the Slavic Bible across the country which helped strengthen their rule and their culture.

Tsar Simeon I of Bulgaria 

Much as the Bible was important in the perpetuation of the Slavic language, art and literature were also significant in ensuring a legacy for this nation. When Methodius died, the Archbishop of Moravia, Prince Svatopluk, under the influence of his German priests, withdrew his support for the Slavic Bible. With this exodus, he also exiled all of Methodius’ followers out of Moravia. They were scholars without a place to call home. Methodius had died and his successor was not recognized by the Pope and therefore had no power. His followers felt they were the only ones left who could continue Methodius’ great work. But all was not yet lost.

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Tsar Simeon I

Luckily, Tsar Simeon I of Bulgaria, who had a great kindness in his heart for the Slavic people, gave the scholar refuge inside his court. Tsar Simeon I, was a powerful ruler. Simeon’s successful campaigns against the Byzantines, Magyars and Serbs led Bulgaria to its greatest territorial expansion ever! It was on its way to being one of the most powerful states in Eastern and Southeast Europe. But Simone was also a lover of literature and art. We can see Simeon himself highlighted here under a golden arch. He is seen dictating to his scribes from his raised dais. Other scholars are spread out all over the court. Almost hastily and messily, writing and reading under the golden light of the throne room.

The painting’s foreground is rather small. The upper portion, which takes up about half the space, focuses on the palace’s decor. The frescoes on the wall feature both Byzantine and Slavic designs. Slavic leaders are painted, and a circular motif is applied in gold to the front of the baldachin.

King Přemysl Otakar II of Bohemia

The fifth painting in the series is entitled “King Přemysl Otakar II of Bohemia.” This painting was made 12 years after the first. The piece depicts King Přemysl Otakar II, who ruled Bohemia from 1253-1278. The King is celebrating the marriage of his niece to the prince of Hungary. This marriage would forge a great alliance and strengthen the bonds of both countries. 

The wedding took place on October 5th, 1264. It was one of the greatest celebrations in Europe’s history to date. Held on the banks of the Danube, under a large canopy, fancy tents were set up along the river to accommodate all the royal guests. The event was dubbed the “Union of Slavic dynasty“. The King happily is greeting his guests inside an ornate tent covered in rich carpets and a beautiful mosaic dome. This scene is lit from above, as if from that celestial place. The light of the hope for the countries’ futures.

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The Coronation of Serbian Tsar Štěpán Dušan

The next painting in the series is the “The The Coronation of Serbian Tsar Štěpán Dušan.” Dušan fought many successful wars, growing the size of the country and enriching the livelihood of his people in the process. On Easter Sunday in 1346, he had himself crowned as the Tsar of the Serbs and Greeks. The painting takes place on the hillside, down from the Church of Saint Marko near Skopje. In this scene, we see crowds of peasants and nobles alike, in line for his coronation. Under Dušan’s rule, Serbia was the major power in the Balkans, and a multi-ethnic and multi-lingual empire. He enacted Dušan’s Code which was a compilation of several legal systems, which is considered to be one of the first acts of the constitution.

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The children will follow in their leader’s footsteps and bring freedom to the Czech people

Dušan is depicted at the centre of the frame, but not larger than any other person presented. Walking in front of him are some young Serbian girls in traditional attire. The children stand at the front of the procession, as Mucha always maintained that “the children will follow in their leader’s footsteps and bring freedom to the Czech people.” In their hands, they carry flowers and olive branches, the symbols of peace and victory. The children’s gaze focuses once more on the viewer, asking them to join in on the celebrations.

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Jan Milíč of Kroměříž

This painting, “Jan Milíč of Kroměříž,” is the first of a triptych in the Slav Epic series. These three paintings jump forward in history slightly and focus on the reformist preachers of the 14th and 15th centuries. Jan Milíč of Kroměříž was a Czech Catholic priest who found himself in opposition with the rest of his clergymen. He found the Catholics to be immoral and indulgent. Their greed was outweighing their piety. 

He redesigned from his official priestly duties and instead dedicated himself to helping the sick and poor of the city of Prague. Milíč made it his mission to persuade the prostitutes of a large house of ill repute to shed their sinful ways and repent. By the sheer eloquence of his words alone, they followed.

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Unlike the rest of the paintings in this series, this one is primarily made up of women. Even Milíč himself is very small in proportion to the rest of the scene. At this moment in time, we can see the former prostitutes shedding their brightly coloured clothes and lavish jewels in exchange for simple, white robes. A mode of dressings that represented their newfound purity.

Jerusalem

Milíč set about building a new church, which he would call his “Jerusalem“. This church would become the Týn Church which now stands in Prague’s Old Town Square. In this painting, we can see the women gathered around the spot that would become this church. The scaffolding reaching high up, making the verticality of the painting one of the most impactful things about this piece. One of the prostitutes in the foreground, dressed in red, has her mouth gagged in order to prevent her from gossiping, a mortal sin.

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Jan Hus Preaching at the Bethlehem Chapel

The second and largest painting in the triptych is “Jan Hus Preaching at the Bethlehem Chapel”. In this dimly lit scene, we see the Czech theologian and philosopher Jan Hus sitting in the center of the Bethlehem Chapel in 1412. Jan was at the height of his popularity at this time. Jan Hus preached against the Catholic Church of Bohemia, as he believed they were using the church for their own gains. And they would not let the Bohemian people have the Slavic language used in church. The scenes show Hus on the left side of the painting, preaching from his pulpit. But Hus, despite being perhaps the most famous character in the scene is not the central focus. The audience is filled with both everyday people and the highest rungs of Bohemia. All together, presented equally.

The church is also filled with famous characters who would shape the future of Bohemia. Perhaps influenced by the teachings of Hus. The future leader of the Hussite army Jan Žižka, stands under a fresco of St. George and the Dragon. In front of the pulpit is a small group of Hus’ students who are diligently taking notes. All of them sit there, transfixed by the words he speaks.

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Queen Sophia, wife of King Váklav IV

On the right side of the frame, we see the bright red canopy of Queen Sophia, wife of King Váklav IV. She sits with her assembly listening to the great lecturer. One of her ladies in waiting turns her head to the side, looking off at a shadowy figure in the corner. This figure represents one of the spying priests who would bring about the death of Jan Hus.

Mucha represents the Bethlehem Chapel as he imagined it. The real church was destroyed in 1836, long before Mucha started this painting. Mucha draws the interior in the high Gothic style as it feels so grand and perhaps reflects the magnificence of the sermons Jan Hus would have been giving. You can visit the new Bethlehem Chapel in Prague today, and while the architecture isn’t nearly as impressive now, its prominence in history is unparalleled.

The Gathering at Křížky

Jan Hus’ teachings were not taken kindly by the papacy. When Alexander V was elected as a pope, he excommunicated Hus. But this would not stop him from preaching. Angered at his insolence, the pope plotted to arrest Hus. He planned an assembly of the Council of Constance to discuss Hus’ opposition to the church. When Hus arrived to have what he thought would be a sensible debate, he was arrested. They repeatedly ask Hus to stop preaching and bend to the ways of the Catholic church but Hus just repeated, “I would not for a chapel of gold retreat from the truth!”.

Hus was burned at the stake for “heresy against the doctrines of the Catholic Church“. As he burned they say he could be heard singing Psalms, a peaceful protestor to the end. But his death would not be in vain. His followers, who called themselves the Hussites, rose up against the Catholic Church. They wanted to take up arms to defend their faith and their right to practice religion in the Slavic language. In 1418, there was a gathering of the Hussites before the great war they would embark on. It is depicted here, in the painting called, “The Gathering at Křížky.”

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Koranda

On the right side of the frame, atop a makeshift pulpit stands the preacher Koranda, one of Jan Hus’ most diligent followers. Koranda preaches to the thousands of followers who have concentrated on the hillside. In the foreground, a young man puts his hands around his mouth, in mid-scream. He is calling out for more pilgrims to come over to this spot and listen to Koranda. Koranda is famously quoted as saying, “the faithful should carry swords, not walking sticks.” It was perhaps this moment that the Hussite Wars began. While the painting’s hills and foreground are lit in a pale morning sunrise, there is a dark sky looming above them. This ominous tone is foreshadowing the devastation that will be brought by impending hostilities.

After the Battle of Grunewald

This scene is perhaps one of the most ghastly of all the paintings in the series. The painting depicts the morning “After the Battle of Grunewald“. The great Battle of Grunewald is one of the most significant medieval European victories in history. It was a show of unity for nations under the thumb of Germany. The Teutonic Knights, a German catholic order, had been ravaging the Baltic lands since the 1400s. They wanted to spread Christianity to the pagan nations as they deemed them “savages”. The Slavs, who were also at war with the German Catholics, saw an opportunity to join forces and create a united front against them. The Slavs, the Poles and the Lithuanians all signed a treaty on July 15th, 1410. This was done to help each other defend themselves against the great Teutonic Knights.

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Polish–Lithuanian Union

The battle at Grunewald in Poland was a bloody affair, but in the end, the Polish–Lithuanian union were the victors. The battle is thought to have been the marking point in history when the balance of power shifted in Central and Eastern Europe. Many historical war scenes are often depicted as gory and bloody and yet Mucha chose a different approach. Instead, the battleground is almost entirely white, like covered in freshly fallen snow. This is once more to show the purity of the fallen soldiers, who died for the good of their country.

At the top of the frame stands Polish King Władysław Jagiełło and his cousin the Lithuanian Grand Duke Vytautas. They look down at the field of dead soldiers in horror. Such a high cost for freedom which should have been granted naturally. A priest in a white hood can be seen blessing the fallen soldiers as he moves throughout the battlefield.

After the Battle of Vítkov

The 11th piece in the series is entitled “After the Battle of Vítkov.” Like the previous painting, this one also focuses on fallen soldiers. Mucha was a pacifist and hated the loss of which war incurred. The battle was between the Czech people and the then King of Hungary, Sigismund, brother of King Wenceslas. Sigismund was thought to be the one who plotted the death of the people’s prophet, Jan Hus. After Hus died, the people refused to accept Sigismund as their king and marched against the Hungarian army, which occupied Prague Castle at the time.

Zižka

The sun rising above the clouds beams down on a figure which represents Zižka, the leader of the Czech army. We have seen Zižka before, first in the church scene listening to Hus’ teachings. Here we see him still fighting for the same things Hus had preached. Zižka is painted here by Mucha almost as a saintly figure, with the light of god cast down upon him.

In the bottom left of the frame, a mother is seen with her children. But she turns away from them, towards the viewer. She looks utterly overcome with pain, exhaustion and defeat. Although her army may have won the battle, many men had to die and she is perhaps thinking about her young children, who will no doubt go to war like so many other young men. These powerful characters looking out at the audience always seem to have these discerning looks, as if they, like the viewer, know what is to come next.

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 Petr of Chelčice 

Mucha aimed with his Slav Epic series to ensure he depicted both sides of the story. And in the painting, “Petr of Chelčice ” we see this balance. While the Hussites were an oppressed people, there were also more extreme factions of Hussites who themselves terrorized many people. This extremist group was called the Taborites. In 1420 the Taborites attacked the village of Vodňany. They plundered the town and burned it to the ground. In the distance of the painting, we see a hint of this action as the black smoke fills the air and almost the entire skyline.

The remaining citizens of Vodňany came to a pond away from the city carrying their dead and wounded in the hopes they would be safe here. The dead are wrapped in white sheets and set against a white pure background. Many of Mucha’s war scenes depict not the action of the battles itself but the after-effects of these traumas on the innocent victims or those left behind. Those who needed to carry on.

Petr Chelčický

In the middle of the frame, we can see a man dressed in a long brown coat and pale blue shawl. He holds a tattered book in his hand, the Czech bible. This is Petr Chelčický. Petr is seen holding the hand of a man, who in anger wants to set off back to the village to avenger his fallen family. But Petr is attempting to calm and dissuade him from seeking revenge.

Chelčický believed and taught pacifism and hated the idea of war. Mucha himself shared in this belief and wanted to highlight the man which he himself looked up to greatly. Petr Chelčický would go on to found the Unity of the Brethren. Their motto was “In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, love.”

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The Hussite King Jiří z Podĕbrad

Despite the strength and unity of the Czech people, Rome was still in opposition to them. In 1458 Bohemia elected its first king; Jiří z Podĕbrad portrayed here in “The Hussite King Jiří z Podĕbrad“. Jiří z Podĕbrad was well-loved by his people. With many successful battles, the Hussites had demanded an acknowledgement from the Church. Jiří z Podĕbrad sent an envoy to Rome with a treaty. He asked that the Pope confirmed his election and grant Bohemia their own religious privileges. The Pope sent back to Prague his cardinal Fantinus de Valle, to the Royal Court in Prague’s Old Town.

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Mucha’s Villains

In Mucha’s series, so many of the villains are seen painted in red. And there is no purer red, than the cardinal’s robes. He is centred in the frame, surrounded by the golden light flowing in through the gothic tracery’s stained glass windows. But instead of the golden light on the sun seeming holy or uplifting, there is an ominous, almost firey tone, to the lighting. He has not brought news of peace but of more war. The profile of Fantinus has actually been modelled off Pope Pius II. Fantinus was mere a solider in the Pope’s envoy.

The scene around him is calamitous. The king is seen turning away, his chair on its side, no doubt having been kicked down in a fit of rage. The overturned chair also represents the fact that Bohemia was still not seen as an official kingdom as the Papacy would not acknowledge it. At the bottom of the scene, in the center of the frame, we see a young boy looking out at the viewer. The boy is holding a book in his hands, which has the words “Roma” written on the cover. The book is closed, depicting the fact that Rome has closed the door on the Bohemian people.

The Defence of Sziget by Nikola Zrinski

“The Defence of Sziget by Nikola Zrinski” stands out, as the red hue is so saturated in juxtaposition to the softer tones of the rest of the series. The scene is fiery, literally. It depicts the last assault of the Bohemian forces against the Turkish army. In 1566, when this painting is set, the Ottoman Empire was spreading eastwards, taking city by city by force. Their next attack was set on the city of Sziget, a town in modern-day Hungary.

Nikola Zrinski

Within the walls of the city, the last remaining Bohemians forces gather around their leader, Croatian nobleman Nikola Zrinski. With no way out, the soldiers and common folk decided that instead of surrendering, they would fight to the very end.

One of the most dramatic moments of the siege is the burning of the city. Upon seeing the Turkish forces burst through the battlements, Zrinski’s wife Eva set fire to the city. She knew while this would no doubt kill hundreds of her own soldiers, but it would also kill thousands of Turks. And perhaps stop their advance into the rest of eastern Europe. In this scene, we can see Eva, along with other fellow women, climbing the scaffolding which contained the cities gunpowder supply. They ready themselves, for the right moment, when the Turkish army is close. Then Eva will hurl down the cresset she holds, to set the entire thing ablaze. You can see Eva at the very top of the scaffolding, standing proud and regal, brave in the face of her sacrifice. It was this decision that successfully halted the Ottoman expansion towards the city of Vienna.

Dividing the canvas like a scar, is a dark plume of smoke rising from the ground. The smoke is so thick it doesn’t seem to belong in the earthy realm. Instead, perhaps it is foreshadowing the demise yet to come. This battle is often referred to as “the battle that saved the civilization.”

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The Printing of the Bible of Kralice in Ivančice

“The Printing of the Bible of Kralice in Ivančice” is of particular importance to the Mucha, as it depicts his hometown. The town of Ivančice where Mucha was born is faithfully reinterpreted for us here, on a seemingly idyllic autumnal afternoon. No doubt he would have chosen his favourite time of year to paint this scene. The painting shows members of the Brethren School, gathered in 1578 to admire their new printing press, at work producing the first Czech translation of the New Testament.

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Jan the Elder

This theme of all men being equal was something Mucha believed in and was preached by the Brethren School itself. The teacher Jan the Elder of Žerotin can be seen almost obscured under the wooden shelter on the left side of the canvas despite him being one of the founders of the school. In reality, while the Brethren School was located in Ivančice, the bible had to be printed in secret in the town of Kralice. While the action is celebratory, the act of printing the bible in another language was seen as an affront to the Catholic church.

In the foreground of the frame, we see an old man reading to a young scholar. The scholar is looking out at the audience, with a look of apprehension or perhaps impending doom in his eyes. He seems to know that this act is bound to bring persecution down on the school. But printing the bible in Czech was in itself a symbol of the power of the Czech national identity. Since the bible was one of the most-read pieces of literature, having it in your own language ensured its legacy.

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Jan Amos Komenský

As foreshadowed by the look of terror in the boy from the previous painting, the religious liberties of the Bohemian people would not last. In 1619 the Holy Roman Emperor Ferdinand II became King of Bohemia. Without a true Czech King on the throne to fight for the rights of the Bohemian people, the Catholic church was reinstated in what was now a Protestant region. But not without bloodshed. In 1620, 30,000 Bohemians died trying to defend their liberty. Noblemen and academics were given the choice to convert to Catholicism or to be exiled.

Naarden

The painting of “Jan Amos Komenský” depicts the result of this exile. Komenský had been a member of the Brethern school who faced this choice. Not wanting to bend the knee to the catholic church, he left the country he loved so much, breaking his heart in the process. He spent the rest of his life in the town of Naarden, in the Netherlands. The town is located near the water, and historically it was said that Komenský would walk along the coast every day. Perhaps the calm sound of waves crashing on land allowing him to dream about the country he left behind. One day, when he felt like his life was coming to a close, he asked for a chair to be brought out to the coast. There he sat, and let death take him home once more.

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The scene is painted in a sombre, yet peaceful swath of blues and whites. The purity of the white shores upon which he walked is framed by the melancholy blue of the sky. The sombre sky reflecting the sadness which Komenský felt being compelled to leave his homeland and many of his people. A group of his followers can be seen grieving on the shore, holding each other close. A single lantern sits on the sand, glowing brightly in the darkness, perhaps a hint at the hope which still exists for the Bohemian people.

Czech Mason Temple

This is the only painting in the series which Mucha actually signed! Mucha was deeply connected to Komenský. It is well known that Mucha was a member of the Czech Mason Temple, which was founded in Prague in 1919 and named after Komenský himself. One of the symbols of the Masonic Temple is the Eye of God often seen in a triangle surrounded by rays of light. It is thought that Mucha’s inclusion of the lantern in this scene is symbolic of this same Eye of God and therefore a masonic symbol.

The Holy Mount Athos

The 17th piece in the series is called “The Holy Mount Athos.” Mucha believed that Mount Athos was a spiritual nest for the Czechs and Slav people. Mount Athos is a mountain in northeastern Greece and an important centre of Eastern Orthodox monasticism. Mount Athos is home to 20 monasteries under the direct jurisdiction of the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople. Mucha visited the mountain himself in 1924. The spiritual haven made a huge impression on the painter.

The painting depicts the Russian pilgrimage to this holy site. Once more, we are privy to Mucha’s depiction of the heavenly and the earthly places above and below the canvas. In the upper portion of the painting, we can see the celestial realm. An ethereal glow falls in through the windows, showering the angels in heavenly light. Each of the angles holds in their hand a small model of a Slavic monastery that was built around Mount Athos. Each one of the angels seems to shelter and protect these little treasures. In the center of the frame are two female angels, identifiable by the fact they are not barechested and instead draped with immaculate white fabric. They hold an insignia in their hands which indicates they represent “faith” and “purity”.

