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.

During his brief time in Auvers-sur-Oise, Van Gogh produced a prolific number of artworks, nearly one painting a day, as if each canvas poured straight from his soul. If you want to connect with Van Gogh as an artist and a man chasing peace and beauty in a world that offered him very little, this is the place to begin.

Table Of Contents

1. How to Get to Auvers-sur-Oise from Paris
2. Map of Van Gogh Walking Tour
3. Vincent Van Gogh in Auvers-sur-Oise
4. La Pâtisserie des Gourmands
5. The Church at Auvers
6. Mairie d’Auvers-sur-Oise
7. Musée de Absinthe
8. Château d’Auvers
9. Maison du Docteur Gachet
10. Maison de Van Gogh
11. The Auberge Ravoux
12. Village Street and Steps in Auvers with Two Figures
13. Racines de Van Gogh
14. House-Workshop of Daubigny
15. The Path to the Wheat Field
16. Tomb of Vincent van Gogh
17. La Caverne aux Livres
18. View of Auvers with Church

How to Get to Auvers-sur-Oise from Paris

Although there is a direct train from Paris Gare du Nord to Auvers-sur-Oise, it only runs on weekends between April and October. My preferred route is from Gare Saint-Lazare, with a quick transfer in Pontoise to the Beaumont line, which takes you straight to Auvers. You can pay for this journey with your Navigo card; the fare is just €2.50, the same as a standard trip within Paris.

Even with the brief transfer, the journey is easy and scenic, lasting about 44 minutes. The route winds through soft, rolling hills and sleepy towns that feel as though they’ve been lifted from a 19th-century landscape painting.

Map of Van Gogh Walking Tour

Quick Tips for Visiting Auvers-sur-Oise

• An ideal day trip from Paris. With its deep connection to Van Gogh, compact layout, and rich cultural history, Auvers-sur-Oise makes for an unforgettable and easily manageable escape from the city.
• Best visited in spring through early autumn. April to October offers the most rewarding experience, especially if you want to take advantage of the direct weekend train and see the wheat fields glowing golden, just as Van Gogh did.
• Plan for 4 to 6 hours on foot. This allows plenty of time to explore major landmarks, enjoy a relaxed lunch, and take thoughtful pauses throughout the day to soak in the atmosphere.
• Wear comfortable shoes and come prepared. The route is mostly flat with a few cobblestones and hills. Bring a refillable water bottle, a sunhat in warm weather, and a saved or printed map of the Van Gogh walking route (Can also be picked up at the Tourist Office)
• Perfect for solo travelers and families alike. Auvers is a peaceful and welcoming village, ideal for slow, reflective travel whether you’re walking alone, with a partner, or exploring with kids.
• Many sites are free to visit. Outdoor landmarks like the wheat fields, church, and cemetery are open and accessible. A few indoor sites, including the Auberge Ravoux and Maison du Dr. Gachet, charge modest entry fees and during the busy summer months, may require advance booking.

A Soundtrack for Your Walk

Before you step into the world of Van Gogh, consider setting the tone with a soundtrack as tender and textured as his brushstrokes. While Vincent painted in silence, surrounded only by birdsong, wind in the wheat, and the hum of rural life, you can recreate that atmosphere through music that echoes the emotion and spirit of his work. I personally love this soundtrack, and it evokes the music of the time period, as well as what feels like the emotional tempo of Van Gogh’s world.

Vincent Van Gogh in Auvers-sur-Oise

Vincent Van Gogh was a Dutch painter whose posthumous fame would eventually redefine modern art. He sold only one painting during his life, yet his swirling skies, expressive brushwork, and vibrant colours forever changed how we see the world. His work wasn’t just visual but emotional, psychological, and raw.
In May 1890, following a turbulent stay at a psychiatric hospital in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence and his infamous breakdown in Arles, Van Gogh moved to Auvers-sur-Oise. He came in search of recovery under Dr. Paul Gachet, a physician known for treating artists and an amateur painter. For a short time, the village seemed to offer him peace.