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High Priests

In the earthly plane, we can see the Russian pilgrims entering the sanctuary in a semi-circle, bowing and praying. Four high priests stand at the back of the scene, just under the Slavic icons. Each one of them holds a relic in their hand which the pilgrims kiss upon greeting. In the foreground of the canvas, we see once more a young man, holding up an older blind man in his arms. One can imagine them to be the same two figures from the school of the Brethren a few paintings ago. The young man, being so inspired by the teaching of the older one, has helped bring him to this holy place where he can finally be at peace.

The Oath of Omladina under the Slavic Linden Tree

There are two important things to understand when reading the painting “The Oath of Omladina under the Slavic Linden Tree”. One is mythological and the other historical. The historical piece of the story is imprinted in the title with the mention of the Omladina. The Omladina were a group of Czech Nationalists made up mainly of youths created in the 1890s. 68 members of the group were furthermore put on trial for their beliefs and sent to prison for their “radical” ideas. These ideas revolved around the creation of a Czech nationalistic revival, despite the fact that Bohemia was currently occupied by the Austria-Hungary empire.

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The Daughter of Sláva

The scene which takes place here combines the Omladina with an allegorical scene of the Daughter of Sláva. Mucha was inspired by the poems of Ján Kollár whose oeuvre focused on stories of the gods and goddesses from Slavis history. The Daughter of Sláva stands in the center of the frame, beneath a Linden tree. The Linden tree is also a symbol of the Slavs. Surrounding the tree, in a circle of unity, are imagined members of the Omladina. The Omladina are in the process of taking an oath and pledging their allegiance to the goddess Slavia, and to the Czech people. While the men in the frame are portrayed in their formal, modern-day fashions, there are groups of figures surrounding them dressed in folk costumes. These are traditional representations of the first Czech people.

Jaroslava and Jiří

Sitting on what almost looks like the edge of a stage are two figures, a male and female. These characters were actually modelled off Mucha’s own children; Jaroslava and Jiří. The composition of girl on the right strumming the lyre was actually used in the posters that Mucha created to promote the exhibition of the Slav Epic in Prague in 1928. Mucha would never finish this painting, and the composition remains bare on the canvas, unvarnished. The faces are also unfinished, but in a sense that almost makes the painting more interesting as future Czech revolutionaries can imagine their own faces in the image. Inspiring them to never lose their Czech identity and the histories that come along with it.

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The Abolition of Serfdom in Russia

Mucha’s painting of the “Abolition of Serfdom in Russia” is a real reflection of the artist’s disheartening experience of visiting Russia for the first time. Mucha had always looked up to the Russians and was excited to finally visit the city. But when he got there in 1913 he was so disappointed to find the city was overrun with poverty and suffering. It was not the progressive place he thought it would be, instead, he found so many cultural practices to be years behind the rest of Europe. Especially in terms of equality, something he valued over everything else.

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Tsar Alexander II

Tsar Alexander II had given Russian serfs personal freedom in 1861. Which Mucha felt was long overdue. The term “serf”, referred to an unfree peasant of the Russian Empire. They differed from slaves only in the sense that they could not be bought and sold independently from their land. Instead were “attached” to the land they lived on. So if you bought a piece of land, the serfs came with it, but could never be moved from that spot. The emancipation movement of 1861 meant that 23 million people received their liberty. They now could marry without having to gain consent, could own property and even start a business.

When the edict was read out, as portrayed here, the serfs and nobles alike had much uncertainty about what this freedom would look like. For the peasants, having never known this kind of life before, some of them were overwhelmed and confused. Mucha’s crowd is subdued rather than excited. They sit for a moment, apprehensive that the emancipation order could be being revoked. And this liberty taken away as fast as it was given.

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St Basil’s Cathedral and the Kremlin

St Basil’s Cathedral and the Kremlin are almost completely obscured in the background of the scene by the thick fog. Making the picture more about the people than the country which looms over them. The sun is only starting to peek out of the clouds, offering a faint glimmer of hope. In the foreground of the picture, once more we see a mother and child looking out at the viewer. Their faces are a complex mixture of trepidation, anxiety and optimism.

The Apotheosis of the Slavs, Slavs for Humanity

The final painting in the series is perhaps the most impressive, the colours within its frame is almost otherworldly. It’s entitled “The Apotheosis of the Slavs, Slavs for Humanity.” In this scene, Mucha sums ups all the themes that were explored throughout the preceding paintings.

It celebrates the independence of the Slav nation in the 20th century.
The painting is divided into four sections, each separated by colour. The blue portion in the bottom right represents the mythology of the Slavic people. Those stories are the bedrock upon which their culture was built.

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The red in the top-right reflects the brutal Hussites wars fought in the middle ages. The dark shadowy figures on either side of the painting represent the enemies of the Slavic people and the oppression they surrounded the Slavs with throughout their lifetime.

Independent Czech Republic

The last group is the one marked with a bright yellow glowing light. In the centre, a man stands with his arms outstretched. So vast, they almost touch the edges of the canvas. He represents the new, independent Czech Republic. But he doesn’t stand alone. Behind him is the figure of Jesus Christ, supporting him on the journey to come. The man greets a group of soldiers, seen in their uniforms, returning from the First World War. The Austro-Hungarian Empire collapsed after WWI, and the Slavic people were free of their reign in 1918. Just below the waist of the towering figure is a man crouched over, holding his heart. From his clenched hands, a beam of light is radiating. The light represents the Czech people’s love for their nation. And it is this love that will illuminate the future pathway for the Slavic people.

Young boys and girls wave branches with bright green leaves, saluting the men returning home from battle. They are seen wearing traditional folk costumes. Symbolic of the fact that their traditions will never die and will continue in the hearts of future generations.

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Souls of the Slav People

Mucha hoped that those who viewed these paintings would be able to see into the souls of the Slav people. He wanted all Slavs and Czechs, now more than ever, to come together through their shared history. He hoped that by documenting these stories, perhaps unknown by many, they would find peace and hope. I had never known anything about the Slavic people until I visited Prague. After experiencing this series I was so inspired to do more reading about the stories portrayed here in the Slav Epic. By understanding the past these people suffered and survived through you have so much more appreciation for the culture they had to fight to preserve.

Fully taking in the Slav Epic can take some time, but the experience is absolutely worth it. I hope that when it finally reopens in its new home in Moravský Krumlov people flock to see it. This is a collection of works of art that NEEDS to be seen in person to be fully appreciated. While learning about it online is great, seeing these gigantic paintings, overtake your field of vision is such an awe-inspiring experience and I truly hope you all manage to see it for yourself!

The post The Ultimate Guide to Exploring the Beauty and Meaning of Alphonse Mucha’s Masterpiece, the Slav Epic [UPDATED 2023] first appeared on The Creative Adventurer.

The Museo Casa Estudio has been remarkably preserved and restored. It is open for visitors to come inside and explore, a chance to step into the intimate spaces where Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo painted, entertained and simply existed together, as apart. Come with us as we explore the entirety of the Museo Casa Estudio and learn more about the artists who lived here and the man who built this revolutionary property!

Guide to the Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera & Frida Kahlo

1. Location & Access
2. Admission & Hours
3. About Diego Rivera
4. About Frida Kahlo
5. Juan O'Gorman
6. Modernist Architecture
   • Functionalism
7. Designing the Casa Estudio
   • Life inside the Casa Estudio
   • Studio as Museum
8. Exterior Foyer
   • The Bathrooms
9. Diego's House
   • 2nd Floor Bedroom
10. Diego's Studio
    • Mezzanine
    • Rooftop
    • The Bridge of Diego and Frida's Love
11. Frida's Studio
    • What the Water Gave Me
12. The O'Gorman Guest House
    • Dining Room Mural

Location & Access

The Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo is located in the neighbourhood of San Angel, in the far south of the city centre. To access the museum, you can take an Uber or taxi directly into the district’s centre. The Uber fare costs about $7 USD and takes about 20-30 minutes (depending on traffic) from the centre of Mexico City. If you’d prefer to take public transit, you can hop on the metro towards Miguel Angel de Quevedo Station. From here, you’ll have to change to one of the city’s metro buses that will take you directly into the Altavista suburbs where the museum is located.

Admission & Hours

The museum is open from Tuesday to Sunday, 11 am to 5 pm. The price of admission is $40 pesos for adults, but children under 13 and seniors are free. Admission is free for everyone on Sundays.

About Diego Rivera

Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo are perhaps two of the most well-known artists to come out of Mexico. It is perhaps no coincidence that the two geniuses would find themselves caught in a passionate web of love, art and fiery drama. Diego Rivera was born in 1886 in Guanajuato City, Mexico. When he was born, he came out of the womb along with his twin brother. Sadly, his brother Carlos died two years after they were born. Twins have this unspoken, deep, almost soulful connection with each other and this loss so early in Diego’s life perhaps touched the young boy with trauma and pain that it seems many infamous artists carry with them. Diego started to draw at only three, just after his brother died. Perhaps as a means to express his grief.

Mexican Muralism

His talents only grew from then, and at the age of ten, he went to study art at the San Carlos Academy of Fine Arts in Mexico City. Rivera travelled to Europe after flourishing at the school in Mexico City. It was there he would refine his unique style of painting under the influence of modern artists like Pablo Picasso and looked to the works of Paul Gauguin and Henri Matisse for inspiration. Rivera returned to Mexico City in 1922 as he had been commissioned by the government to head up their new muralism program. The project was created to promote aimed to National pride through murals that told the history of Mexico that even the working class, illiterate masses could interpret.

About Frida Kahlo

While Diego was painting murals all over Mexico City, Frida Kahlo was just a young girl with her own struggles. Frida was born in 1907 in Coyoacan, a small neighbourhood just outside the centre of Mexico City. Similar to Rivera, Frida had her own ordeals early on in life. She was afflicted with polio at only six years old. This meant that her right leg would always be shorter and thinner than the left, a disability that would affect her for the rest of her life.

But Frida never let this illness defeat her spirit despite being kept isolated at home at such a young age. She looked up to her artistic father, who was a famous photographer, and it was him that inspired her to start painting. While at home, her father taught her things she would never learn so early in school, everything from philosophy, literature and, of course, art and photography. When she went back to school, she flourished, as learning was something that truly excited her.

The Bus Accident

But just as her life was taking off once more, she was hit, literally, by another setback. On her way back from school on the day, in the centre of Mexico City, just a few blocks from where Rivera was painting, the bus she was riding on was hit by a streetcar. A large iron handrail pierced her pelvis, broke her spine in three places and crushed her right leg, as well as a litany of other injuries. She stayed in the hospital for months and had to be put into a plaster corset to aid her spine and chest bones in healing. This meant months of bedrest with nothing to do. Nothing to do but paint. Once more, her father encouraged her to turn her pain into art. Despite these life-altering incidents, she responded with the same vigour for the life she refused to lose despite these accidents.

Frida and Diego’s Marriage

After recovering, Frida discovered the thing she wanted to do for the rest of her life, and that was to paint. She was insistent on becoming the best painter she could be, so she sought out the advice of the greatest Mexican painter she knew, Diego Rivera. Rivera was immediately taken aback by this energetic and bold girl and her obvious talent. Despite being married already (to two different women), Frida and Diego started a relationship. They would be married in 1929 at a wedding her parents entitled “the marriage between an elephant and a dove.“

The couple were immediately taken out of Mexico City and moved to the United States. Rivera had to paint several commissions in San Francisco, Detroit, and New York for the famous Rockefellers. But they knew they would return home to Mexico City and wanted a beautiful hacienda to come back to. This is where their friend, architect and artist Juan O’Gorman would come in!

Juan O’Gorman

O’Gorman had been studying functionalism, inspired by the Swiss designer Charles-Édouard Jeanneret, known as Le Corbusier. O’Gorman was enthusiastic about bringing this modernist style to his home in Mexico City. He saw Mexico City as being a hub for modern thinking and exquisite architecture. The old Hacienda Goicoechea, now the famous San Angel Inn, had sold off the large expanse of their land to become residential housing. O’Gorman loved the neighbourhood and purchased the land currently being used as the tennis courts of the nearby hotel. 

Modernist Architecture

O’Gorman had plans to turn these two plots into the first modernist home in Mexico City. But when he displayed his plan it was very controversial. Most homes here are super traditional, fitting into that 18th century colonial style, and this new modernist vision wasn’t an appealing sight to the neighbours. But despite them turning their noses up at this new technique, O’Gorman solidered on. He built one home as a proof of concept. This home still stands today as the Museo Casa Estudio’s guest house.

Functionalism

Functionalism was a style defined by buildings that were designed around their purpose and function and revolted against excess decoration that didn’t serve a objective. In many European functionalist buildings, glass, steel and concrete were essential elements in their construction. In Mexico, in addition to these materials, O’Gorman wanted to incorporate clay and natural plants into the buildings. Instead of building fences out of wood or wrought iron, he planted rows of tall cacti along the roadside. These elements were native to the environment and followed the functionalist ethos. He would use other plants to create borders that looked almost like they had naturally grown up around the house.

Another element significant in functionalism is using practical elements as expressive decoration. A great example of this is the exposed helicoidal staircases that swirl up the sides of the houses. The stairs are a means of access and yet bring an interesting spacial element to the house’s exterior. Water tanks and drainage pipes also provide dynamic structural details around the house. These were all painted a contrasting orange colour and created this framing effect. Instead of looking too industrial, they manage to have their own architectural charm. But they are, in fact, used for rainwater drainage so are not just ornamental.

Diego’s house features a saw-tooth roof design. This design, while it might look decorative, is actually used to allow natural light into the interior while blocking out the heat of direct sun exposure. This was a technique popular inside industrial factories as early as the 16th century, before electiral lighting could be used to illuminate the interiors. It remains today as one of the most ingenious techniques to bring natural light into the interiors.

Designing the Casa Estudio

When Diego and Frida saw what O’Gorman had created, they quickly decided to purchase the entire property and commissioned him to build them twin buildings. Each one would act as both a residence and a studio, unique to each artist. The two buildings were designed as a pair but also as two oppositional designs. Tied together through the consistent elements of functionalism and a bridge that brought the building together at the top.

Diego’s studio is painted off-white and rust-red. Simple, natural colours. On the other hand, Frida’s studio is painted the same ethereal cobalt blue as her Casa Azul. Both studios feature floor-to-ceiling windows, giving the interior spaces an indoor/outdoor feeling. But are protected from the elements, meaning you can paint inside while feeling like you’re out en plein air. The ideal of these twin structures is eerily similar to Diego and his brother Carlos. Connected together despite the fates of their lives going in two very different directions.

Life inside the Casa Estudio

Construction on the houses ended in 1932, and the couple moved in 1934. Diego and Frida lived here from 1934 to 1939. In 1939, they divorced, and Frida moved home to Casa Azul. Diego kept the house and continued living and painting here during their separation. After their divorce, the couple actually got back together, only 9-months later. But even after this reconciliation, Frida preferred to remain in the Casa Azul.

After Frida’s passing in 1954, Diego would continue to live in the studio house full time. He treasured his time in his home until his death on November 24, 1957. Rivera died in his studio, and his body remained there as friends and family came to sit vigil inside to mourn the loss. After this, his body was moved to the Palacio de Bellas Artes for his grand state funeral. 

Studio as Museum

After his death, Diego’s daughters inherited the houses. When they moved in, their went about drastically changing some of the most iconic aspects of the house and making many ugly additions. They removed the cacti and installed a stone fence. They also demolished the bridge that connected the buildings, one of the most important aspects of the house. Years later, the houses were gifted to the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes to be enjoyed by the public. Restoration began in 1995 to bring back the original nature of the homes and preserve their architectural value. All the additions and fencing were removed, and the house seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

Exterior Foyer

One of the most wonderful things about functionalist-style houses is that they sit on stilts. These stilts are called pilotis, slender columns that support an upper level. When you walk into the property, the entire exterior courtyard feels like an open-air foyer. But with wonderful shaded areas under those upper levels to escape the sun’s heat (essential in Mexico City!) This open air foyer really exposes the incredible landscape architecture that O’Gorman created around the property. It feels like a gorgeous garden floating below.

Another enchanting thing to study while walking around the exterior are the exposed staircases. The spiral staircase which curls its way up the side of Diego’s studio is a wonderful geometric cement column contrasted against the solid red walls. The stairs almost have this musical-like curvature that flows out of the house.

The only exterior staircase in Frida’s house leads from the second-floor studio up to the rooftop. She would use this pathway to cross the thin bridge which connected to Diego’s house. Especially considering her frail condition and problems with her legs, it’s impressive she would brave such a dangerous-looking crossing. Especially when it originally was designed without any handrails!

The Bathrooms

Standing in the coutyard, you’ll see a smaller blue building, set behind Frida’s house. It looks almost like a minature version of her studio. Today, this tiny structure houses the public washrooms that visitors can use during their stay. Although you might think this was an addition when the museum was built, this building is original! It was designed by O’Gorman as a photography studio meant for Frida’s father. Even now, just as then, nothing is wasted. Functionalism reigns eternal.

Diego’s House

You enter Diego’s House first, via the exterior spiral staircase. The large, mostly empty room you enter on the first floor was used initially for Diego to display the artworks he had up for sale. His personal art gallery. Today, the space houses just a few remaining pieces from Diego’s collections of Pre-Columbian artifacts. Today the majority of his collections are housed in the Museo Anahuacalli.

During their marriage, the Museo Anahuacalli was a pipe dream of both Rivera and Kahlo. They both adored collecting these precious pieces of Mexican history and wanted to share them with the public. Rivera had started construction on this project just before his death. But it was O’Gorman who would see it through as the chief architect in charge of achieveing Rivera’s vision. Much of Rivera’s muralism was influenced by these pre-Columbian figurines. In Rivera’s art we can see the intense facial expressions and powerful geometric shapes reflected in these figurines.

2nd Floor Bedroom

Head back up the stairs, either using the smaller interior staircase or the outer curved stairs. The second level is where we find the painter’s studio and bedroom. The little room you’ll see upon entering is Rivera’s tiny bedroom. In functionalist buildings proportions of bedrooms were much smaller than we would expect. This was because they were seen as rooms only used for sleep and therefore didn’t require a great use of space. This preserved more capacity in areas like the studio which was where the artist spent most of his time.

Plus, the painter wasn’t a fan of sleeping unless it was with women. The room is designed to have only a tiny row of windows along the ceiling. This allowed only a small amount of light to flow inside. This meant the artist could get some sleep no matter what time of day.

The room is still laid out like it’s awaiting the return of it’s owner. Diego’s shoes are sitting on the floor as if he is about to get out of bed. Besides this, there are also his bedpans left here since his death. Atop the bedframe is Diego’s suitcase, as he was a world traveller. On the bedside table, you can also see a collection of his keychains and wallets. All the while the room is watched over by a series of papier-mache figures.

Diego’s Studio

Stepping from the hallway, make your way into the great studio. Immediately you’ll be overcome by the light that pours into theroom from the double-height windows on the north wall. From inside you can also study the effect of the saw-tooth roof windows that fill even the ceiling with light. Diego’s studio is bursting with natural energy. The trees on the other side of the windows almost look like they’re growing inside the house. The separation from indoors to outdoor is only a thin veil in here.

The studio still contains the original brushes and pigments which Rivera used to make his murals. They sit beside his easel like he is about to walk back into the room mid-painting. The painting on the easel is a portrait of Dolores Del Rio, a famous Mexican actress. Diego once said of Del Rio;

The most beautiful, the most gorgeous of the west, east, north and south. I’m in love with her as 40 million Mexicans and 120 million Americans who can’t be wrong.

Diego Rivera

Books, artisan ceramics and pottery, and little curios line the green painted shelves at the back of the room. Glass jars are silhouetted against the window panes. Inside powdered pigment still sit, waiting to be turned into paints. Diego’s studio really feels like a highly intimate space. Each one of the objects was bought by Diego as they caught his eye or gifted to him by a friend and lovingly put on display to be treasured. One of the most interesting decor found on the shelves is a copy of Diego Rivera’s death mask. Allowing him to still watche over all those and anyone who enters.

Judases

Filling the corners of the studio are these huge papier-mâché figures. Images of devils, skeletons and expressive people lean against the walls like inanimate puppets. These are called “Judases” and are popular formed of Mexican folk art. They were originally created as a part of the celebrations before Easter. The figures were made to look like the image of Judas, the Traitor. They would then take this resemblance of the great betrayer and set him on fire, to rid the world of his evil spirit. As years passed and the tradition became more popular, the figures began to take the forms of other, also unfavourable people or things. This could be anything from images of devils, demons, politicians, criminals and, in some cases, even disliked shopkeepers. Today the papier-mache dolls are stuffed with fireworks and blown up on the street. Much to the enjoyment of the onlookers.

But Rivera didn’t blow them up. Instead, he kept them as souvenirs of the local artisans. Although the simple craftsmen who made them might not have seen them as high art, Diego saw these as treasures to keep forever. Their highly expressive faces now look out over visitors from all studio corners.

Mezzanine

Walking back up the stairs, you enter the small mezzanine that looks over the studio. A small table between the two chairs is set in the corner, the perfect place to relax and watch the great painter at work. On the table is a portrait of Diego’s beloved, Frida. One can imagine this would have been where Frida herself would have stood to look down on her husband after coming over from her side of the house. Sometimes finding him hard at work…and other times, and sadly so, in the throes of passion with another woman, much to her dismay. In fact, it may have been right here that Frida discovered Diego cheating on her with her younger sister Cristina. There is no doubt that this house was a place of intensity from all angles.

The mezzanine is also home to Rivera’s office, just in the corner, beside the door to the rooftop. His green leather desk features a old phone, a typewriter and more pre-Colombian art covering the walls.

Rooftop

From the small office, you step out onto the rooftop, the neighbourhood of San Angel opening up all around you. During the Springtime, the purple flowers of the Jacaranda trees light up the skyline.

The Bridge of Diego and Frida’s Love

Although Frida and Diego had a passionate relationship, this firey love also resulted in both positive and negative intensity. When things were good, they were great, but when it was bad, it was very, very bad. So for both their sakes, having a separate working space where one could get away from the other was imperative. But the two buildings are connected by a large bridge on the top. O’Gorman named the bridge “the bridge of Diego and Frida’s love.” A symbol that, at the end of the day, they still found a way to come together and connect. Even when things were dire.

A narrow bridge connects the two buildings, the red-painted railings all you have to hold onto as you cross over. While Frida’s staircase has been closed down, too dangerous for the public to continually cross, you can imagine how the two lovers must have met up here to look out over the city and take in the night air. Even today the rest of the buildings in the area remain at a lower level to the rooftop of the Museo Casa Estudio, making you feel like you have this private oasis all to yourself.

Frida’s Studio

To get into Frida’s studio, you need to walk back down to the courtyard and enter on the ground level. Sadly, there is not much to see inside Frida’s house. Much of what once existed here has been moved to the Frida Kahlo museum in the Casa Azul. If you’re interested in learning more about the life and art of Frida Kahlo, you should definitely check it out, just over in Coyoacan. But there is one reason to go into the house: see the bathroom on the second floor. Sounds odd but stay with me!

What the Water Gave Me

This is where Frida lay when she was inspired to paint “What the Water Gave Me” in 1938. Like toys in a child’s bathtub, Frida painted the images that swam in her mind on top of the water. Memories of her life float around her; the only slice of reality is the cast iron bathtub framing the scene and her little toes sticking out of the water. The bathtub which inspired this scene can still be found in the house. If you’re a bather like me, you’ll know sitting in the bath really is where the imagination comes alive. It’s the best place to sit and think. Shower people will disagree with me I’m sure, but for me, a bath is a perfect way to relax and reflect. And it seems like Frida agrees.

The O’Gorman Guest House

The third large building on the property, located slightly below the other two homes, was the couple’s guest house. It was here that family and friends could stay in their own private apartments. But when the house was being built, it was used almost as a test for O’Gorman’s vision. To separate this house from the main studios, you’ll see another line of cacti fencing and steps leading down, surrounded by lush agave plants.

Construction on his house started in 1929, two years before the dual studio. The most impressive part of the building is the study on the first floor. Three of the four walls inside this part of the house are covered in floor-to-ceiling glass panels. And in fact, the entire glass wall opens up like a giant window. It’s pretty dangerous by today’s standards, as you can just walk right off, but what an impact it makes! The windows open up the space, and it feels like you’re floating in the air. The panels of glass are slightly more opaque on the lower four panels to give some privacy to the interior while still filling it with light.

The exterior ground level connects to the study via a wide-sweeping spiral staircase. Once more, without handrails. Looks gorgeous but can’t be very practical. A more private (and safe for visitors) internal staircase takes guests inside the private spaces which contain a small bedroom, bathroom, dining room and kitchen.

Dining Room Mural

One of the other exciting things to study here in the house is the remnants of the dining room mural that was once painted onto the walls. The mural was called “There is quite a difference between philosophy and science,” painted by O’Gorman. It depicts a stunning and vibrant Mexican landscape dotted with images of science and industry. On the left of the frame, there is an image of a fragile skeleton. This is juxtaposed with a beautiful naked Mexican woman who sits opposite. She sets aside a cup bursting with gorgous fresh fruits. The message is that one must have progress to flourish and grow. Otherwise, you will wither and die, like the old skeleton.

The fresco was only discovered in 2012 when a restoration team found traces of the original mural. When the house was sold off after Diego’s death, the mural was removed from the wall, purchased by the Banco Nacional de México for its private collection. Today you can see a photograph of the real painting beside the sketches found on the house’s walls. While I’m sure it’s well preserved in the bank’s museum, it would be more impressive to see it in situ here in the dining room. Maybe one day!

Thank you for joining us on this self-guided tour of the Museo Casa Estudio of Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo. The Museo Casa Estudio is a wonderfully immersive space to explore, and I hope this guide helped you learn more about all the secrets hidden in plain sight. Let me know in the comments what your favourite discovery was!

Happy Travels, Adventurers

The post Everything you Need to Know About the Incredible Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera & Frida Kahlo in Mexico City first appeared on The Creative Adventurer.

Klimt was a man who broke the rules and was somewhat of a rebel in the art community. He moved away from the standards of the time and found a like group of people who would transform the world of art forever. And above all else, Klimt found a way to weave eroticism into all his works, either subtlety…or not so subtlety. Even today, his paintings stir something deep down inside of all us. Immersive Klimt takes the audience on a journey throughout the life of Gustav Klimt. To see his beginning, inspiration, fellow painters, and most importantly, the women who were his great muses!

Table Of Contents

1. How Much are Tickets?
2. How Long is the Show
3. Review of Immersive Klimt
   • Immersive Klimt Animations
4. Is It Worth It?
5. The Life and Art of Gustav Klimt
   • Klimt's Young Life
   • Viennese School of Arts and Crafts
   • The Golden Age of Vienna
   • University of Vienna's Great Hall
   • Philosophy, Jurisprudence and Medicine
   • Founding the Vienna Secession
   • Nuda Veritas
   • Emilie Louise Flöge
   • Mermaids and Serpents
   • Water Serpents
   • Judith and the Head of Holofernes
   • Beethoven Frieze 1901
   • Love, Art and Music
   • The Ravenna Awakening
   • Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer
   • The Tree of Life 1905
   • The Kiss
   • En Plein Air
   • Klimt's Death

How Much are Tickets?

Depending on where you see the show, the ticket prices may vary slightly. Currently, the show is on in Toronto, but in 2022 it plans on touring the USA. Tickets vary in price depending on the time and day of the week. Weekends and evenings are $45-$55 CAD per adult. But on weekday afternoons, tickets are only $35. So plan accordingly to save a bit of money!

How Long is the Show

The entire show lasts 35 minutes and is put on a loop. You are free to stay for as many loops of the show as you like. I usually advise blocking off about an hour to experience the show from different angles. It’s worth just sitting through the entire loop in one spot to take it all in. Then, for the second showing, walk around a bit. This way, you can see how the animations and projections change depending on your standing in the room.

Review of Immersive Klimt

Klimt went through so many different periods of his painting, and to see them all laid out together is an amazingly transformative experience. Over the years, Klimt’s popularity has become almost commercial. His paintings have graced dorm rooms as posters all over the world. His golden patterns find their way onto clothing and accessories. This mainstream accessibility is so surprising because during his lifetime he was deemed extremely controversial.

In 2020, the team behind Immersive Van Gogh created their newest exhibition, Immersive Klimt. Lighthouse Immersive describes the period in which Klimt was working as an artist as “the height of the artistic revolution in Vienna that preceded the fall of an empire: pulsing with bombastic energy and the collision of the traditional and the modern.”

That energy can be felt throughout the show. Unlike the other artists who have had immersive exhibitions based on their works (Van Gogh and Monet), Klimt’s work is imaginative, abstract and almost vibrating with passion. If you’ve never seen an immersive show before, the exhibition uses scans of the works of a certain artist and, using digital technology, animates and blends them together. These are then projected onto the walls of these wide-open spaces. While some people insultingly refer to these as nothing more than screensavers, I think it is an amazing opportunity to experience works of art together as one show that would never otherwise be able to be seen together. Either because they are spread out all over the world or some painting might even be held in private collections.

Immersive Klimt Animations

I found this show to be the most experimental in the animations the team uses to project Klimt’s work onto the exhibition space walls. At times it was suuuper trippy, and I heard more than one person mention that it made them feel like they were on drugs. The flashing lights at times felt like you were at a rave. I couldn’t help but feel this was how a contemporary audience could feel the same shock and awe that early 20th century audiences felt when they saw Klimt’s revolutionary work for the first time.

The penultimate painting, the Kiss, was projected along with videos of contemporary dancers. The dancers were nude, just as many of Klimt’s models, and danced to the sound of the music playing all around you. The group I went with were torn on this modern addition. But personally, I loved seeing it. It felt like real-life passion that the works of Klimt’s are trying to project.

Is It Worth It?

Immersive Klimt was the most fun of all the productions I have seen. The team behind the exhibit really seemed to let their imagination run wild. But like with all of these immersive shows, it lacks context. This one especially had almost no contextual information upon entering. Plus, throughout the show, they also project artworks by Egon Schiele, Koloman Moser and images from Ravenna Cathedral. It’s important to understand these aren’t part of Klimt’s oeuvre. The show does a great job of presenting a variety of Klimt’s artworks from the various periods of his life but just doesn’t do justice to the stories behind these paintings.

Klimt himself is such a compelling character whose life impacted and affected his works so much. Hopefully, this blog will act as a primer to your visit to the Immersive Klimt Experience and allow you to better understand the moving nature of these transcendent works of art.

The Life and Art of Gustav Klimt

Klimt’s Young Life

Gustav Klimt was born in 1862 in a small suburb of Baumgarten, southwest of Vienna. His father was Ernst Klimt, a gold engraver, and his mother, Anna, was an aspiring musical performer. Their household was filled with creative energy, and no doubt, Klimt was influenced by this from the day he was born. But the family of seven children was desperately poor. Their poverty constantly resulted in them having to move to search out cheaper housing. One of Gustav’s sisters died in 1874, and soon after, another of his siblings was sent to a sanitorium. After succumbing to religious fervour. The lack of medical treatment available to this impoverished family no doubt impacted their day-to-day lives.

Viennese School of Arts and Crafts

Despite all this, Ernst saw Gustav’s talent, as did his teachers. His father wanted to see Gustav succeed and escape the poverty his family was trapped in. So, in 1876 Gustav applied to enroll in the Viennese School of Arts and Crafts. He was only fourteen years old. And yet, he was a prodigy with skills far beyond his young age.

At school, he learned all the classical painting techniques. But they also taught their students how to work in other mediums. He also learned how to create mosaics, work with metals, and even mix paints. All of which he would incorporate into this artwork later in life. Gustav’s love of folklore, mythology, and Slavic history would be ignited in school. A theme that spread like wildfire throughout his artwork.

The Ringstrasse

Klimt had his first chance at practical experience working in the creation of the artistry of the Ringstrasse. In 1858, Emperor Franz Joseph wanted to destroy all the old medieval defensive walls around the city. With this new space, he wanted to create a new, vibrant outer ring of buildings that represented the new Vienna. He called this part of town the Ringstrasse (“ring street”) encircled the city. This was Vienna’s “Golden Age.” The Ringstrasse is the most popular loop for tourists to see all the best Viennese architecture even if you visit Vienna today.

The Golden Age of Vienna

During the Golden Age, research, science, and industry were all driven by modern advancements. And yet, the one aspect of culture which had yet to be redefined was art. And that was where Klimt saw his opportunity. Klimt and his brother Ernst started up a small painting business, and their first commission was to paint the grand stairway of the new Burgtheater. Klimt called the paintings in series the “Allegories and Emblems.”

Despite this being a hugely prestigious commission, the pay was dismal and wouldn’t even cover the price of models. So Klimt had to get friends and family to pose for the murals. Today, this is such a historical treat as we can still see Klimt’s sisters Hermine and Johanna’s faces set among the spectators in Shakespeare’s theatre. And Klimt’s brother Georg is even portrayed as the dying Romeo. Hidden in the audience is also the only surviving self-portrait of Gustav. Klimt never painted a self portrait so this is the only version of himself he ever made.

University of Vienna’s Great Hall

Despite the massive success of the Grand Staircases of the Vienna Burgtheater, Klimt was about to suffer one of the most significant blows of his life. In quick successions, both Klimt’s beloved father and brother suddenly died. Klimt suddenly was charged with financially taking care of his family. It was perhaps this onset of responsibility that drove him to become a successful artist. He poured all of his grief into his art, like many great artists before him.

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The first large commission he took after the death of his family members was at the University of Vienna’s Great Hall. But Klimt wasn’t going into this commission like the others he had done. Based on the classical compositions and techniques he learned in school. His grief has sent him spiralling to find a new form of painting. He began employing a radical style filled with decorative symbolism.

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Philosophy, Jurisprudence and Medicine

The images he was set to paint were supposed to represent Philosophy, Jurisprudence and Medicine. Yet, the university has difficulty reading any of his paintings expressing these subjects. Klimt’s grief and the loss left him jaded. In his depiction of Philosophy, he painted the great thinkers as just people who could not save man from despair. Jurisprudence only justifies violence and leaves the innocent vulnerable. 

Most importantly, Medicine could not save us from death. In addition to these controversial scenes, the women he portrayed in the scenes were all nude. The Medicine mural was deemed highly scandalous. The critics even referred to it as “pornographic.” The university sent these paintings to exhibitions in Paris to get more opinions before they were to have them installed. At the show, the judges were blown away by the decorative symbolism.

Despite winning the gold medal at the art exhibition, the university refused the paintings. Klimt was enraged. Klimt kept the images for himself and later displayed them in Vienna’s Museum of Modern Art. Sadly, the pictures were all lost in a great fire in 1945. The Nazis burnt many paintings they deemed too radical, and Klimt sadly fit right into that group. Today we have a few pictures of the works of art along with some aspects of the painting he incorporated into future paintings.

Founding the Vienna Secession

After the disappointment at the University, Klimt began to seek out other like-minded artists. Through this search, he left the Kunstlerhaus, Vienna’s association of artists. Leaving the group was a big deal. It was only through this association that most artists got their big commissions. But Klimt knew they preferred the more conservative work and wasn’t interested in bending to that style of work.

Instead, in 1897 he founded his own artist community, which he called the Wiener Sezession (Vienna Secession.) The Secession movement was the Austrian interpretation of Art Nouveau that sweeping other parts of Europe. Although there was no strict manifesto, as Klimt wanted to encourage all the artists to be as expressive and unique as possible, the art seemed to reflect naturalism, realism and symbolism.

Nuda Veritas

The Secession group included famed architect Josef Hoffmann, designer Koloman Moser, designer and architect Joseph Maria Olbrich, painters Max Kurzweil, and Art Nouveau prodigy Alphonse Mucha. The first real painting of Klimt that was at the forefront of the Secession movement was Nuda Veritas in 1899. The painting depicts a beautiful naked woman with flaming red hair. In her hand, she holds the mirror of truth towards the viewer. At the top of the frame is a quote by Friedrich Schiller in stylized lettering: “If you cannot please everyone with your deeds and your art, please only a few. To please many is bad.”

Emilie Louise Flöge

During the founding of the Vienna Secession, Klimt also started a lifelong partnership with Emilie Louise Flöge. Emilie’s sister Helene had been married to Gustav’s brother Ernst. When Ernst died, Gustav became Helene’s legal guardian and spent a lot of time with the entire Flöge family. Emilie and Gustav became constant companions but they never married. Their alternative romance was a shock to Viennese society. Still, it seemed in the same vein as everything else in Klimt’s life. Despite their atypical relationship, Klimt was known to use her as a model. She is immortalized in many of his most famous paintings.

It’s important to note that Emilie was an incredible fashion designer, and she had a very successful Viennese fashion house. She was not the typical muse who faded into the background, more than a pretty face. She was fiercely creative in her own right, and her fashions were miles ahead of their time! Much like the fashion revolution we are seeing today, her styles moved away from the male gaze. Her designs were also made in the spirit of freedom. She wanted to break away from the tight corsets and give these modern freethinking women dresses that were loose and yet also emphasized their femininity.

Mermaids and Serpents

The other reason that Emilie and Klimt were never married was perhaps that Klimt was somewhat of a Viennese Casanova. Undoubtedly, he was somewhat of a misogynist and was obsessed with the human form. As well as his desire for the women he painted. Given the freedom of expression from the Secession movement, Klimt drew hundreds of erotic drawings in the 1900s. These expressive, sensual, and dynamic forms would go onto become the basis for his famous Mermaids and Serpents.

I loved how the Mermaids were represented in Immersive Klimt. Swimming around the space, giving real movement to their sensual and fluid forms. It’s very interesting to note that the design of the women’s bodies is stretched and feature a bulbous head. Creating the effect of a phallic-like shape. The integration of male and female forms as one singular creature.