In just 70 days, Van Gogh created more than 70 works, an astonishing creative outpouring. He painted wheat fields under thunderous skies, shadowy churches, winding village streets, and portraits filled with sensitivity and soul. Yet despite this feverish productivity, the sadness that haunted him never fully lifted. It was here, in these fields and streets, that Van Gogh suffered the wound that would end his life. This walking tour will guide you through those final 70 days, exploring the landscapes, buildings, and faces that inspired his last, most poignant masterpieces.

Other Artists in Auvers-sur-Oise

Auvers-sur-Oise wasn’t just a haven for Van Gogh; it had long been a beloved retreat for 19th-century artists drawn to its soft light and rural charm, just a short distance from Paris. Painters such as Charles-François Daubigny, Camille Pissarro, Paul Cézanne, and Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot all found inspiration in this picturesque landscape, laying the groundwork for the artistic energy Van Gogh would later inherit.

Arriving at Auvers-sur-Oise Train Station

Your journey truly begins the moment you step off the train. It’s best to arrive early, around 9:00 AM is ideal. While the village remains relatively quiet, its connection to Van Gogh does attract tour groups, particularly during the warmer months. But if you come on your own, you’ll be free to explore at your own pace, detour whenever something catches your eye, and immerse yourself in the details that speak most to you. That flexibility is part of the magic.

Even before you reach the heart of town, you’ll feel the pulse of creativity. As you pass through the Auvers-sur-Oise train station tunnel, you’ll find it’s far more than just a functional underpass; it’s a vibrant mural that feels like walking into a Van Gogh painting. This modest concrete tunnel links the platforms and has been transformed into a vivid tribute to his legacy. Its once-blank walls are now covered in colourful, expressive murals: swirling skies, golden wheat fields, bold self-portraits, and those unmistakable sunflowers. The art spills across every surface, wrapping you in an immersive, joyful celebration of Van Gogh’s vision. It may not be a gallery, but it’s even more powerful, a public space elevated through creativity. Whether you’re arriving or departing, the tunnel acts as a fitting emotional gateway into Van Gogh’s world.

La Pâtisserie des Gourmands

A minute from the station, you’ll come across a local gem, La Pâtisserie des Gourmands. While Paris may get all the pastry praise, I’ve found that the best sweets are often hiding in little boulangeries like this, tucked away in quiet towns. One bite of their giant macaron filled with fresh cream and raspberries had me planning my return visit before I finished the first. And yes, I did go back for a second one on my way home.

Pick up a few treats and something to drink, then head uphill toward the Our Lady of the Assumption Church, the iconic building immortalized in The Church at Auvers. The grassy area out front makes the perfect picnic spot to enjoy your pastries in true Van Gogh fashion, surrounded by light, art, and quiet beauty.

Passage d’accès église-cimetière

Just a few steps up from La Pâtisserie des Gourmands, tucked between sun-washed stone walls and flowering gardens, you’ll find the Passage d’accès église-cimetière, a narrow, almost hidden lane connecting the Church of Our Lady of the Assumption to the village cemetery. It’s easy to miss, but this quiet path is one of the most picturesque and atmospheric corners of Auvers-sur-Oise. Charming cottages with timeworn shutters and pastel façades line the walkway, echoing the warm, timeless hues of the French countryside.

As the passage opens toward Rue Daubigny, your eye is drawn to a thatched-roof cottage, humble, sloped, and textured with age. It looks like it stepped out of one of Van Gogh’s canvases, and it nearly did. This view is reminiscent of his painting Houses at Auvers (1890), in which traditional thatched homes nestle into the landscape like they’ve always belonged there. The brushwork in that piece is dense and rhythmic, giving the buildings a sense of life, of breath. They aren’t just structures; they’re companions in the countryside.

Houses at Auvers

Van Gogh painted several thatched cottages during his time in Auvers, drawn to their irregular charm and earthy warmth. Unlike the rigid lines of city buildings, these homes seemed to grow from the land, worn by wind and time, shaped by hand and weather. To Van Gogh, they represented continuity, tradition, and the beauty of the ordinary. They were human without needing to show a face.

This moment, where the path unfolds into a view of that cottage, feels like a quiet threshold. From here, you’re just steps away from the church Van Gogh would immortalize, but you’re still in the embrace of the village’s quieter corners. Pause here, where the past lingers not in stone monuments, but in sloping roofs and thick plaster walls. It’s a place of stillness, of simple beauty, the kind Van Gogh never overlooked.