Another signature style of Klimt’s paintings was his women with long, large, red hair. The hair runs wild! It swirls around the women as if with a mind of its own. In early paintings of these mermaids, they are featured with men staring at them, both enraptured and horrific all at the same time. This gives the viewer a hint that perhaps these are not just any women, but in fact, more like Sirens. The Siren’s power is in their ability to capture and eat the men they seduce. While Klimt did his fair share of objectifying women he also was a man who saw the power of women.

Water Serpents

In later paintings like Water Serpents I and Water Serpents II, the women are depicted in their own world. No men in their new kingdom. In fact, one of the pieces was very controversial as it was thought to depict two women as lovers. Klimt renamed the piece “Mermaids,” giving it a symbolic theme in fear that it would be censored. The fairytale context and fish-like bodies allowed him to represent this facet of society without being criticized. Later in his career, he would unabashedly represent lesbians without contextualizing them into myths. He wanted to paint them as they were. They became less abstract, the bodies unmanipulated. They were just simply The Women Friends, wrapped in an intimate embrace.

Judith and the Head of Holofernes

Women’s power over men was another theme that shocked society at the time. And yet, Klimt did not shy away from this. Klimt’s interpretation of Judith and the Head of Holofernes is a decisive example of his point of view. This scene is painted time and time again in art history and with many different interpretations. In most paintings of this scene we can see Judith in the process of cutting the head off, sometimes looking angry, violent, or even a bit repulsed. But usually, the man’s entire body can be seen, his horrified face sometimes more powerful than the expression on Judith. And yet, in Klimt’s, Judith’s body takes up almost the entire frame. She is the star.

The head of Holofernes a literal side note, just peeking out from the corner of the frame. Judith’s expression is almost orgasmic as she reclines against the wall with her breasts exposed. She is seen taking pleasure in this act, something which Viennese society simply could not bring themselves to understand. Despite Judith being the one who cut off the head of Holofernes, she looks slightly decapitated. The large gold necklace around her neck blends into the gold background, making it look as if her head is almost floating about her body. Mimicking the act of the beheading.

Beethoven Frieze 1901

In 1901, Klimt began work on a large frieze for the Fourteenth Vienna Secessionist exhibition. Although the piece was only intended to be displayed during the exhibition, it was painted directly onto the walls. The entire piece stands at 7-feet high and 112 feet wide.

It wraps around the rooms and begins with the image of a floating female Genii. Her form is repeated across this side to depict her flying around in search of Earth. The genii greet three golden figures. The largest figure in the foreground is a knight, wearing a shining set of golden armour. The knight is a symbol of hope, a saviour to humanity’s suffering.

Typhoeus

In the most interesting part of the mural, the Genii meets the wind giant Typhoeus and his hostile forces. Typhoeus is a giant hairy creature with great wings that stretch across the entire wall. The creature’s giant snake-like tail curls under the wings and circles inwards like a spiral.

For Europeans of the time, the image of Typhoeus was especially impactful. Typhoeus was the personification of typhoid which plagued European cities, including Vienna, in the nineteenth century.

Typhoeus stands with his daughters, the three Gorgons, who symbolize lust, debauchery, and death. Their jet-black hair is encircled in golden snakes, just like the tail of their father. Their alluring bodies seem to temp viewers to come closer. They are the real sirens who lure men to their doom. Above the sirens are a series of ghoulish-looking women who seem to almost be decaying away in front of our eyes. These represent the faces of syphilis which was also running rampant through the streets of Vienna. Clearly, Klimt had a personal issue with all these diseases.

To the right of Typhoeus, a full-figured woman with sagging breasts represent Intemperance. She is excessive in all ways, in the wealth of her flashy jewelry, her ostentatious blue skirt and her obvious gluttony.

Love, Art and Music

But the Genii flies on in search of happiness. And she finds it, in a choir of angels. The singing represents the fact that we are led to an ideal realm of happiness and pure love through art. Music is truly heaven on earth.

The scene ends with a kiss. All that constant yearning, and searching, finally comes to an end. The couple’s kiss is so passionate that the world around them seems to disappear, and they enter into their own reality. Behind them grows a tree. Perhaps reminiscent of the tree of life, which spread out from the earth into the heavens. The lover’s feet are bound together as if it represents the sturdy trunk of the tree.

The Ravenna Awakening

In 1903 Klimt was searching for inspiration. He was 41 years old, and despite his success, he found himself at an impasse. On a trip to Italy to gaze upon the old masters, he stopped into the Basilica of San Vitale in Ravenna. The church is most famous for its incredible Byzantine mosaics. In fact, St Vitale boasts the largest and best-preserved mosaics outside of Istanbul. In a letter, Klimt stated that “the mosaics are of incredible splendour.”

As Klimt’s father was a gold engraver, goldwork had been a part of his life for as long as he’d lived. And yet, this was the first time he had allowed the gold to overwhelm him and enter fully into his art. He was amazed at how the light reflected onto the gold. The light seemed to change the entire piece as the shone into the room. It seemed so expressive and was yet another element Klimt could add to his paintings to bring them to another emotional level.

Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer

One of the first paintings Klimt made upon his return to Austria was the Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer. In this portrait, you can see precisely how the mosaics of Ravenna translated themselves into his paintings. Adele is sitting against this brilliant golden starry background. She wears a beautiful triangular-shaped dress, made up of rectilinear forms of silver and gold leaf. There was so much gold and silver leaf in the painting, the total cost of the work of art was as much as a large house in the middle the Vienna.

Each part of her dress and body is decorated in a different pattern, creating this patchwork quilt of symbolism. In parts of the paintings, the dress blends so perfectly into the background to the point where the subject becomes one with the background, almost melting into it.

Egyptian Influence

Some of the symbols used within the painting reflect Klimt’s interest in Egypt. In this painting, the Eye of Horus is repeated along the front of her dress. Egypt’s Book of the Dead is one of the most richly decorated texts from that era, and Klimt was enthralled with its imagery. Klimt was also interested in the idea of life after death. In this painting, Adele seems like she is floating in an ethereal place, which is not of this plane of reality but perhaps of somewhere between life and death.

It is rumoured that Adele was also Klimt’s model (and perhaps lover) for the painting of Judith and the Head of Holofernes. The two women bear many similarities, and the large chocker around their necks are almost identical in both portraits. Although this cannot be proven, the love and care Klimt took in her painting is irrefutable.

The Saga of the Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer

Long after Klimt’s death, the painting of Adele went on to transcend art history and become one of the most famous paintings in the world. During WWII, the painting changed hands multiple times, attempting to evade destruction by the Nazis. Although Adele had originally written in her will that the paintings be given to the National Viennese Art Gallery upon her death, this was because she died long before the Nazis invaded. A new will by her husband had been created to ensure the painting was kept within the family. But this was ignored and the museum kept the painting for years even though it had been sold to them by a Nazi sympathizer.

Eventually, the great-granddaughter of Adele Bloch-Bauer was able to open a new case to get the painting returned. She was able to file the case over in America where she now lived under a new law. She was finally successful and despite her long fight, she found she needed to sell as such an expensive painting just couldn’t be kept in her home. The painting was set to be bold at auction but ended up being sold privately for a whopping $135 million.

The Tree of Life 1905

The next famous painting in Klimt’s golden period was The Tree of Life, or the Stoclet Frieze. The Stoclet Palace was the home of a wealthy Belgian who commissioned several of the Secessionist artists to make art for his new palace. This piece he commissioned by Klimt was to hang on a large wall inside his dining room.

The triptych features a large swirling tree in the centre. To the left is a single woman draped in a large patterned cape, and to the right is an embracing couple. The couple’s embrace mimics the same pose of Klimt’s most famous painting, The Kiss. In the Tree of Life, Klimt continued to explore the themes of Egypt symbology he began to explore in the Portrait of Adele. The Tree of Life is an important symbol in many cultures. And in most cultures, the tree symbolized the connection between the world of human beings with that of the gods and spirits. Another ancient symbol incorporated into the painting is the repeated coils and spiral reminiscent of ancient Mycenaean.

Eye of Horus

The tree’s trunk is covered in the Eyes of Horus looking out at the viewer. Perched in the centre of the tree is a great raven or falcon. Horus was often portrayed as a falcon when the god came down to earth. Horus had two eyes, one made of the sun and the other made of the moon. The morning and the night, life and death. Just as Horus represents the circle of life, as does the tree. The tree’s swirling branches represent the different directions and ways life is a complex circle. The tree’s branches touch the sky, and its roots reach the ground, creating a connection between life and death. As if to tell the viewer there is no real end, only a new beginning in a new circle.

The woman on the right is called Expectation. Her large dress features huge pyramid motifs throughout her robe. Her face is also heavily inspired by Egyptian hieroglyphics. On the right, we have the couple who are called Fulfillment. This couple was once called the Lovers. But this name was too close to the Kiss which also shares a very similar pose. The couple is standing in a loving embrace. But in this pose, we do not see the man’s face at all as he has his back to us. The man seems to fall into the women’s arms, as the patterns on their dresses meld together as if they are becoming one. Perhaps Klimt’s commentary on the meaning of life, and how to be fulfilled, is to be loved.

The Kiss

The most famous of all Klimt’s paintings is The Kiss. It is often quoted as being one of the most romantic paintings in the world. This painting was one of the most popular posters sold at university fairs and hung on many people’s walls I lived with throughout the years. It has almost become a parody of itself but nevertheless, its power is truly extraordinary.

A couple stands in front of a starry, golden background. The ground upon which they stand seems to be blessed with fertility. Flowers bloom in a thicket in vibrant colours beneath them. So dense the grass cannot even be seen. The couple stands, almost on the edge of the earth, in a passionate embrace. Both the foreground and background are painted on the same plain. There is no depth to the painting. This reflects Klimt’s inspiration, the Ravenna mosaics. The flatness of the mosaics seemed to enthrall him, and it was through the use of light and texture that the mosaics would sparkle and shine and be given depth. But of a different sort.

Man vs. Woman

Unlike in the Tree of Life, this couple’s clothing is made of differing patterns. The man’s large robe is painted with dark geometric patterns. His robe features straight lines and more classically “masculine” colours of blacks, greys and browns. The men’s head is entangled in a crown of green vines, like the Laurel wreaths which symbolize man’s victory.

The woman also has a spray of flowers women into her hair but not as a crown, perhaps showing her submissiveness. Her dress is also distinctly more colourful. It features swirling organic forms which are classically more feminine. The circles almost resemble a women’s womb. From the bottoms of her dress, golden vines seem to creep downwards, perhaps another hint at the idea of women’s fertility.

Orpheus and Eurydice

Many art historians refer to the couple in the scene as mythological characters from the Greek story of Orpheus and Eurydice. Orpheus fell madly in love with Eurydice, and yet shortly after they were married, she was bitten by a snake and died. Orpheus, in utter heartbreaking despair, goes to the underworld to retrieve his lost love. As he was a talented musician, he managed to get past many of the obstacles in his way using these talents. When he finally found her, Hades told the lovers they could only leave on one condition. That they never look back.

The couple agreed, and after finally climbing out of the underworld and seeing the beauty of the golden sun and green grass on the earth’s surface, Orpheus turned back to look at Eurydice to see her reaction. But when he did, she disappeared forever. Klimt has captured that moment for us, frozen in time. The moment as Orpheus turns back to kiss Eurydice just before she disappears is preserved in golden amber. Her toes are curled under and clutch the earth, on the edge of the underworld, to which they just exited. That grip shows to the viewer how much she doesn’t want to let go. And lose her love forever. Despite knowing the ending, we want to see a different result for these passionate lovers. And if we cannot change the course of history, let us therein just reveal in this moment with them.

Emilie Flöge?

Many people think the woman who modelled for ‘The Kiss’ was Klimt’s long-time lover and companion Emilie Flöge. Despite never being married, the two were truly soul mates. When Klimt died, the last words out of his mouth was, “Emilie must come.” While the man in the painting doesn’t resemble perfect Klimt himself, I like to imagine this is his idealized version of himself and captures their unique romance for eternity.

En Plein Air

After the fervour of his golden period, Klimt began a new cycle of art which was inspired by his choice to start painting outside. ‘En Plein Air‘ or Plein air painting is the act of painting outdoors. This period of painting did away with the gold and silver gilt. It was replaced with a more subdued palette and subject matter. He employed a lot of purples, lilacs and salmon tones in these paintings, which some people call his “purple period.” Klimt was so interested in this new form of painting he re-made his portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer in this new style. Since she was so important to him. He even made a painting of her daughter despite the fact that otherwise Klimt almost never painted children.

The majority of these pastel paintings surrounded his favourite subject; women. Most of them were so erotic they could not be exhibited at the time. Klimt featured portraits of female lovers wrapped in a beautiful embrace that shocked the public at the time in Vienna. But Klimt didn’t shy away from portraying all aspects of sexuality. Despite the restrained pallet, Klimt nevertheless continued to play with stylized backdrops and floral patterns. The paintings looking more and more like a kaleidoscope.

Klimt’s Death

In many of Klimt’s paintings, he seems to be interested in the idea of disease and epidemics. It is therefore pretty ironic that Klimt himself fell ill to the worldwide influenza epidemic of 1918. It took his young life at the age of 55 years old. One has to imagine how many other incredible paintings he would have made should he have lived past this epidemic. He was buried at the Hietzinger Cemetery in Vienna. He lies underneath a rather plain tombstone with only his name emblazoned on the granite but written in a perfectly Secessionist font. A subtle memorial to all the great works of art he helped create, in addition to his own works, in the founding of this group.

Klimt truly was a visionary who saw the world in a way that it is almost impossible to find its equal. While the Kiss might be his most memorable work of art, there are so many other pieces you should seek out and learn more about. They tell the real story of his life and by seeing them all together in an exhibition like Immersive Klimt is a unique experience I think is worth a visit! Let me know in the comments what your favourite painting is or what you thought of the exhibition.

Happy Travels, Adventurers!

The post Everything You Need to Know About Immersive Klimt, An Honest Review first appeared on The Creative Adventurer.

Diego Rivera was a Mexican painter, muralist, and pioneer in the art of social realism. He is best known for his monumental frescoes depicting Mexican history from the conquest to the revolution. His work has been exhibited worldwide, housed in the most prestigious museums. But the best examples of Diego Rivera’s work can be found here in Mexico City. In public spaces as well as time-honoured museums. This guided tour takes you across the city, diving into unknown corners and popular tourist sites. So come with me on a walking tour in the footsteps of Diego Rivera.

Table Of Contents

1. About Diego Rivera
2. Start of the Tour: El Cardenal
3. Museo Mural Diego Rivera
4. Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in the Alameda Central
5. Palacio de Bellas Artes
6. Mexican Secretaria of Public Education Headquarters
7. Former College of San Ildefonso
8. Mercado Presidente Abelardo L. Rodriguez
9. Antigua Academia de San Carlos
10. Palacio Nacional
11. Cárcamo de Dolores
12. Panteón de Dolores
13. Coyoacan and San Angel
14. Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera y Frida Kahlo
15. Plaza San Jacinto
16. Casa de Cultura Jesús Reyes Heroles
17. Casa Azul
18. Frida Kahlo Park
19. Museo Anahuacalli
20. Museo Dolores Olmedo

About Diego Rivera

Diego Rivera was born, along with his twin, in Guanajuato, Mexico, in 1886. Sadly, his twin brother died only two years after they were born. Even at such a young age, his twin’s loss significantly impacted Rivera. Perhaps this event created the storm of passion, artistry and creativity Rivera was known for. In fact, it was after his brother died that Diego began to paint. Perhaps as a means to deal with his grief.

Early Education & Artistic Career

Diego began art studies at the Academy of San Carlos in Mexico City at ten years old. The school was located in the heart of the city’s historic centre. The spark of creativity was ignited when he left his small town and studied in the big city. Diego was so talented that the school sent him to study in Europe. All of the greats were sent to Europe as it was seen as the centre of artistic creations.

Diego first studied in Spain, and after success there; he went to study in the pinnacle of art cities; Paris. Rivera loved Pars and lived there for years. He was inspired by the work of artists such as Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque. He immersed himself in the immerging style of Cubism and Paul Cézanne’s post-impressionism. From all these inspiring artists, Diego began to incorporate bolder colours, simpler forms and even abstract elements into his painting. This new style of painting demanded the viewer’s attention. Some paintings scream; they do not whisper. And Diego wanted his art to cry out.

Diego’s Love Life

It was in Paris where Diego met his first wife, Angelina Beloff. A fellow artist from Russia. Despite his atypically handsome appearance, Diego was a lothario. Always with a woman wed and a different one in his bed. During his marriage to Beloff, he was also in a relationship with Maria Vorobieff-Stebelska. Maria would give birth to Marika, Rivera’s first daughter.

Rivera divorced Beloff when he moved back to Mexico City in 1922. Soon after arriving back in Mexico, he met and married Guadalupe Marín. The new couple had two daughters together, named Ruth and Guadalupe.

Diego and Frida

But their relationship also didn’t last, as he was already having another affair with young Frida Kahlo. He divorced Guadalupe Marin in 1929 and married Frida a few months later. He was 44 years old, while she was just 22. Frida and Diego were like fire on fire. Both with huge personalities and huge tempers. But their tumultuous relationship fueled their art. They were both unfaithful during different parts of their marriage. But even these extramarital companions couldn’t soothe the wounds they caused each other. They eventually divorced in 1939. Only after Frida’s death in 1955 did Rivera marry again. This time to his long-time agent, Emma Hurtado.

Mexican Muralism

Diego is best known for his work in the Mexican Muralism movement. When he returned to Mexico City, it was under the influence of the Mexican ambassador to France, Alberto J. Pani. The new Mexican Minister of Education, José Vasconcelos, was undertaking a new program of government-sponsored Mexican murals. These murals would be installed all over cities across the country. It was the government’s attempt to reunify the country post-Mexican revolution. The murals were meant to promote political ideas, depict real Mexican society (the good and the bad) and reflect views of the social revolution. To help those who could not read or attend school learn their history.

Rivera’s Unique Style

The three artists who undertook this project were called “the big three” or “The Three Greats.” The group was composed of Diego Rivera, José Clemente Orozco and David Alfaro Siqueiros. Through these murals, inspired by the national identity of Mexico, Rivera developed his iconic native style. This style was based on large, simplified figures and bold colours with an Aztec influence. It is this style that made Diego an icon and gave Mexico its own national art style.

Rivera became so popular that he was called to the United States to bring his style of mural painting to public buildings in the US. He spent a few years working in the US until a disagreement with the Rockerfellers on a large commission fueled his charge back to Mexico City. He continued working on some of the most important commissions of his life until his death on November 24, 1957. After this death, the government of Mexico declared Rivera’s works as “monumentos historicos” due to their importance in the country’s art history.

Start of the Tour: El Cardenal

To start your morning exploring Mexico City in the footsteps of Diego Rivera, you MUST book yourself brunch at El Cardenal. Inside the restaurant is a domineering mural, an artistic replica of one of the most famous Rivera murals. Sitting under a work of art is a great way to bask in its glory while enjoying some delicious Mexican cuisine.

El Cardenal is located inside the Hilton Reforma Hotel. But originally, the hotel which stood in this place was the Hotel del Prado. The Hotel del Prado was built in 1946 as one of the most luxurious hotels in the city. To cement the hotel’s status as one of the top-tier establishments, they hired Diego Rivera to paint a mural inside their new dining room. Sadly, almost nothing of the old hotel remains, as the Hotel del Prado collapsed after the infamous 1985 Mexico City earthquake. The only thing pulled from the wreckage was the mural, which miraculously could be salvaged. The original mural was moved into the nearby Museo Mural Diego Rivera. But this artistic reimagining was made for the new hotel dining room to keep the same spirit of the original.

Dining at El Cardenal

El Cardenal is a small chain of restaurants found all over the city. Their mantra is preserving national folk cuisine and putting it forward for guests to enjoy. Diego himself loved to eat. Although he wasn’t a great cook, food was a major part of his life. Diego and Frida would frequent the marketplace to draw inspiration. And, before leaving, I would fill up on ingredients to bring home. Famous, Diego would end each night with a late supper of hot chocolate and pan dulce. One of his favourite meals that Frida would make for him was a chicken mole. He loved traditional Mexican cuisine and was passionate about preserving it. And this restaurant is the perfect place to enjoy so many traditional dishes.

Museo Mural Diego Rivera

After breakfast, head over to the Museo Mural Diego Rivera. Despite being called a “museum,” the Museo Mural Diego Rivera is simply one large room designed to house the preserved mural from the Hotel del Prado. Thankfully admission is just over a dollar, so it’s more than worth a visit! After the devastating 1985 earthquake, the mural was saved (in pieces) and moved to the museum. Here, it was reassembled with care and restored to as close to its original condition as possible.

Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in the Alameda Central

The mural is called Sueño de Una Tarde dominical en la Alameda Central (or Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in the Alameda Central.) The exquisite mural spanned over 15 meters wide and was painted in 1947. The setting of the painting is, as mentioned in the title, Alameda Central. Alameda Central is a nearby park that has been a gathering place for locals for hundreds of years. The park was built in 1592 under the order of Viceroy Luis de Velasco II. It is now considered the oldest public park in the Americas. But long before it was a public city park, the area was an important site for the Aztec community. It was here where they held their enormous marketplace long before Spanish colonization.

Alameda Central

Alameda is from the Spanish word “álamo,” which means “grove of poplars.” The poplar trees that were once spread out through the park sadly do not remain today. Today, the trees have been replaced by ash, chestnut and willow trees. The group pictured in the park is filled with historical caricatures from over 400 years of Mexican history. They have all gathered together in this dream of Rivera’s. Although the dream sometimes feels more like a nightmare. Many historical paintings are told by the victors. Therefore they scrub away the sins of their past. But Diego, in all his works, never shied away from showing the grim realities of life. Violence and corruption permeated the history of Mexico.

Left Side of the Mural

The scenes from the painting can be read chronologically from left to right. You can get right up close to the mural in the museum to view these life-sized figures. Getting so close lets you feel the energy depicted within the scene. The piece seems to reverberate; gunshots fire, horses rear, police seize innocent indigenous children and the echoes of revolution swell in the background.

Hernan Cortez

One of the first figures of note to find is Hernan Cortez. You can see him off on edge to the left, dressed in his traditional military armour. His hands are posed in prayer as he is posed in front of flames that burn behind him. The flames of war he ignited. Beside him are victims of the Spanish Inquisition. Priests can be seen brutally punishing the victims, and a man all in black is in mid-swing of his cat of nine tails whip. One of the victims wears a sanbenito robe and conical hat. The iconic hat is now sometimes referred to as a “dunce cap.” The garments were worn by penitent heretics before they were put to the auto-da-fé. This “act of faith” was a ritual of public penance where the victims were killed by burning.

Below the large tree on the left, you can see two generals facing each other. The general on the left with the feathered admiral hat is Mexican president López de Santa Anna. Beside him is American General Scott. In 1846, during the presidency of López de Santa Anna, the Americans invaded Mexico City. And their encampment was actually located right inside Alameda Central.

Benito Juárez

Despite being farther into the background, the image of Benito Juárez, president of Mexico, is almost the largest face on the entire left side. He is seen holding a series of papers in his hands. Benito Juárez was President of Mexico from 1857 to 1872. During his time in office, Mexico suffered a second struggle for independence, a second defeat for the European powers, and a second reversal of the conquest. His greatest legacy was signing the Juárez Law, which declared all citizens equal before the law and restricted the privileges of the Catholic Church and the Mexican army.

Center Mural

The centre of the frame is the most vibrant and dreamlike part of the painting. It features bourgeois men and women in their Sunday best. In the background, the lush tropical park with a large fountain seems to glow with almost an ethereal neon hue. Above the scene in the centre is a huge hot air balloon flying above. The balloonist waves his Mexican flag, and the balloon is emblazoned with the Mexican Republic insignia.

La Calavera Catrina

The centre is dominated by a large, white skeletal figure called La Calavera Catrina. La Calavera Catrina (also called ‘the Dapper Skeleton’ or ‘elegant skull’) was originally conceived as a black and white cartoon. It was first drawn in 1910 by illustrator and lithographer José Guadalupe Posada. Rivera actually portrays Posada in this mural as well. He is seen to the right of La Calavera Catrina, holding her arm under his.

Originally, La Calavera Catrina was meant to be a caricature. She represented the elite of Mexico City during the reign of Porfirio Diaz. The caricature symbolizes a Mexican woman who has given up her Mexican culture and adopted high-society European aesthetics. Depicted with her huge Europe-styled hat and expensive feathers. And yet the woman is a skeleton. As if to say that no matter how you see yourself in this world, we are all the same underneath it all. Just bones. Over the years, La Catrina has become the symbol of death in Mexico. Her visage is a traditional part of the Day of the Dead celebrations.

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Rivera’s Calavera Catrina

In Diego’s mural, he has given the original sketch a whole body. While the face and large hat mirror the original drawing to a T, Diego has added some new elements. This includes a sumptuous feathered boa that hangs around her neck. But if you look closely, you’ll see the feathered boa still has a head and tail. This is meant to represent the Aztec serpent god Quetzalcóatl. Around her waist, La Calavera Catrina wears a belt with a gold buckle in the shape of an old Aztec symbol. This symbolizes La Calavera Catrina’s transition from caricature to a new form of revered god in the people’s eyes. She wears the body of the old god around her neck as she steps in to take its place.

Young Diego

In La Calavera, Catrina’s other hand, she holds the hand of a young Diego Rivera. Rivera has a playful little smile on his face. You can see a small toad poking out its head in his breast pocket, and in his other pocket, out comes a green snake. The umbrella he holds in his hand has the face of a bird, perhaps the Crested Caracara, often referred to as the “Mexican Eagle.” 

Frida Kahlo

Directly behind Diego stands Frida Kahlo. Frida’s hand lovingly rested on Diego’s shoulder. She holds a medallion with the yin-yang symbol in her opposite hand. Famously, Diego and Frida were polar opposites, yet they were drawn to each other despite these differences. In Chinese philosophy, the symbols depict the fundamental duality in humanity: female (“Yin”) and male (“Yang.”) Both Frida and Diego frequently painted images of each other in their artworks. In each of these paintings, there is always a coded message about the state of their relationship.

Throughout Diego’s career, Frida was always thought to be working in Diego’s shadow. She was known more as “the wife of Deigo Rivera” rather than an artist in her own right. And yet, here she is, the elder partner. Seemingly guiding Diego with her hand on his shoulder. Frida’s health was declining fast when Rivera painted this mural. Perhaps his small stature in the painting also reflects his helplessness in the face of her impending death.

Right Side of the Mural

To the right of the central group, we can see Porfirio Díaz looking down on them. Dressed in his military uniform and feathered hat, his decerning eyes gaze angrily at the group gathered. Díaz served seven terms as the President of Mexico. But this was better known as a dictatorship in the later years. Díaz started out as someone who aimed to turn the country around and free the people from the French. But once he came to power, his policies only benefited his circle of allies. The peasantry did not share in Mexico’s prosperity, leading to the Mexican Revolution of 1910. 

Below Díaz, on the ground, we see an indigenous family being forced to leave the park. They are being pushed away by a series of police officers. This is how Rivera uses transparency in his art. He aims to depict the racism that even the Mexican people have towards their indigenous community.

Francisco I. Madero

On the far right, up in a tree in front of a large Mexican flag, we can see Francisco I. Madero. He is smiling and waving his black hat up in the air. Madero was the head of the movement that overthrew Porfirio Díaz. Sadly, Madero was murdered during the Ten Tragic Days of 1913. His murderers, General Victoriano Huerta and Manuel Mondragón are also portrayed in the mural. Their menacing grey faces with prominent mustaches are hidden behind the crowd in the lower right corner. 

Also in the lower right corner are a group of women important to Rivera. This includes his ex-wife Guadalupe Marín, his daughters Guadalupe and Ruth Rivera Marín and his great friend Rosa Rolando Covarrubias. In the arms of his daughter Guadalupe, she holds her young son Juan Pablo. Perhaps by depicting his grandson in the photo, Diego wanted to cap the mural off with an image of hope. Hope for the future and for a better world for his grandson.

Alameda Central

After touring the museum, take a walk in the actual Alameda Central. Strolling through the gardens, monuments and pathways, you can get a sense of the vibrant atmosphere that must have inspired the setting for Rivera’s artwork. While the eastern portion of the park was for leisurely promenades, the park’s west end held a more nefarious purpose. This western section was originally built during the Mexican Inquisition. It was known as the “Burning Place.” Here, convicted witches and people accused of treason were publicly burned at the stake. While you don’t immediately think of Mexico as a place of witch trials, these inquisitions spread worldwide. When the inquisitions ended in 1770, the burning plaza was destroyed and transformed into an extension of the park.

One of the most important monuments is the “Hemiciclo de Benito Juárez.” This large semi-circle of eight towering marble columns with a central plinth is topped with a group of neoclassical statues. In the center is statesman Benito Juárez himself. Juárez was the 26th president of Mexico and, most importantly, the first president of Mexico of indigenous origin. On either side of him are two allegorical female statues representing the fatherland and law. On the pedestal he sits, you can see the inscription “Al benemerito Benito Juárez la Patria.” This translates into “To the meritorious Benito Juárez, the Homeland.”

Palacio de Bellas Artes

The Palacio de Bellas Artes, with its iconic sunset tiled roof, is one of the most iconic images of Mexico City. The Palacio de Bellas Artes hosts music, dance, theatre, opera and literature and is aptly named the “Cathedral of Art in Mexico.” The exterior of the building is primarily Neoclassical. But inside, you’ll discover a plethora of modern Art Deco and Art Nouveau stylings. Adding to the incredible decor of the interior is a series of murals wrapping around the walls. Each of these murals was commissioned by star painters of the Mexican Muralism movement. This includes; José Clemente Orozco, David Alfaro Siqueiros, Jorge González Camarena, Roberto Montenegro, Manuel Rodríguez Lozano and (most famously) Diego Rivera.

Man, Controller of the Universe

On the 3rd floor is where you can find Diego Rivera’s Man, Controller of the Universe. The mural is a recreation of the original mural once painted for New York City’s Rockefeller Center in 1933. When it was first thought up by Rivera, he named it Man at the Crossroads. But halfway through the project, the Rockefellers and Rivera disagreed about the subject matter depicted in the mural. The piece was meant to represent aspects of contemporary social and scientific culture. While the Rockefellers loved Rivera’s work, a damning article by the New York World-Telegram called the mural “anti-capitalist propaganda.”

Rivera and Lenin

Rivera was furious by the statement. As a means of revolt, he added a portrait of Lenin hidden within the mural. This portrait had not been approved in his original sketches. But Rivera hoped it wouldn’t draw any attention by hiding among other large portraits. Unfortunately, right before the unveiling, the Rockefellers took notice and demanded it is painted over. Rivera refused, and the entire piece was destroyed. This was a massive blow to Rivera’s ego. He was quoted as saying, “Rather than mutilate the conception [of the mural], I shall prefer the physical destruction of the conception in its entirety, but preserving, at least, its integrity.”

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After its destruction, Rivera recreated it in Mexico City on a blank wall in the Palacio Belles Artes. Rivera had asked his assistance to take pictures of the original mural before it was torn. This ensured he could recreate it perfectly here at the Palacio Belles Artes. When he was finished, he named this version Man, Controller of the Universe. A much more powerful title and reflective of his overall worldview.

Reading the Mural

The mural is split up into three different sections. In the center is a workman turning a giant piece of machinery. As if he is controlling the world around him with this machinery. Rivera was a staunch atheist, and his idea of man being the controller of his own destiny, not god, is evidently presented here. On the right side of the mural are depictions of capitalism, and on the left are depictions of communism. As mentioned in the original title, the universe appears at a crossroads. And we don’t know which way the man in the center will turn the wheel…

Central Mural

Emerging from the lower portion of the workman’s body is a giant fist. In the tight grasp of the fist, we can see an orb. Inside the orb are images of atoms and cells dividing in the act of chemical and biological generation. An ethereal blue light glows from around the edge of the orb. And tendrils start to emanate and spread out onto the rest of the image.
Radiating from behind the man is a series of propeller-like shapes. Inside each shape are images on both the micro and macro levels. Images as far away as the cosmos or as close up as bacteria are all seen through a microscope. Rivera is telling us that man can see it all. Beneath the mechanical structure, you’ll notice a small garden growing. This is meant to represent Mexico’s controlled growth of rich natural resources.

Left Side of the Mural

To the mural’s left side, we can see a small grouping of high society women playing cards and smoking. Hidden within the group of women, Rivera painted a portrait of John D. Rockefeller. Painting him among the clueless and cruel elite was revenge for Rockefeller destroying Rivera’s mural in New York.

Outside of their “social circle,” just beside the elite, are the faces of haggard workers looking on. Exhausted, angry expressions paint their faces. Above them, riots roars and police on horseback swing their batons, trying to silence protesters. This is a harsh contrast to the carefree gambling parties on the right. They are entirely unaware of the reality of the world around them inside their bubble.

Charles Darwin

In the foreground, a group of students of different ethnic backgrounds sit in lecture chairs. They appear to be watching the scene unfold through the large oculus in front of them. They are the hope for tomorrow, and only through learning about the past will they shape a better future. To the students’ left, we can see an x-ray machine controlled by a timid bearded man who represents Darwin. He is surrounded on the floor by different animals, which his studies revolve around.

Above the group stands a giant classical marble statue of the Greek god Jupiter. He looks furious, raising his hand to the sky. But a thunderbolt appears to strike his hand and break it from the rest of the statue. Around his neck is a large wooden cross. Rivera points out how Christianity and the Greek gods were false and would be destroyed by this new world. For Rivera, past myths have no influence on the future, where science and our understanding of the natural world around us reign supreme.

Above the entire scene is an assemblage of faceless soldiers and war machinery. Each soldier wears a terrifying gas mask on their face, obscuring their identity. Above the soldiers, the sky is filled with planes against a blood-red sky. A comment from Rivera on the violence created by capitalism.

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Right Side of the Mural

While the left side seems focused on war, the right side is a socialist utopia. On the right, between the propellers, we can see that famous image of Lenin. The very same one, the Rockefellers, were so up in arms about. In Lenin’s hands, he holds diverse workers around him. To the left of the group with Lenin is one of the brightest parts of the mural. Four women are shown in brilliant white athletic uniforms against a brilliant backdrop. A beautiful symbol of the power and hope Rivera had for women.

Along the top edge of the right mural are a large group of men and women celebrating the Russian May Day rally. Each wears a red cap or scarf and flies flags to symbolize communism. On the far right, we see another classical sculpture depicting a seated Caesar with his head cut off. Around Casesar’s waist, he clutches a bundle wrapped with a belt displaying the nazi symbol. Rivera viewed Caesar as a man of material goods. His beheading was a message from Rivera to rid ourselves of these material obsessions.

Leon Trotsky

At the feet of the headless statue is a man with round glasses and white hair. This is Leon Trotsky, a Ukrainian-Russian Marxist revolutionary, political theorist and politician. Trotsky and Rivera were once good friends. Trotsky even came to live in Mexico City after being expelled from the Soviet Union. Despite their best efforts to keep him safe, Trotsky was assassinated in his home in Coyoacán. Trotsky holds a giant red flag, supported by the industrial workers around him, representing Marxist theory. In the bottom left corner, one of the workers can be seen sitting casually on the statue’s head from above.

Stand back and take the entire mural in as one large scene. By doing this, you can appreciate how the left, the capitalist society, feels grim. On the right, more emotions are on the people’s faces, more rich colours. The people on the left are controlled by the government and religious institutions, and only the elite are free. But on the right, communist society is given control and freedom to create its own universe. Controlled by the people.

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Diego and Frida’s Funerals

Another big connection that the Palacio Belles Artes has to Diego is that it was the designated location for the funeral of his ex-wife Frida Kahlo. And would go on to be where he would be laid in state after his own death. Diego arranged for Frida’s body to be laid out in the Palacio de Bellas Artes. The government agreed, only if they would make it an entirely non-political event. Diego agreed. But unbeknownst to him, one of Frida’s students came to pay their respects and threw a huge communist flag over her casket. The government threatened to remove her body, but Diego refused to let them. He said if they tried, he would carry her dead body in his arm. And sit with her on the palace’s steps. They reluctantly agreed, and the flag remained on her casket, one last act of defiance.

Mexican Secretaria of Public Education Headquarters

Take a walk along the pedestrian-only Av Francisco I. Madero west towards the inner portion of the Historic Centre. When you reach the República de Brasil, head north, crossing westward once more along Luis González Obregón street. A few steps down the street, you’ll immediately see the Mexican Secretaria of Public Education Headquarters. The enormous building is spread over an entire city block. The facades that face out onto the different bounding streets are each done in a unique architectural style. Changing depending on the era in which it was created.

Diego Rivera Murals

Walk inside the iron gates from the República de Argentina to enter the open-air courtyard. You’ll usually see two armed guards on either side of the doors. Since this is still a government office, they take security seriously. Tell them you are there to visit the Diego Rivera murals. The guards will usually let you in if there aren’t any private events. But they might do a quick security check of any bags, so don’t let that surprise you. Inside the doors, you’ll enter the first of two large adjoining courtyards. Covering the courtyard’s walls are 235 panelled murals painted by none other than Diego Rivera. This was Rivera’s first large-scale painting project.

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Rivera and Vasconcelos

When Rivera returned to Mexico from his studies in Europe, it was to participate in a new mural program started. The program was the pet project of the new Secretary of Public Education, José Vasconcelos. Vasconcelos thought that art was a powerful tool for education. He went about commissioning large-scale mural projects across the city to bring art to the public. This project took place after the great Mexican revolution. Art was to be used to help communicate to the people that this new government would guarantee the new life promised by the revolution. And the first building Vasconcelos wanted Diego Rivera to work on was aptly the same one he worked in.

Like many of his contemporaries, Rivera believed that easel painting was considered too aristocratic. He and his contemporaries thought large, public murals could reach a larger audience. Art didn’t need to be hidden away inside stuffy museums or only appreciated by those with a critical eye. Art was for everyone.