White House at Night

As you emerge from the Passage d’accès église-cimetière, you’ll find yourself on Rue Daubigny, a street lined with houses that seem plucked straight from a Van Gogh painting. And in a way, they are. This road is believed to be the setting for White House at Night, one of Van Gogh’s final works, painted in June 1890. The painting captures a quiet domestic scene at twilight. A stately white house glows softly against a darkening blue sky, its single-lit window glowing gold, like a beacon of life within the hush. Above, a bright star, likely Venus, which would have been visible in the western sky that June, shines like a blessing or a question mark. The composition feels both intimate and vast, earthly and celestial.

In a letter to Theo and Jo, dated around June 17, 1890, Van Gogh described this work with restrained pride: “I have a study of a white house in greenery with a star in the night sky and an orange-lit window, black foliage, and a dark pink note.”

Walking along Rue Daubigny today, you’ll pass houses with those same quiet façades, slate roofs, pale walls, and shutters thrown open to the light. Some look remarkably like the one in the painting, even those that don’t seem to carry its spirit. They reflect the traditional architecture of Auvers-sur-Oise, unpretentious yet deeply evocative, built in harmony with the land and sky.

This brief stretch of road offers a quiet pause between the passage’s cloistered charm and the church’s dramatic silhouette ahead. Here, you can linger in a moment Van Gogh once paused to paint, a vision of village life turned poetic, lit from within by something warm and eternal.

The Church at Auvers

Van Gogh’s The Church at Auvers is one of his most emotionally potent and visually distinctive architectural paintings, completed in June 1890 during his final weeks in the village. The subject is the Église Notre-Dame-de-l’Assomption, a 12th-century Romanesque-Gothic church that still stands on a gentle rise overlooking the town. Yet in Van Gogh’s hands, this otherwise modest church becomes something far more expressive, an apparition of form, mood, and movement.

Rather than render it with careful symmetry, Van Gogh bent its lines, tilted its angles, and flooded it with surreal, cobalt blues. The church seems to sway slightly beneath a vibrant sky, caught between physical presence and spiritual tension. A pair of diverging paths fork in the foreground. Will you walk past the church or toward it? The surrounding grass glows with sharp greens and yellows, pulling the scene away from religious stillness and toward something more emotionally charged.

In a letter to his sister Wilhelmina, dated June 5, 1890, Van Gogh described the piece: “With that, I have a larger painting of the village church, an effect in which the building appears purplish against a sky of a deep and simple blue of pure cobalt…”

Unlike traditional portrayals of sacred spaces, this church feels slightly unwelcoming, even otherworldly. Many interpret it as a reflection of Van Gogh’s complex feelings toward religion: distant from institutions, yet spiritually yearning. It’s less a place of worship and more a portrait of inner conflict, solitude, memory, and longing.

A View Worth Pausing For

I lingered here for quite some time, breakfast in hand, simply taking it all in. From this quiet corner of Auvers, the village unfolds like a living landscape painting, rooftops climb the hillsides, church spires rise gently through the trees, and soft morning light glides across the terracotta tiles and winding lanes. It’s not a dramatic view, but it’s deeply stirring. A gentle stillness, a kind of hushed beauty, invites you to stop, breathe, and reflect. In this moment, you can see what Van Gogh saw, not just with your eyes but with your heart.

Tourist Office of Auvers-sur-Oise

From the church, make your way back along Rue Daubigny until you spot a narrow path tucked behind a low stone wall; this leads to the Auvers-sur-Oise Tourist Office, nestled down a shortcut to the lower part of town. It’s worth a quick stop. Inside, you can pick up a free walking map that marks all the locations where Van Gogh’s works are commemorated with plaques. There’s also a free washroom on site, which I always take advantage of before continuing my route!

Mairie d’Auvers-sur-Oise

Heading west along Rue du Général de Gaulle, you’ll pass the Mairie d’Auvers-sur-Oise, the town hall. This elegant stone building was painted by Van Gogh in 1890 and decorated with festive flags and banners to mark Bastille Day. He captured it from just outside the Auberge Ravoux, opposite the square where he lived. After finishing the piece, Vincent gifted it to the innkeeper, Arthur Gustave Ravoux, as a gesture of thanks.

We’ll be returning here for lunch later in the tour, but for now, continue along the road toward the Absinthe Museum.

Musée de Absinthe

Just up the hill, you’ll find one of Auvers-sur-Oise’s more unusual attractions, the Musée de l’Absinthe, a small museum dedicated to the infamous “green fairy.” Absinthe is a potent, emerald-coloured spirit made from botanicals like wormwood, anise, and fennel. Absinthe rose to popularoty in late 19th-century France, especially among artists, writers, and bohemians.

Known for its strength and supposed hallucinogenic properties, absinthe was both romanticized as a muse and feared as a poison. Tales of “absinthism,” a condition blamed for the madness and erratic behaviour, led to its ban in many countries. The museum houses an atmospheric collection of vintage spoons, delicate glasses, antique bottles, and evocative posters, all of which tell the story of how this once-mythic drink seduced and scandalized an entire era.

Van Gogh first discovered absinthe during his time in Paris. He was introduced by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, who frequented the smoky cabarets and cafés where it flowed freely. But Vincent quickly grew disillusioned with the city’s indulgences. In a letter to Theo, he wrote of fellow artist Monticelli:

“I increasingly doubt the veracity of the legend of Monticelli, who consumed enormous quantities of absinthe. Considering his work, it seems impossible that a man enervated by drink could have done this.”

Château d’Auvers

From the museum, continue uphill along Rue Léry to reach the grand Château d’Auvers. Perched above the rooftops of the village, this 17th-century estate was originally built in 1635 for Zanobi Lioni, an Italian financier at the court of Marie de Médicis. With its symmetrical façade and terraced gardens, the château is a graceful example of an Italian Renaissance villa transplanted to the French countryside.

Today, the château houses immersive exhibitions of Impressionist art. But fair warning, the Van Gogh works displayed here are reproductions, not originals. The entry fee is also rather high, and while the displays are thoughtful, they don’t quite capture the intensity or intimacy of Van Gogh’s brushwork. For that reason, I suggest skipping the museum and heading straight for the gardens, which are open to the public and free to explore.

In these very gardens, you’ll find a view Van Gogh once painted, though not from the center stage. In his 1890 work Landscape at Twilight, the château appears quietly in the background, its pale form partially swallowed by trees and twilight shadows. The foreground is wild and thick with grass, animated with his signature brushwork as if nature is overtaking the formalities of grandeur.

This compositional choice is telling. For Van Gogh, the château wasn’t the main subject; the land was. The shifting colours of dusk, the sweep of the horizon, the untamed beauty between cultivated spaces. Standing in the gardens today, it’s easy to see the same balance: clipped hedges and floral symmetry giving way to wide, sweeping views of Auvers’ rolling hills, golden fields, and tiled rooftops.

With the breeze in your hair and the scent of roses in the air, it’s not hard to imagine Van Gogh standing here too, sketchbook in hand, choosing to frame the château not as a monument, but as a whisper in the distance, quietly observing the world around it.

Maison du Docteur Gachet

From the château, it’s about an 11-minute walk to the Maison du Docteur Gachet. When Van Gogh arrived in Auvers in May 1890, seeking refuge from the emotional turbulence that had overwhelmed him in the South of France, Dr. Paul Gachet quickly became more than just a physician. He became a confidant, a supporter, and a true admirer of Van Gogh’s genius. Their relationship was complex, part medical, part artistic partnership, and deeply personal.

This quiet walk toward the house, lined with gardens and low stone walls, is one Van Gogh likely made dozens of times. I found it especially contemplative, wondering what might have been going through his mind in those final weeks as hope flickered and his mental state continued to decline.

Garden

The Maison du Docteur Gachet, now a museum, is tucked behind a tall stone wall on a peaceful, tree-shaded lane. Stepping inside, you’re greeted by an enchanting, ivy-draped home built into a rocky slope. Dr. Gachet, both physician and art enthusiast, cultivated these gardens with a wild elegance, planting vibrant beds of herbs, wildflowers, and climbing roses, a space where painters could find colour, calm, and inspiration.