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Education Mural Themes

Rivera started work on the murals in 1923, which took the painter five years to complete. Despite the overly Greek-influenced exterior, these murals focused powerfully on the Mexican identity. The murals followed themes of the Mexican Revolution and the glorification of Mexican labourers. Rivera’s themes are divided by the two courtyards. The larger courtyard focuses on Labour, and the smaller courtyard is dedicated to the Mexican Fiesta. Unlike the European influence that paints the colonial parts of the city, these murals focused on traditional Mexican heritage.

Fiesta Courtyard

The smaller Fiesta Courtyard is the first one you’ll enter. Here there are murals on the ground floor depicting various meaningful events in the Mexican calendar. You’ll see scenes from the Deer Dance, the Day of the Dead and the Corn Fiesta. There are also murals featuring the Meeting on May 1st, Good Friday and the Ribbon Dance.

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Walk up the stairs to the second level, where you can view one of the most important of Rivera’s murals. This massive painting, called The Arsenal, portrays a group of revolutionaries preparing for battle. In the center, you can see the image of a young woman in red wearing a communist star on her shoulder. The woman who posed for this painting was none other than Frida Kahlo. He painted her when she was just a student, long before the two would be married. Hovering above the murals, Rivera painted a sprawling red banner. The banners span the entire wall length and connect one scene to the other. The text written upon it is lyrics to various revolutionary songs called “corridos.”

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Labor Courtyard

The larger courtyard surrounds a beautiful green garden full of lush foliage. In this area, you can see scenes depicting Mexican labourers. Using looms, you’ll find images of mineworkers, sugar mill labourers, and craftspeople. Women set about dying fabric, smelters work in hot ovens, and busy farmers sell their goods in the marketplace.

On the second-floor staircase are a series of murals highlighting Mexico’s diverse landscape. From the bright blue coastlines to the lush green mountains. The murals on the second level are dedicated to what Rivera considered the four primary elements of painting. These are light, colours, man and geometry.

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Former College of San Ildefonso

Head back outside and make your way to the Former College of San Ildefonso, now the Museo De San Ildefonso. As you walk towards the building, take a moment to study the architecture of the building. The ancient blood-red volcanic stones are contrasted with a series of elaborately designed windows. The vibrant stained glass still gleams in the sunlight even to this day.

You walk through the double arcade outside Justo Sierra to enter the building. Stand outside the door for a minute to appreciate the elaborate Neo-Churrigueresque architecture. Neo-Churrigueresque is also known as Ultra Baroque. The style developed primarily in Spain but made its way to their colonies. Here it seemed to find a loving home in the arms of the Mexican people who love decoration. The style is primarily identifiable by extremely expressive and florid decorative details. While these elements bleed into the rest of the building, their main cluster surrounds the entrances and facades.

Mexican Muralist Movement

Inside the old college, it’s here that the Mexican Muralist movement was said to be invented. The building was originally constructed in 1588 as a Jesuit College. But when the Jesuits were expelled, the school became a residence for soldiers in 1767. Then, in the 1860s, the building was once more transformed into a school by president Benito Juárez. Juárez took schooling out of the hands of the clergy and into the hands of the government. Back then, the school saw over 700 students in and out of doors daily.

Government Mural Program

As the school was brimming with activity, the government thought this spot would be the perfect spot to feature a new government-sponsored mural. They commissioned a series of murals with themes relating to Mexico’s history and the politics of the post-Revolution era. Various artists contributed to the art spread across the walls of the college. The artists included; Ramón Alva de la Canal, Fermin Revueltas, Fernando Leal, José Clemente Orozco, David Alfaro Siqueiros, and Diego Rivera.

The building remained a functioning college until 1978, when it finally closed its door. It wasn’t until 1992 that it was reopened as a public museum and cultural center. Today there is always a series of rotating exhibitions on display. Many of them feature subjects relating to art and archeology in Mexico.

Creation Mural

Admission into the museum costs 50 pesos as there are rotating exhibitions on display inside. But if you just want a peek at Rivera’s work, you can sneak inside the Bolívar Amphitheater. This is found to the left of the entrance. You can access the theatre without admission, so long as there is no performance inside. Inside the Bolívar Amphitheater is one of Diego Rivera’s earliest murals, The Creation. This singular mural took Rivera over a year to complete, spanning over a thousand square feet!

The entire piece is a symbolic composition combining mythological and religious motifs. Along the top, in the center of the mural, is a blue astrological sphere with three hands emanating. This represents the holy trinity, stretching outwards towards the audience. In the middle are images of Adam and Eve, flanked on either side by the muses; Love, Hope, Faith, Prudence, Justice, Strength, Wisdom and Science.

Rivera’s Early Style

In this painting, Rivera’s art style’s youth can be studied. His iconic, more abstract technique seems to be missing. As if he hasn’t found his authentic voice just yet. The piece follows a similar style to that of Italian Renaissance fresco paintings. But even within this early work, his use of geometric structure, powerful facial expressions and strong composition are persistent.

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Mercado Presidente Abelardo L. Rodriguez

Less than ten minutes from the college, you can make your way to the Mercado Presidente Abelardo L. Rodriguez. This simple community marketplace is home to a series of murals painted by Diego Rivera’s students. While the work wasn’t by Diego himself, I love the idea of seeing his ideologies passed down to the next generation. And studying the works allows you to appreciate Rivera’s impact on future artists.

Market Murals

The market was built in 1934, and at the time, it was known for being very modern. It spread over 12,450 square metres and featured a daycare, youth center, library and large auditorium. It was more than just a market; it was a community centre. But most importantly, the architect hired Diego Rivera’s students to paint murals. These murals would span the entire interior wall and ceiling with themes portraying socialist ideologies popular at the time in Mexico City.

The young artists were passionate about reflecting the exploitation of workers, peasants and miners, especially by the elite of Mexico. The murals also depicted the fight against the Nazis, fascism, and racism. When the murals were initially painted, they were thought to be the city’s fourth most important public murals. And yet, over the years, they began to deteriorate. After the devastating 1985 earthquake, the marketplace began to fall into disrepair. The humidity started to peel the paint, and as the area was losing its prominent status, vandalism was also a problem. The mural was all but lost to the ages. But thanks to a group of concerned merchants, restorations began in 2008. This ensured these pieces of national history would be preserved. Although restorations are ongoing, you can walk around the marketplace today to see many iconic paintings.

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Antigua Academia de San Carlos

Walk south down Calle Loreto, east across República de Guatemala and down La Academie. Here you’ll find the Academia de San Carlos. This was the first art academy in Mexico and the “new world.” They opened their doors in 1785 and primarily taught academic neoclassicism to their students.

But over the years, the students began to rebel against the learnings of teachers from Europe. They longed for their own national artistic identity. This came to a head in 1911 when the student began to strike. This strike would last over two years. The students demanded to be able to paint outdoors. They wanted to be able to experiment more in their artwork and eventually shift towards a modern form of painting. Diego Rivera was the leader they needed and became the academy director in 1929. He was the perfect choice to appease the students. His entire career has been about telling the story of the Mexican people and bringing modern art to the masses.

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Palacio Nacional

To finish off our tour of Diego Rivera’s murals in the historic centre, we must pay a visit to the Palacio Nacional (or National Palace). This is his piece-de-resistance. The Palacio Nacional is an enormous museum with so much to see and do. Entrance to the National Palace is free, although there is usually a long lineup to get inside. You need to leave a piece of ID with the guards at the door. Since the Palace is still home to the offices of the Mexican President, security is critical. They need to control the number of people and keep track of exactly who is inside. The entrance to the National Palace can be found on Moneda Street.

History of the Palace

The site of the building was once Moctezuma II’s Grand Palace. His great residence was built here in 1521. When Cortés first visited the Palace, he described it as having a surprising array of riches. The walls were made of marble, and the facade contained a carved shield of Mexico’s iconic eagle. With the snake in its claws. The building was modern, with sanitary facilities, fountains, gardens, and bedrooms with rich rabbit fur and feathers tapestries. In addition to being a royal residence for the rulers of the Aztec city, it was also a meeting place for the older tribe members. Here disputes and discussions would take place to ensure the wealth and happiness of their people.

Hernan Cortés

Sadly, after the invasion by the Spanish, Hernan Cortés seized the residence from the Aztecs. Cortés was so enamoured by the palace that he used it as his home. Passing it down to his son in later years. The Palace’s devastating fire in 1692 destroyed much of the original structure. Many of the original stones that could be recovered were used in the reconstruction efforts. However, the new palace was styled in the Baroque fashion of the time. It seemed that over time, every generation added its own touch to the building. And now, it looks more like a patchwork quilt of architectural ages.

History of Mexico Mural

Walking inside the National Palace, follow the signs for the ‘History of Mexico Murals.’ These can be found within the great courtyard, surrounded by Baroque arches. Walk up to the main stairwell, where you’ll immediately be struck by this immense masterpiece. The mural depicts the history of Mexico from the dawn of human existence through to the 1920s. Rivera started work on this mural in 1929, many years after his first mural project. The precision and confidence in his technical skills and expressive style are evident in this work of art. Rivera was decisive in using his art to communicate his ideologies about communism and the rejection of the colonizers. He wanted to bring the crimes of the past clearly into the minds of the people. To ensure these atrocities were never forgotten.

The main message of the mural surrounds the indigenous Mexican people’s struggles to preserve their culture, National identity and country against the brutal colonizers. Standing at the base of the stairwell, take a minute to appreciate the sheer grandeur of the entire piece. So much of the story is sad—a classic tale of good vs. evil. The goodly indigenous Mexicans had one of the most vibrant cultures. Yet, they were practically wiped out by the evil, invading Europeans.

If you squint and look at the entire piece, the bright colours and expressive shapes look powerful, hopeful and strong, just like the Mexican people. Despite the horrors of the past, the post-revolution population believed in the future of their country. Especially as it became an independent nation. And that their strength and perseverance would conquer evil and allow their great country to prosper.

North Wall 

Walk up the stairs to the landing in the center, and look up at the left side, or North Wall. This part of the mural depicts the indigenous Mexicans long before the arrival of the Spaniards. They are surrounded by the fantastical Mexican landscape all around them. The blue is almost heavenly —the large bright sunshine above casting all of them in celestial light. The Aztecs believed in the sun god, as seen in the all-seeing eyes painted onto the sun’s face. Just below the sun, you can also see an erupting volcano with Xiuhtecuhtli’s “the Lord of Fire” exploding from the mouth of the volcano. In the sky flies Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent deity and god of the wind and the rain.

The Valley of Mexico is spread along the horizon, with its amazing pyramids towering above the people. Standing in front of the pyramids are the Aztec leaders, guiding and looking after their citizens. In the left corner, you can see a small battle scene between two tribes. This violence was a common occurrence in any civilization. But the cultural costumes worn by the different tribes make this little vignette so interesting.

Farmers are tending to vivid corn crops, almost as bright as gold. Craftspeople in the lower right-hand side of the mural are busy weaving, making pottery, playing music, painting and writing on scrolls. This shows their modern civilization, full of technology, art and science! They were the farthest thing from “savages,” as the violent Spanish colonizers reported.

West Side, Main Wall 

We move from the north wall’s idyllic memories to the densely packed and violent images of the west wall. This is the mural straight ahead as you walk up the main stairs. It is the battle of the Mexican people against their oppressors. A story of hatred and war is woven into the fabric of Mexico’s history.

Lower Level Depictions

The lower part of the mural is riddled with images of Mexicans and Indians fighting against the heavily armoured Spanish and French cavalry. The beautiful and bright feathered costumes of the Aztec leaders crushed and fell under the feet of their enemies. Cortez can be seen in the middle of the painting, as he is the only mounted soldier with his face exposed. The rest of the attacker’s helmets are closed. But Rivera paints Cortez with his helmet raised, so his actions are not anonymous.

Cortez’s armies have modern weaponry making their defeat of the Aztecs a foregone conclusion. Despite being outgunned and outnumbered, the Aztecs fought valiantly against the Spanish on the right and left corners. All the while, the Aztecs are being watched over by a great golden eagle in the center. The eagle sits perched atop a cactus with a serpent in its mouth. The design of this symbol is rooted in the legend that the Aztec people would build their great city on the spot where they found an eagle eating a snake on top of a cactus. They called that place Tenochtitlan (Mexico City), and it was worth fighting for them.

Middle Depictions

In the middle of the mural, we see the horrors brought to Mexico by the Spaniards. Not only did they want to conquer the land, but they also wanted to abolish the Aztec religion. The Inquisition went about burning sacred books and religious imagery. You can see these fires burst out across the wall. Priests on the left-hand side can be seen forcefully converting the indigenous people to their new religion of Chrsitiniarity. The Spanish turned many natives into slaves, and these hard-working people were the creators of this “new world.”

Upper Arch Depictions

Under the five arches at the top of the wall are the various rulers of Mexico. Interesting to note is Rivera’s use of non-hierarchical representation. No one man is larger than the other. While some think it makes the mural more challenging to interpret or read, it is part of Rivera’s communist ideologies of equality.

Starting from the left, we see the French Rule and execution of Austrian Emperor Maximilian in 1867. Next to that, we see images of the Porfirian era. This era was coloured with a brutal dictatorial rule accomplished through consensus and repression. In the central arch, we see depictions of Independence and the Mexican Revolution. You can see a man with a mustache carrying a large red banner at the very top of the frame. This is revolutionary Emiliano Zapata, who was one of the leading men in the revolution. The red flag says “Tierra y Libertad,” which means “Land and Liberty.”

To the right, we see images from the Reform and Juarez eras. Benito Juarez was Mexico’s only Indigenous president and the founder of the new Mexican nation. Finally, on the far right, we have the invasion of Mexico by the US. Above the invading US army is the great eagle flying down to attack.

South Wall

The south wall to the left of the main stairwell depicts the future of the Mexican people. The imagery represents progress, prosperity and hopes for a better future. At the top of the mural is the image of Karl Marx holding his great Communist Manifesto on a large scroll. To the right of this is a man flying the Soviet flag. When the mural was painted, the Mexican people and Rivera himself had solid socialist tendencies. The Soviet flag can be seen throughout imagery from this era.

To the right of Karl is a scene of Mexican workers. They are being attacked and oppressed by police wearing large gas masks. This scene takes place in front of Mexico City’s skyline silhouette. While the other two murals are more fluid in their collage-like design, this mural is framed in harsh geometric metal beams. Inside these almost cage-looking rectangles are pictorial representations of what Rivera saw as negative social forces in high society. 

At the bottom of the painting is the image of a woman dressed in bright red. Look closely at her face to see if you can recognize the model. It is none other than his wife, Frida Kahlo. Frida holds a copy of the Marxist manifesto and is engaged in a political rally. Very similar to her real-life political activism. Above her is another similar-looking woman. This is Frida’s sister Cristina, with whom Rivera had an affair during his marriage to Frida.

Second Level

On the second level of the courtyard patio are 11 additional murals painted by Rivera. These are continuations of the history but highlight particular scenes that Rivera found to be important during the pre-Hispanic era. These murals were not finished, and it’s interesting to see them as works in progress captured in time.

Cárcamo de Dolores

There are several other spots in Mexico City to see if you are following in the footsteps of Diego Rivera. One location to visit that is home to two important spots is the great Bosque de Chapultepec or Chapultepec Park. The park is one of the largest city parks in the Western Hemisphere and spans over 1,600 acres! A dense and populated city needs fresh air, and this park acts as its “lungs,” with trees that replenish oxygen to the Valley of Mexico. The name Chapultepec stems from the Nahuatl word chapoltepēc, which means “at the grasshopper’s hill.” If you find yourself in Chapultepec Park, you can also visit the Cárcamo de Dolores. 

The Cárcamo was built in 1951 under engineers Eduardo Molina Arévalo and Guillermo Torres. The Cárcamo de Dolores (or Sump of Dolores) was a hydraulic structure that housed a giant water tank. From here, the city would control the levels in several other large water reservoirs. But, the space was given an artistic flair by Diego Rivera. 

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Tláloc, the God of Water

Once the new system was implemented, they set about creating this museum in honour of the water god Tláloc. Tláloc is the god of rain, water and earthly fertility. Walking up to the building, you can see the giant tiled fountain with the image of Tláloc lying down, spread over 100 feet wide. He lies with his legs laid splayed, decorated with brightly coloured stones mined from the natural resources of the Mexican landscape. Originally, the area where we now find the fountain was the entry point where the Lerma River water entered the city’s reservoir.

Water has long been both worshipped and yet highly problematic in Mexico City. After the Spanish conquest, they drained the precious life-giving rivers and lakes. Since then, the city has constantly been searching for accessible water. So people are continually making their prayers to Tláloc. In the hopes he can solve what even modern-day engineers still have not.

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Main Building

Inside the main building is where you can find Rivera’s murals, Water, Origin of Life. These murals pay tribute to the workers, engineers and architects who participated in the construction of the original Cárcamo water system. These 200 square meters of murals were meant to be underwater, making them the only underwater mural in the world. Today, the murals’ pools are empty, allowing the public to observe the artworks. Constant aquatic exposure resulted in the slow deterioration of these historical works, so the water was drained and diverted. A pipe organ has been installed to give the room the same atmosphere as it once had. The organ makes noises through the adjacent municipal pipes to make the room sound like a functional waterway.

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Panteón de Dolores

On the other side of the Avenue Bosques in Chapultepec Park is the great Panteón Civil de Dolores. This Pantheon, or cemetery, is the largest cemetery in Mexico. And in my opinion, this cemetery is one of the greatest in the world! Filled with some of the most incredibly elaborate and imaginative tombstones. The cemetery was built in 1897 on Juan Manuel Benfield’s ranch. Benfield founded the cemetery in honour of his wife, who had recently died in Veracruz. She couldn’t be buried in Veracruz as all cemeteries there were for Roman Catholics only, and they were practicing Anglicans. The cemetery grew and grew over the years, becoming home to some of the most illustrious dead of Mexico City. Today, the cemetery has over 700,000 tombs and is considered the most crowded cemetery in Latin America.

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They even have a special section of the cemetery called the ‘Rotonda de las Personas Ilustres‘ (Rotunda of Illustrious Persons). This area honours those who have exalted Mexico’s civic, national and human values. Originally it was named the Rotunda of Illustrious Men. But it was renamed by President Vicente Fox in 2003 as the cemetery also honours many famous women. The first person to be buried here was soldier Pedro Litechipia, who died fighting against the empire of Maximilian in 1876. 

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Diego Rivera’s Tomb

Included among the illustrious dead is Diego Rivera. Interestingly enough, Rivera had requested that he not be buried at all. Instead, he wanted to be cremated and his ashed comingled with those of his beloved Frida Kahlo. Frida’s urn can be found inside her beloved Casa Azul. Sadly, upon his death, his family overruled his decision and had this tomb designed to house his body. The vault was designed with pre-Hispanic patterns and symbols swirling around the tombstone. Emerging from the stone are the bright white marble arms and the death mask of Diego Rivera himself. As if the artist is merely asleep and is rising from the grave. Haunting and yet beautiful all at once.

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The Flower Vendor (Girl with Lilies)

On either side of the tomb are bouquets of white calla lilies carved in marble. So they may bloom for eternity. Rivera’s famous The Flower Vendor (Girl with Lilies) is one of Rivera’s most famous artworks. Although the lily is associated with funerals and death to Rivera, it symbolizes indigenous culture. It also references Mexico’s abundant flora and even a hint of sensuality, as the flower resembles a certain part of the female anatomy. Flower sellers also represent the poor working class. Who sold the beauty of the Mexican landscape to the wealthy upper class, which consumed it. For this reason, focusing on the flowers on his grave is even more important to his legacy.

Tomb Mosaic

Above the tomb, on a large stone marker, is a beautiful mosaic. It features the image of an older indigenous woman surrounded by lit candles. The scene appears dark as if she is here at night. She kneels on the ground, planting seeds with a woven basket in front of her. A symbol of how Rivera planted seeds in the minds and eyes of the Mexican people. Inspiring them for ages to come. On the opposite side of the mosaic is a burst of Rivera set into the stone. Below it is a large inscription dedicated to the life and impact of the great artist.

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Coyoacan and San Angel

You can visit many other places that are significant to Diego Rivera, located outside the city centre. Luckily, Uber makes seeing many of these destinations very straightforward. Two neighbouring areas worth visiting are the colourful suburb of Coyoacan and the quiet artistic streets of San Ángel.

Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera y Frida Kahlo

The rural hamlet, filled with cobblestone streets and bougainvillea-covered colonial homes of San Angel, was where Diego Rivera called home in his old age. While the Casa Azul was Frida’s palace, the Casa Estudio was Diego Rivera’s oasis. Here, you can learn more about Diego, the man, not just Diego, the artist. This was Rivera’s dream home. He had it custom designed by architect and friend Juan O’Gorman.

Juan O’Gorman

O’ Gorman studied functionalist construction under the swiss design of Le Corbusier. Gorman was enthusiastic about bringing this modernist style to Mexico City. A city he saw as being a hub for modern thinking and exquisite architecture. Diego and Frida’s studio house would be the first construction using functionalist architecture in Latin America. Functionalism was a style defined by buildings that should only express their use or function. They removed excess decoration and prized minimalism.

For Diego and Frida, this functionalist ideal represented their need for two separate studios. Functionally, they could not work together. Frida and Diego’s relationship was plagued with intensity, both good and bad. But when it was bad, it was very, very bad. They found the need to have two different spaces to work to focus on their craft without quarrelling with one another all day. And yet, the two buildings are connected by a large bridge on the top. It is a symbol of their love. That at the end of the day, they still found a way to come together and connect. 

The Architecture of the House/Studio

The two buildings were designed almost as polar opposites. Diego’s studio building is painted off-white and rust-red. Simple, natural colours. On the other hand, Frida’s studio is painted the same ethereal cobalt blue as her Casa Azul. Both studies feature almost floor-to-ceiling windows, giving the interior space an indoor/outdoor feeling. The houses are separated from the street by a perimeter fence. But instead of being made from wood or wrought iron, the fence is made of rows of tall cacti along the roadside. Giving it the most iconic appearance.

The couple lived here from 1934 to 1939. In 1939, they divorced, and Frida moved home to Casa Azul. Leaving Diego to live full-time, alone in the studio house. After their divorce, the couple actually got back together only 9-months later. But even after this reconciliation, Frida and Diego kept the studio house. Diego would continue to live there full-time until his death on November 24, 1957. Rivera died in his studio, and his body remained there as friends and family sat vigil inside to mourn the loss. After this, his body was moved to the Palacio de Bellas Artes for his state funeral. After his death, his daughter inherited the house. But she gifted it to the Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes to be enjoyed by the public for years to come as a museum.

Diego’s Studio

Diego’s studio is filled with natural energy. The floor-to-ceiling windows allow sunshine to shine through and ignite the space. The studio museum still contains brushes and pigments, which Rivera used to make his murals. He is sitting on his easel like he is about to walk back into the room mid-painting. Dotting the walls are items from Rivera’s pre-hispanic arts and crafts collections. Books lined the shelves, which served as artistic inspirations and portraits of Diego’s many friends and fellow artists. It really felt like a space that was intimate and highly personal.

But filling the majority of the studio are these huge paper-mâché figures. These are called “Judases” and are life-sized papier-mâché dolls popular in Mexican folk art. These are usually made to be burnt as a part of the celebrations on the day before Easter. The figures are made in the image of Judas the Traitor or other unfavourable people. This could be anything from images of devils and demons or even politicians, criminals and disliked shopkeepers. They are then stuffed with fireworks and blown up on the street. Much to the enjoyment of the onlookers. But Rivera didn’t blow them up. Instead, he kept them as souvenirs of the local artisans. Although the simple craftsmen who made them might not see them as high art, Diego saw these as treasures to keep forever.

Plaza San Jacinto

Just a 5-minute drive from the museum/studio, make a stop in the Plaza San Jacinto. This beautiful park is a hub of activity on Saturday mornings. On the weekends, artisans of the San Angel neighbourhood descend on the park to display and sell their creations. Small groups of artists often sell throughout the week, but Saturdays are the most popular day. You’re guaranteed to find the marketplace bustling on those days.

Make your way to the plaza’s centre and look across from the elegant central fountain. There, you will see a bronze easel with the burst of Diego Rivera emblazoned into the cartouche. As Rivera was a resident of the San Angel for many years, local artists inspired by Rivera wanted to commemorate him for generations to come. There is something wonderful about Rivera’s face looking over at the artists in the square selling their works. Continuing his passion for supporting Mexican artists, even from the great beyond.

Casa de Cultura Jesús Reyes Heroles

Now let us head into the vibrant neighbourhood of Coyoacan. Our first stop is at the Casa de Cultura Jesús Reyes Heroles. This building is now a free cultural centre to enter and explore. The “House of Culture” was named in honour of the distinguished historian and political scientist Jesús Reyes Heroles. The building was originally located on an Izotitlán farm, a type of wild palm. Those palm trees still grow wild all over the property.

Just inside the entrance to the Casa is a sculpture of Frida and Diego sitting on a park bench, cast in bronze. You can sit alongside and get your picture taken with the famous couple. The house has existed here since 1780, occupied by various families. It’s no stretch to imagine that the previous owners would have welcomed the famous couple into their garden for a visit or a dinner party from time to time.

Casa Azul

La Casa Azul, or “the blue house,” located on Londres Street in Coyoacán, once belonged to Frida’s father, Guillermo Kahlo. It was here where she was born. She grew up inside these walls. It was where she suffered from illness but flourished as an artist. Eventually, Frida bought the house from her parents and lived with Diego throughout their marriage. They even got divorced and remarried, all within these blue walls. And ultimately, it was the place where she would pass away. It was her sanctuary but also her cage. She spent more years inside these walls than perhaps anywhere else in the world. As such, it is one of the most intimate looks into her life that you can experience.

The museum is less of a simple art gallery and more like an inside look at Frida and Diego’s private world. The house has sketches by both artists and pictures of the two as a couple. But the main focus of the Casa Azul is the couple’s Mexican folk art. They collected pre-Hispanic artifacts, photographs, memorabilia, personal items, and more which are still on display. Walking inside their home, you feel a deep connection with Frida and Diego. To learn more about Casa Azul, take my self-guided tour!

Frida Kahlo Park

Frida and Diego loved the outdoors. Diego often painted outside. The outdoors were an important part of their artistic life. In the centre of Coyoacan, you can make your way to Frida Kahlo Park. In the middle of the park, you’ll find two large bronze sculptures of Frida and Diego. Frida is dressed in her classic Tehuana outfit, gazing over at Diego. This park has a very structured layout, the bushes around it perfectly pruned into geometric shapes. Slightly resembling Aztec pyramids popping out in the background.

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Museo Anahuacalli

If you are travelling to Xochimilco, you should stop by the Museo Anahuacalli. Your ticket into the Casa Azul also covers your entry into this museum. The Museo Anahuacalli was another one of Diego Rivera’s homes. Diego and Frida were fierce nationalists who loved their home country and wanted to preserve its history. Diego and Frida dreamed of opening their own museum dedicated to these objects. Sadly, in their lifetime, this dream never came to fruition. But after Diego’s death, his daughter took up the project and created the Museo Anahuacalli. Architect Juan O’Gorman, who designed their studio, also designed this house.

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The house’s exterior was made using black volcanic stone from an old Mexico volcano. The texture is something truly unique. There are over 50,000 pre-Hispanic pieces inside the museum. Some of these Diego would collect while he and Frida would travel to ancient Aztec pyramids outside of Mexico City. Each one of them was a piece of Mexico’s heritage, a heritage that inspired the historical influences of Rivera’s artwork.

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Museo Dolores Olmedo

Also, near Xochimilco, stop at the Museo Dolores Olmedo Museum. The museum is located inside the grounds of an old 16th-century residence. In 1962, Dolores Olmedo bought the house. Dolores was a fierce collector of art as well as a lover of Mexican culture. It is no surprise to learn then that she was old friends with Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo. She was also one of their most prolific collectors, and her gallery remains the largest private collection of their works. In 1994, her collection was transformed into the museum we now find today. Luckily, Dolores lived until 2002, so she could see this fantastic house converted into an art gallery for the public to enjoy.

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Olmedo & Rivera

Olmedo met Rivera when she was only 17 years old on a trip to Mexico City with her mother. They met while Rivera was working on his murals inside the Ministry of Education building. Inside the museum, you can see one of the portraits that Rivera painted of her. He made it in 1955 after their first meeting. As their friendship continued, Rivera continued to paint Olmedo and her children. They were so close, in fact, that Olmedo invited Rivera to spend time with her family in her home in Acapulco. Here, the painter made over 50 different paintings of sunsets from Olmedo’s front porch. Several of these paintings can be viewed inside the museum.

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Today you can explore gardens filled with exotic Mexican plants, magical peacocks and Xoloitzcuintles. Xoloitzcuintles are a rare dog breed that was once only thought it exists in mythical stories of the afterlife. But the breed is actually an ancient hairless Aztec dog. The museum also features a permanent exhibition of works by Russian-Mexican artist Angelina Beloff, Diego Rivera’s first wife.

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This brings us to the end of the Mexico City tour, walking in Diego Rivera’s footsteps. I hope you enjoyed your time with us and learned something new about the city along the way! Let me know in the comments what your favourite stop along the tour was!

Happy Travels, Adventurers!

The post The Ultimate Insider’s Guide to a Diego Rivera’s Life & Art in Mexico City first appeared on The Creative Adventurer.

But today, when we look at this artwork, we don’t find his images as controversial as they once were. Our modern eyes think of Monet as old-fashioned, and it’s hard to imagine how these paintings once shocked the world. So how can we translate the power these paintings once held to a modern audience? Well, Beyond Monet aims to do just that.

Last weekend I had the pleasure of attending the opening week of Beyond Monet in Toronto. I had previously attended Beyond Van Gogh in Calgary and was excited to see the next iteration from the “Beyond” creators.

About Beyond Monet

Beyond Monet aims to bring guests into Monet’s artworks. It turns you from a spectator into a character within the frame, inside his ethereal world of impressionism. The pictures are brought to life as the paint moves, swirl, and transforms itself around the circular room. The main space where you view the show is located inside a curved room. The design of this room was inspired by the Orangerie Museum in France, where Monet’s large-scale Water Lilies series is on display. His water lilies paintings wrap around the room in that museum, and here they wanted to recreate that effect but with more of Monet’s collections of paintings.

While many people know Monet only by his iconic Water Lillies, what the production really does well is introducing you to a myriad of his other works, central to his oeuvre. The show’s main theme focuses on the controversy that Monet faced when he began his impressionist movement. And Monet was indeed a revolutionary of the art world during his time. The show’s culmination project reviews Monet’s artwork on-screen, which were less than favourable when the impressionism movement began.

But in reality, Monet was a thriving artist in his own lifetime, unlike some other artists who only found success after their death. Monet did suffer greatly in many ways, but he also flourished. Just like the flowers that bloomed in his garden. While they may fade and die in the winter, they come back in the Spring and Summer brighter and more vibrant than ever! In Monet’s full bloom, at the very end of his life, he created the most iconic series of paintings of the 20th century. His iconic waterlilies mural, a dedication to the lost soldiers of WWI.

Access & Admission

Beyond Monet is located at the Toronto Metro Convention Center. The Convention Center is located right beside Union Subway Station and Union Go Station. This makes it extremely accessible by public transit from anywhere else in the city. There are multiple parking lots around the area, ranging in price from $10 to $27/hour. Still, with public transit so easily and cheaply accessible, that is my recommendation. The show is entirely wheelchairs, walkers, and scooter accessible.

The show runs until November 14th, 2021 | Sunday – Thursday: 10am – 10pm | Friday – Saturday: 10am – 11pm

Tickets

There are two tiers of ticketing options. The first is the cheaper option which is offered during off-peak hours (Monday – Thursday). An Adult Timed Entry ticket is $39.99, Children are $29.99, and Students/Seniors are $35.99. During peak hours (Friday – Sunday and holidays), tickets for Adults are $49.99, Children are $29.99, and Students/Seniors are $45.99. Your ticket also is subject to ticketing fees bringing the cost for two people over $100. Because the visit is about one hour in length, this is a pretty costly outing. 

I’ve commented on this before, but I’ll say it again. I really think that the producers of this show need to consider the pricing of these productions. I think the show is fantastic, but not for the cost they are currently offering. A ticket to the ROM is $23, and the AGO is $25, and this institution can provide an entire day’s worth of entertainment. Compare that to a single hour for almost double the price of the Beyond Monet production. For people for whom money is no object, this obviously isn’t an issue. Still, the show is definitely something I wish would be more accessible to a wider audience. I think a pay-what-you-can day would be a great idea to open the show up to more people.

My Honest Review of Beyond Monet

Bridge over a Pond of Water Lilies

The introductory room to Beyond Monet features two arched bridges inspired by the famous ‘Bridge over a Pond of Water Lilies‘ painting. Hanging from the ceilings around the room are large explanatory panels. This room doesn’t have any real directional flow, so it’s difficult to know where to start or follow the story they are trying to tell. I know many people find it so difficult to read informative panels in any context. But it felt even more difficult here. It’s so important to read these to get a better idea of the story they are trying to tell. This room features the sound of birds chirping, water rushing and the wind blowing through the trees. This is actually one of the most immersive parts of the exhibit, as it sounds like what Monet would have heard while painting in the garden. I just wish the text had been a bit more consumable, concise and streamlined.

The context will help the viewer understand the art more deeply. It makes the show more than just looking at pretty pictures, but understanding who Monet was, his philosophy, why he changed the world of painting and how he saw the world around him. I just wish there had been a way to weave this into the show a bit better, so you didn’t have to rely on people reading every panel to absorb this information. Because let’s face it…they don’t. 

Infinity Room

From the first room, you are lead through a tunnel of streamers into the ‘Infinity Room.’ This room features a large pavilion in the center surrounded by reflective panels on the floor for guests to sit on. The reflective panels are one of the best parts of the room as they act as mirrors and reflect the artwork onto more parts of the room, like drops of rain speckled on the floor. The gazebo surrounded by Monet’s naturalistic images felt wonderfully fitting. Sitting under the awning looking out at the gardens was one of the most entrancing parts of the show.

Immersive Intervention

The production tries to wrap the images around the gazebo roof, but adding projections onto the ceiling means the entire room is more illuminated. You can therefore make out the metal of the lighting rig and other elements which take you out of the immersive experience. It very much feels like you are standing in a convention center. This was perhaps the biggest failing, as it really took you out of the imaginative space. The Van Gogh exhibition had images covering the floor and crawling up the twisting walls. It seems to transform the space differently. I also felt like the score of this production was a bit weak. Van Gogh featured a nice combination of traditional and modern music with great swells and pacing. This score felt a bit lacklustre. As Monet himself was this huge revolutionary, I had hoped the music could have reflected this sense of rebellion. And for the price of the tickets, you’d think they could get some good music rights.

The Collection

What Beyond Monet really does well provides the viewer with such a rich deep dive into Monet’s collection of artworks. Nowhere in the world could you ever have so many different works of Monet together at once. It would simply be too expensive to put on for any museum. The designers of the show do an amazing job of curating various paintings together. They do not appear chronologically but weave together thematically to tell a story all about how Monet saw light and colour. And his emerging dynamic style.

Overall Review

Overall ‘Beyond Monet’ felt a bit rushed. On the heels of the success of ‘Beyond Van Gogh,’ it felt like they really wanted to latch onto the next big thing and ran with the idea. The animations given to the artworks felt a bit unexceptional and simplistic. The train moves on the tracks, the boats bob up and down on the waves and the tree blow in the wind. Pretty typical. While Monet was a revolutionary, the show’s animation definitely felt like it could have pushed the boundaries a bit more. And perhaps with a bit more time, there could have been a bit more dynamism added to the experience.

About Claude Monet

Monet’s Young Life

As is the tale with many famous artists, Monet’s life is marred with death. He was born in 1840 in the heart of Paris. Although the family moved to Normandy in 1845, Paris’s artful heart was etched forever into Monet’s mind. From even an early age, Monet dreamed of being a painter. His father was a merchant and wanted to push Monet into going into the family grocery business. It was Monet’s mother who supported his career as an artist, as she was a singer. Monet’s loving mother died in 1857 when Monet was just 16 years old.

Monet’s father had no way of caring for the children on his own. So Monet’s father sent the children to live with his widowed but wealthy aunt, Marie-Jeanne Lecadre. Although suffering from the loss of his mother, his living situation with Lecadre was fortuitous as she was one of the greatest supporters of Monet throughout his career.

Monet in Paris

When Monet moved to Paris to study in the Académie Suisse. Back then, the most popular style of art was neoclassical paintings. These featured the myths and legends of Greek and Roman gods. If ever artists painted the world around them, it was solemn peasants toiling in the fields. And yet Monet saw a completely different world. Not of the past but over the ever-changing present. His world was modern, full of inventions and vibrant social life. Monet met his lover Camille in 1859 when in Paris. She became his primary model and painted her obsessively throughout this period of infatuation. 

En Plein-Air

While in Paris, Monet also met Renoir, who shared his passion for discovering a new painting style. Together they formed a group of like-minded individuals. This included Monet, Renoir, Pissarro, Sisley, Paul Cézanne, Edgar Degas, and Berthe Morisot! A true gauntlet of artists. One of the things these artists all had in common was how they painted. They developed stylistic experimentation called “en Plein-air” or “outside painting.” They abandoned the idea of a stuffy studio and instead brought their canvases outside. This meant smaller canvases and a quicker method of painting that captured a singular moment in time. Monet painted garden scene after garden scene. Women walking through flower encrusted fields or lounging beneath the trees filled his canvases.

I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

Claude Monet

Monet’s Storm

In 1867, Monet and his then-mistress, Camille Doncieux, gave birth to their first child, Jean. Monet’s father was horrified at this birht out of wedlock and immediately cut off any financial support to Monet. The two eventually married in 1870, shortly before the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian war. Wanting to avoid conscription, Monet fled to London and the Netherlands and lived with the family where he could. While in London, he stumbled upon paintings on the nautical paintings of J. M. W. Turner through an art dealer friend of his. Monet was enraptured. He was captivated with Turner’s use of light, or sometimes the lack thereof. Turner knew how to paint the fog. His paintings lacked any crispness and yet held a powerful sense of emotion and depth of curiosity within them.