Landscape with a Carriage and a Train

One of the most striking elements of the property is the panoramic view over the Oise Valley. From this elevated perch, the landscape rolls out in gentle waves, patchwork fields, winding lanes, and the shimmering line of the river stretching into the horizon. It’s timeless, almost cinematic, bathed in the same golden light that once captivated Van Gogh.

From this very spot, Van Gogh painted Landscape with a Carriage and a Train in 1890. The canvas captures the contrast between the stillness of the countryside and the hum of change, a steam train cutting through distant hills while a horse-drawn carriage follows a curving country path. It’s a moment suspended between movement and memory, tradition and modernity. Standing here today, it’s easy to imagine Van Gogh at his easel, brush poised, turning the living world before him into one of his charged, rhythmic compositions.

Stepping inside the grounds, you’re greeted by an enchanting, ivy-draped home built into a rocky slope. Dr. Gachet, both physician and art enthusiast, cultivated these gardens with a wild elegance, planting vibrant beds of herbs, wildflowers, and climbing roses, a space where painters could find colour, calm, and inspiration.

It’s this very kind of space that Van Gogh immortalized in his painting Garden in Auvers (Garten in Auvers), a lush, intimate scene thick with vibrant brushwork and saturated in green and blue. The composition hums with energy, almost overgrown with feeling. You can almost smell the garden soil and hear the rustle of plants in the wind. It’s not a manicured space; it’s a living one. The type of garden where emotion takes root and spills over the edges.

One of the most striking elements of the property is the panoramic view over the Oise Valley. From this elevated perch, the landscape rolls out in gentle waves, patchwork fields, winding lanes, and the shimmering line of the river stretching into the horizon. It’s timeless, almost cinematic, bathed in the same golden light that once captivated Van Gogh.

Blossoming Chestnut Branches

Another echo of Van Gogh’s time in Auvers blooms in his painting Blossoming Chestnut Branches, a radiant still life completed in the last weeks of his life. Thick green leaves and tender blossoms burst from the canvas with bold brushstrokes, full of light and movement. The piece reflects his enduring fascination with nature’s fragile beauty and power to soothe.

It’s easy to imagine him gathering the chestnut branches during a walk from Dr. Gachet’s garden or the wooded paths nearby. Even in his final days, Vincent was looking closely at the small things, the curve of a petal, the flicker of spring light, and turning them into something eternal.

Inside the Gachet’s Home

Inside, the house retains much of its original character. The rooms are dressed with period furnishings, including old pharmaceutical jars, pigment bottles, and Dr. Gachet’s manual printmaking press. It’s a small, intimate space that feels more like an artist’s retreat than a doctor’s home.

Upstairs, the second floor features a rotating exhibition of Dr. Gachet’s artwork. A passionate amateur artist, he created numerous engravings and paintings that reflect his friendships with the Impressionists and his own delicate, introspective style.

At one point, Dr. Gachet owned 20 paintings by Van Gogh, most of which were given as gifts by the artist during his stay. After Gachet’s death, the collection passed to his son, who, childless and deeply devoted to preserving the legacy of art, generously donated the works to the French state. Many of those pieces hang in the Musée d’Orsay, the Louvre, and other world-class galleries today. But standing here, in this humble, ivy-clad house, it’s easy to imagine them once hanging in these very rooms, works of raw emotion and staggering beauty, glowing in the morning light.

Portrait of Dr. Gachet

Van Gogh famously described Dr. Gachet in a letter as “sicker than I am,” a reflection of their shared struggles with emotional fragility. And yet, perhaps this very sense of vulnerability allowed them to form such a powerful bond. Van Gogh painted two portraits of the doctor, each filled with intense, swirling strokes and a quiet melancholy. In one letter to Theo, he wrote:

“Mr. Gachet is absolutely fanatical about this portrait and wants me to do one of him if I can, absolutely like that, which I also wish to do.”

The result is one of Van Gogh’s most iconic works, a portrait that radiates sadness, empathy, and human understanding. Dr. Gachet is shown slumped at a red table, his head resting heavily in one hand, eyes turned inward. The vivid blue tones of the background seem to hum with emotion. This isn’t just a doctor; it’s a portrait of a man who, like Van Gogh, carried quiet sorrow in his bones.