Relfections on the Thames

Monet himself turned to paint his own series on the Thames river during all different times on the day. Monet’s previous seascapes were rendering of the world, but this series was about rendering emotions. “Merit lies in having painted directly in front of nature, seeking to render my impressions of the most fleeting effects.” He became enthralled with light and how light altered the colour of the world around him. How light could change the perceptions of reality. Nature reflected the brooding of his mind. He also found it important to paint the modern landscape, which contained industrial elements like railways and factories, which were the makeup of the modern world.

In 1874, he bought a boat to sail on the water to make himself one with the world in which he wanted to immerse himself. Monet’s finances were dire. He couldn’t pay for his family’s housing, and the need to sell more paintings became the primary focus of his life.

Paris Debut

In 1874, Monet and his other fellow painters made their debut in the Paris Art Salon, hoping to sweep the art world off its feet. Sadly, their style of painting was roundly rejected. The art critic Louis Leroy wrote a hostile review of Monet’s painting titled ‘Impression, Sunrise,’ where the style and term “impressionism” was coined. The show Beyond Monet seems to focus on these negative reviews. But in fact, there were plenty of progressively who praised the painter’s style and called it a “revolution in painting.”

Monet had hoped to sell ‘Impression, Sunrise’ for 1000 francs and was devastated to find it didn’t sell at all. But only a few years later, in 1877, when he displayed his series of paintings of Gare Saint-Lazare train station, did he find himself back in the good graces of the art critics. It seemed it only took a few years for the idea of impressionism to marinate on the cultural palette and for it soon to overwhelm the minds of people and of the critics.

As their success grew, Monet’s impressionists could experiment with their methods more, creating new and even more abstract ways of depicting reality. It’s almost like with success, Monet abandoned those dark and gloomy tones from his earlier periods in favour of a bright, pastel palette that felt airy and optimistic. His brushstrokes became softer, like the delicate caress of a lover. The strokes were smaller as well, and he would apply layer upon layers of these small strokes to form a new kind of optical depth within his paintings. Like looking through a dense tree, the light dappling through the leaves, revealing a secret garden within.

A Blizzard of Loss

Despite increasing commercial success, Monet would suffer another devastating blow when Camillie died in 1878. As she lay dying, Monet didn’t know how to process the grief outside of his paintings. “I one day found myself looking at my beloved wife’s dead face and just systematically noting the colours according to an automatic reflex.” Many art critics view this painting as one of the best death paintings ever created as the colours. The expressive nature of his brushstrokes seems to communicate to the viewer the “blizzard of loss” so intensely felt by all those who have lost a loved one.

Garden in Giverny

But being a romantic-hearted artist, it didn’t take Monet long to find another object of his affections. He began having an affair with Alice Hoschedé, wife of art collector Ernest Hoschedé. Even though she was still married, the two and their children moved into a house together in Giverny. This house in Giverny where Monet could finally realize his dreams of creating his own “Garden of Eden.” While Monet’s paintings had always focused on nature and gardens, he dreamt of creating one of his own where he could curate the scenes for every season.

Designing the Garden

Through the sale of some of his paintings in America, Monet’s new wealth meant he could have whatever he wanted. He poured through his collection of botany books and gave precise designs and layouts for plantings to his gardeners. At one time, he had as many as seven gardeners working on the project. He purchased more land around the house to develop his water Lillie pond, importing Lillies from as far afield as South America and Egypt.

Although famously Monet told the papers he didn’t even have an indoor studio and was constantly photographed painting outdoors, this was untrue. While he preferred painting outdoors, sometimes this just wasn’t possible, and he had his largest studio yet, built in Giverny. It was a converted greenhouse which meant it was well lit and even contained skylights. In this studio and outside in the garden, he would obsessively paint the water lilies. He painted them continuously for the next 20 years of his life. As his family began to pass away around him, his water lilies remained.

The Cataracts

In 1911 Monet’s second wife, Alice, died along with his oldest son Jean. Following this, Monet began a romance with Blanche, one of Alice’s daughters, but she also passed away in 1914. Blanche has been caring for Monet in his old age and left alone, and in a deep depression, Monet lost the will to paint. It was during this time that Monet began to develop the first signs of cataracts. This not only affected his sight but affected the way his eyes saw colour. You can see in the few paintings he made during this time how dark the hues are. He couldn’t see the light tones. His assistants even had to lay the colours out in a specific order on the palette so Monet could remember what they were.

Despite this being over a hundred years ago, surgery for cataracts was an option. But Monet was terrified of the surgery as he knew of a few botched surgeries that left the patient with no sight at all. But, eventually, the condition got so bad, he resorted to surgery. Thankfully, it was successful, and his sight was restored. When Monet saw the canvases he had made before the surgery, he had most of them destroyed, as he was appalled at what he had been creating.

Waterlillies

With his new lease on life, Monet went back to painting. But this time with one last mission. It was World War I, and his youngest son Michel was sent to war. In his garden in Giverny, Monet could hear the echo of gunfire where he sat. The sound haunted him. He created a series of paintings that would serve as a memorial to the lost soldiers of WWI. These featured his water lilies but also featured weeping willows overlooking the flowers. After exhibiting these paintings, the French government approached him to create paintings for the French public.

Waterlillies for the Orangerie

Monet worked directly with the architect of the Orangerie in Paris to create a special room just for his paintings. Unlike anything he had made before, these would be 8 enormous curved panels that would cover over 200 sq/meters and envelope the viewer. Monet and the architect not only designed the room to be round but also incorporated a large skylight. This skylight would allow the paintings to change as the direction of the sunlight burst through the room. It is now viewed as one of the first art installations.

“Water Lilies’ is an extension of my life. Without the water, the lilies cannot live, as I am without art.”

Claude Monet

The paintings themselves gave the viewer the impression of an endless field of waterlilies. But the water is dark, and if you squint, the flowers are lost and instead, it feels like you are standing in an endless hole. The water is a wave with no horizon or no shore. This was how the soldiers on the battlefield would have felt as they fought in their endless battle. Drowning in the dark, covered in mud and without a sense of hope in sight. And yet here, the flower bloom, a sign of hope. Throughout the room, you can see hints of the weeping willow trees, who mourn for the people Monet has lost over the years as well.

Let me know in the comment if you saw the Beyond Monet exhibit or how you feel about these digital immersive art exhibitions!

Happy Travels, Adventurers!

The post Honest Review of ‘Beyond Monet’, The Revolutionary Impressionist Painter Who Changed the World first appeared on The Creative Adventurer.

Many people know of Van Gogh‘s work, but they often think of him as nothing more than a madman who cut off his ear. But Beyond Van Gogh aims to change that perspective. They take lengthy efforts to make the viewer focus on his creative process and the true meaning behind his paintings. The show also highlights Van Gogh’s personal letters to his beloved brother Theo. These help to reframe his life. Through intimate conversations with his dear brother, you learn more about the man behind the madness and magnificence.

Table Of Contents

1. Immersive Exhibitions
2. Turning Art into Animation
3. The Score
4. What is the Difference Between All These Van Gogh Shows?
5. So, is it worth the Price?
6. About Van Gogh
   • Early Life
   • Van Gogh in Paris
   • Impressionism
   • Vincent in Arles
   • Van Gogh and Gaugin
   • The Ear Incident
   • The Asylum
   • Van Gogh's Death
   • Van Gogh's Legacy
7. Where to See Beyond Van Gogh
   • Happy Travels, Adventurers!

Immersive Exhibitions

These immersive exhibits are unique as they use cutting-edge projection technology and access digital versions of Van Gogh’s artworks. Van Gogh’s paintings were digitally scanned in high-res and then projected onto the walls and floor to create this new way of presenting art. Beyond Van Gogh aims to create an engaging journey into the world of Van Gogh, not simply show you the paintings on screen.

The first time I saw an exhibition like this was in Les-Baux-de-Provence at the Carrières de Lumières. This was my first time viewing such an all-encompassing immersive digital experience, and I was immediately hooked. Bringing together 300 paintings from Van Gogh together in one room would be something virtually impossible for a brick-and-mortar art gallery. And if not impossible, incredibly expensive!

Turning Art into Animation

I know many high-art critics view this kind of exhibit with a bit of disdain. They think of them as nothing more than empty instagrammable backdrops. One of the things that made Van Gogh’s artwork so unique is the textural nature of the paint. And by using projections, all of the three-dimensional aspects of his works disappear. And while this is true, I think there is something to say about this modern technology. It brings a level of excitement and interest to these artworks that a younger generation might be more drawn to. This kind of exhibit might feel as exciting to the modern audience as impressionist paintings once did to a 20th-century audience.

But the paintings are not just projected onto the walls; they are also brought to life by subtle animations in the vein of Van Gogh’s art style. The paintbrushes swirl, dance and move around the room. The flowers, cafes and landscapes suddenly draw us in like never before. We are inside the ‘Yellow House‘ or sitting down the ‘Cafe Terrace at Night.’ The exhibition uses Van Gogh’s dreams, thoughts, and words to drive the experience as a narrative. While the show might be missing that high-brow contextualization that many art galleries spend years curating, I think it is a beautiful way to get people more engaged with art. And perhaps even take the time to learn a little more about it after the fact.

The Score

The whole show is made even more immersive with the incredible score. Sitting there listening to the music as we watched the walls transform felt like a waterfall over my senses. As Vivaldi‘s Four Seasons played in the background we watched the almond blossoms fall from the trees and swirl around us. I am not ashamed to say I felt a tear fall from my eye during this scene. The soundtrack is available on Spotify so you can relive the experience when you get home.

What is the Difference Between All These Van Gogh Shows?

It’s almost shocking to see how many different companies are running various immersive multimedia shows featuring Van Gogh. In some cities, they were even running at the same time. This lead to confusion when people would show up at the incorrect location with the wrong ticket. Each one of these shows has its own take on the works of art. I can only speak to the one show I saw but if you’re interested in others it’s always a good idea to read a bit about it from reviewers you trust.

So, is it worth the Price?

This is the BIG question! An adult ticket to see Beyond Van Gogh will run you about $40! This means a date night out for two (if you factor in paid parking) is creeping up to $100. That certainly isn’t cheap. The entire run of the show lasts 1-hour and $40 per person for one hour of entertainment is definitely on the high end of the price scale! Although they say you can only stay for an hour, we were easily there for longer.

We used the first hour to just watch the show in its entirety. Taking in the story the art and animation were trying to tell. Then during the second loop, we walked around the room. Exploring the magical environment from all angles. This is definitely recommended as different parts of the room display different artworks.

Especially during the pandemic, shows like these feel extra special. So maybe $40 might seem steep but with not much else to do we really felt like it was worth it. It wouldn’t be something we’d do all the time but for a once-in-a-blue moon exhibit, it was really fun to get out there and see something fun! I think if you’re a fan of the artist and commit yourself to explore the space you’ll appreciate the experience even more.

If you can’t afford the hefty price tag, consider watching ‘Loving Vincent‘ on Netflix. This fantastical film is a fictionalized look at the life of Vincent Van Gogh. But what makes it so incredible to watch was that it was made to look like his painting. Over 65,000 frames were painted by 125 professional artists to create the first painted animated film. The film also makes for a great primer to watch before coming to the exhibition as well.

About Van Gogh

Vincent Van Gogh is an artist whose paintings have been exhibited all over the world. But during his lifetime, he never could have imagined that kind of production would have even been a possibility. During his life, Van Gogh created over 2,100 artworks, including around 860 oil paintings. And yet he only ever sold one. He died feeling like a failure but he would go onto be one of the most beloved artists of all time. If you’ve never seen the clip from Doctor Who featuring Vincent Van Gogh viewing his artwork in the future you have to check it out! It’s a real tearjerker.

What I read time and time again in reviews of this exhibition was that it lacked any real information about Van Gogh himself. So I created this little primer for viewers to read if you’re interested in having some contextual references to the paintings and his life as a tormented artist.

Early Life

Van Gogh lived a short but intense life. He was born in Holland in 1853 to an upper-middle-class family. Even in his early life, his parents noticed that he was a serious, withdrawn child. But despite his indifference to other children, Vincent clung to his brother Theo. In 1869 Vincent became an art dealer for his uncle. Although he wasn’t successful in his sales, he became enamoured with the art world. After unsuccessfully going from job to job, Vincent fell into even deeper depression and ill health. Modern analysis of his sickness leads professionals to believe that he suffered from bipolar disorder. In so many stories about Van Gogh he seems to vacillate from being highly productive and driven to being in a manic state. During these manic states, his depression was all he could see around him.

In 1881 Vincent took up painting more seriously for the first time with financial help from his brother Theo. Vincent moved in with his parents to save money. From their home in Etten Vincent would write hundreds of letters back and forth to his brother about his artistic journey. When he began painting, he started with depictions of village life in Etten. These early paintings were drabber, without the vivid colours that are so iconic of his later artworks.

Van Gogh in Paris

As his love for painting continued, Vincent took the opportunity to move in with Theo in Paris. It was in Paris where his paintings really came alive! Despite the brother’s love for each other, Theo found living with Vincent “almost unbearable.” And yet other times, things were peaceful between the two. One can only imagine this was due to Vincent’s bipolar.

Impressionism

It was also in Paris where he met other painters like Émile Bernard and Paul Gauguin. They inspired his work to go further and become more experimental. This would eventually develop into the art form we know of as Impressionism. The subject of his paintings began to focus on portraits, flowers and wheat fields.

In 1887, Vincent was inspired by working with artist Signac and adopted elements of pointillism into his artworks. Pointillism is a technique where the artist uses a multitude of small coloured dots on the canvas. This creates an optical blend of hues when looked at from a distance. These dramatic gestural dots and lines really feel like they convey the emotion and frantic nature of Van Gogh’s inner monologue. When combined with the vibrant contrasts of the complementary colours, you are left with a picture that seems to almost reverberate. But life in Paris was rough for Van Gogh. He was suffering more and more from his mental illness, made worse by the busy city life. So Van Gogh sought refuge in the provencial town of Arles.

Vincent in Arles

Vincent moved to Arles in 1888. It was there that he seemed, at least for a time, to get a breath of fresh air. In Arles, he aimed to set up a de-facto artist colony, inviting different artists to visit him in his now famous ‘Yellow House.‘ The country life and relaxing atmosphere of Arles set Van Gogh’s work on fire. In just one year, he produced more than 200 paintings and 100 watercolours!

Van Gogh and Gaugin

But even in Arles, Van Gogh couldn’t escape his poor mental health. One of the most dramatic events in Van Gogh’s life occurred in Arles in 1888. Vincent had begged Paul Gaugin to come to Arles so the two men could paint together. Vincent had met Gaugin in Paris and had immediately fallen in love with his work. He wanted to be as successful as Gaugin and thought by sharing a studio with the artist he could improve on his own work. Although the two started off on the right foot, Gauguin was arrogant and domineering. This frustrated the sensitive Van Gogh. Vincent was also very clingy, and despite not being treated very well by Gauguin, he feared he would leave him. A classic emotionally abusive relationship.

The Ear Incident

One evening, after Gauguin had made it clear to Vincent that he had made plans to leave, Van Gogh returned home alone. Suffering from hearing voices, especially when left alone, Van Gogh was tormented. In a fit of madness, he cut off his ear. Perhaps as a means to cut out the noise of the voices. Van Gogh bandaged the wound, wrapped the ear in the paper. He delivered it to a cleaning woman who worked at a local brothel that Gaugin and Van Gogh frequented together.

Van Gogh was found unconscious the following day by a policeman and taken directly to the hospital. Inside his hospital, Félix Rey, a young doctor still in training, treated him. During his time in hospital, Van Gogh was diagnosed with “acute mania with generalized delirium.” During his stay, Vincent would go from being semi-lucid to suffering from hallucinations and delusions. Theo came to visit him in hospital despite getting engaged the day previous. Nothing would keep Theo from being by Vincent’s side.

The Asylum

Two months later, in May 1889, Van Gogh left Arles and voluntarily entered an asylum in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence. It was from this room in the asylums that the view of “Starry Night” was inspired. In a letter to Theo, Van Gogh famously wrote,

Sometimes moods of indescribable anguish, sometimes moments when the veil of time and fatality of circumstances seemed to be torn apart for an instant.

Vincent Van Gogh

Van Gogh had two rooms inside the Asylum, one of which he used as his studio. Even when he was too ill to write or eat, Van Gogh would paint. As a means of expressing his pain. After the birth of his nephew, Van Gogh wrote to Theo, saying,

I started right away to take a picture for him, to hang in their bedroom, branches of white almond blossom against a blue sky.

Vincent Van Gogh

This image is heartbreaking to look at now. As Theo’s young son would never come to know his uncle, nor much of his father.

Van Gogh’s Death

Van Gogh discharged himself in May 1890. He headed for Auvers-Sur-Oise, a town close to his brother and his homeopathic doctor, Paul Gachet. But despite treatment and being back in the countryside, which Vincent loved so dearly, Vincent met his end on July 27th, 1890. One morning, Van Gogh walked out into one of the many wheat fields he was painting. There, he claims he shot himself in the chest with a Lefaucheux revolver. Since no one was there to witness the event, we can only go off Vincent’s claims.

The injury itself is pretty suspicious. The wound was in the stomach, an unlikely place for someone to shoot themselves. Also, the bullet didn’t pass through his body, which is more commonly found if the shooter was further away and not at close range. This mystery surrounding his death is one of the many reasons that the mythology of Van Gogh’s life lives on.

Despite the injury, Vincent walked back home, where he was found by two doctors. The doctors were not surgeons and were unsuccessful in attempting to remove the bullet. Van Gogh clung to life for 30 hours, enough time to wait for Theo to arrive so he could die by his side. His last words to Theo were, “The sadness will last forever.“

Van Gogh’s Legacy

And for Theo, the sadness did last forever. Theo died only a year later, due mainly to what can only be described as a broken heart. Unlike other popular love stories that persist over the ages, this one of brotherly love is unique. I loved how the show presented this eternal love between the two brothers as a throughline that can be traced through Van Gogh’s work. Although Van Gogh only saw the sadness as what would last forever, I truly know that it was not sadness but love that endures eternally in his art.

Where to See Beyond Van Gogh

Ottawa | August 24 – Sep 16, 2021
Calgary | August 24 – September 2021
Miami | April 15–September 12, 2021
Austin |June 18–September 5, 2021
Honolulu | July 2–September 26, 2021
Orange County, California | July 20–September 6, 2021
Buffalo | August 20–October 3, 2021
San Jose | September 26–November 14, 2021
Salt Lake City | October 1–November 28, 2021
St. Louis | October 8–November 7, 2021
San Diego | January 14–March 6, 2022

All in all, I’m excited for more of these new immersive exhibitions that will be released. Beyond Monet is the latest offering from the “Beyond” group and looks even more enjoyable with the addition of some interior decorations for visitors to explore. We hope they reassess the steep price tag, making the productions more accessible to a broader range of people. But only time will tell.

What artist would you be interested in seeing next? For me, it’s gotta be Frida Kahlo! I would be amazed to see what they could do with her surreal paintings. Let me know in the comments what you’d be interested in seeing.

Happy Travels, Adventurers!

The post Everything You Need About Beyond Van Gogh’s Unforgettable Immersive Exhibition first appeared on The Creative Adventurer.