Gachet’s Family

Dr. Gachet’s daughter, Marguerite, also became part of Van Gogh’s final chapter. He painted her sitting at the piano in her family’s salon, head slightly turned away, completely absorbed in her music. The scene is one of softness and restraint, a calm oasis within a stormy life. The filtered sunlight, the gentle folds of her dress, and the stillness of her posture offer a quiet, almost dreamlike contrast to Van Gogh’s otherwise intense palette and pace.

Though there’s no evidence of a romantic relationship, Van Gogh seemed quietly drawn to Marguerite. He may have seen the peaceful domesticity he longed for but never found in her, a life of routine, beauty, and calm, free from the turbulence that had long defined his own.

Maison de Van Gogh

Now it’s time for the most poignant stop of the tour, the Maison de Van Gogh, or Auberge Ravoux, located back in the center of town. It was here, in Room No. 5, that Vincent spent the final weeks of his life. You can book a ticket to visit this tiny attic room, left exactly as it was after his death. The walls are bare, the space stark, but the emotional weight is immense. There’s no furniture, no belongings, just silence, and sunlight filtering through the window.

Once you’ve taken it in, consider booking a table downstairs in the inn’s restaurant, where Van Gogh once dined each evening. The rustic dining room has been restored to reflect its 19th-century appearance, offering a simple but powerful experience. To sit where he once sat, to eat in the very room where he ended his days, is to feel if only for a moment, the world as he saw it.

Visiting the Maison de Van Gogh

Visiting the Maison de Van Gogh isn’t like stepping into a traditional museum; it’s more like entering a quiet moment frozen in time. This place holds something far deeper for art lovers and pilgrims of Van Gogh’s legacy: it was the artist’s final refuge. A narrow staircase leads you to Room No. 5, the attic space Van Gogh rented for just a few francs a night. The light is low, and the wooden floorboards creak softly, whispering with memory.

Nothing is inside the room except a solitary chair in the center, like a silent gravestone. Its emptiness speaks louder than any exhibit ever could. This was where Van Gogh returned each night after painting the wheat fields and crooked streets of Auvers.

When he arrived in May 1890, he settled into this modest room at the Auberge Ravoux. In a letter to Theo and Jo around May 21, he shared his new surroundings with a painter’s excitement:

“Now I have a study of old thatched roofs with a field of peas in flower and some wheat in the foreground…”

The Final Days

This is the place where Van Gogh returned, gravely wounded, on the evening of July 27, 1890, after shooting himself in a wheat field just outside the village. Somehow, he managed to walk back through the fading light, up the stairs to his room, and collapse in silence.

Word quickly reached Theo, who rushed from Paris to Auvers-sur-Oise as soon as he heard. He arrived just in time to be by Vincent’s side, holding vigil through his final, agonizing hours. The two brothers, whose bond had endured years of hardship and distance, shared one last moment in that small, dimly lit space. Ever aware of beauty even in pain, Vincent is said to have spoken calmly. His last words may have been:

“La tristesse durera toujours” ,  “The sadness will last forever.”

Two days later, on July 29, 1890, he died with Theo at his side. The quiet village of Auvers cradled the final chapter of one of history’s most brilliant, tormented artists.

The Funeral

After his death, Van Gogh’s body was laid out in the inn’s ground-floor dining room, the same place where he had eaten simple meals just days earlier. At the time, suicide was considered a mortal sin by the Catholic Church, and those who died by their own hand were often denied burial in consecrated ground. Although Van Gogh had once been deeply religious, he had long distanced himself from organized faith, and a church funeral was not permitted.

Instead, the modest inn became the setting for a deeply personal farewell. Though many myths paint his funeral as a lonely event, in truth it was attended by fellow artists and friends who gathered around his coffin, surrounded by his paintings, propped like mourners themselves. Yellow flowers, sunflowers, marigolds, and dahlias were arranged lovingly, a vivid echo of the palette Vincent cherished most.

The Auberge Ravoux

In Van Gogh’s day, meals at the Auberge Ravoux were simple, seasonal, and rustic. Food was included in the cost of his room, and he likely dined on classic country fare: crusty bread with local cheese, stews made with garden vegetables, roast duck or chicken when available, a glass of red wine, and absinthe lurking quietly at the edge of the table. Meals were shared communally, in a dimly lit room where Van Gogh often sat sketching on scraps of paper, his mind still at work.

He always sat at the same table near the back of the dining room. And if you’re lucky, like I was, you can ask to sit there too, feeling for a moment as if you’re dining with him in spirit.

Today, the Auberge Ravoux has been lovingly restored. Dining here is like stepping back into the late 1800s. The interior remains remarkably faithful to the period: exposed wooden beams, lace-trimmed curtains, mismatched chairs, and white-clothed tables. The menu pays homage to 19th-century French cuisine, offering dishes Van Gogh might have known, duck confit, terrines, poached eggs in red wine, and rich, buttery desserts.

But the experience isn’t just about food; it’s about presence. Knowing you’re seated where Van Gogh once ate, within walls that absorbed the final echoes of his life, adds a quiet reverence to every bite. It’s not just a restaurant; it’s a living memory, a space where art, history, and humanity gently gather around the table.

Village Street and Steps in Auvers with Two Figures

After lunch, it’s time to walk off some of that delicious French fare with a slow stroll along Rue de la Sansonne. At the end of the street, you’ll come across a stone staircase that leads to the upper road, a view Van Gogh captured in one of his more contemplative works.

The painting depicts a narrow, sloping street, flanked by stone houses and cottages, their tiled roofs leaning gently into the hillside. A staircase winds upward between them, and two small figures, likely villagers, walk along the path. At first glance, it may seem unremarkable. But look again, and you’ll feel the emotional pulse in the composition: the twisting road, the hurried brushwork, the sense of quiet connection. It’s as if Van Gogh were painting what he saw and what he longed for, movement, companionship, and the hush of rural life. Perhaps a kind of intimacy he rarely found in his own.

The palette is pure Van Gogh: vivid blues, dusty greens, soft yellows, and terracotta reds that vibrate with life. The buildings, while simple, have a storybook charm, and the figures, though small, anchor the entire scene. They aren’t portraits. Their presence hints of humanity rooted in the village’s rhythm.

What makes this painting especially remarkable is that you can still stand in the exact spot where Van Gogh lived more than a century ago. Rue de la Sansonne and its steps remain remarkably unchanged. Though slightly modernized, the houses retain their original silhouettes and sloping roofs. Standing at the base of the steps, you can see the same view he did, trace the same climb, and feel the same slope beneath your feet. It’s one of the few places where a painting perfectly overlaps reality, where you can physically step into Van Gogh’s frame and walk through a world he turned into art.

Vineyards at Auvers

As you continue along the back roads and farmland surrounding Auvers, you’ll see the echoes of another of Van Gogh’s final works: Vineyards at Auvers. The painting brims with energy; furrowed rows of grapevines twist under a pale sky, alive with green and ochre. It captures the countryside’s working rhythm and agriculture’s grounded beauty.

Vincent had long admired farmers, often calling them “figures in harmony with the earth.” This painting is not romanticized; it’s full of sweat, soil, sun, and survival. Walking these vineyard lanes today, you feel that same vitality underfoot. It’s not the kind of subject museums tend to glorify, but for Van Gogh, it was everything.

Racines de Van Gogh

Climb the steps and continue onto Rue Daubigny, named after the artist whose nearby studio also left its mark on Auvers. But before you go further, look down. Across the road, a line of gnarled tree roots clings to a small embankment, an otherwise ordinary sight, unless you know its history.

This is where Van Gogh painted Racines (Tree Roots), one of his most abstract and enigmatic works. Believed to be his final painting, it was completed just days before his death in July 1890. For more than a century, the location remained a mystery. But during the 2020 lockdown, Van Gogh researcher Wouter van der Veen noticed an old postcard with a photograph of a sloped, root-covered bank that perfectly matched the painting. The site, just steps from the Auberge Ravoux, was confirmed by the Van Gogh Museum soon after.

The painting is a tangled mass of exposed roots, jagged soil, and vivid, swirling strokes of deep blue, green, and ochre. There’s no sky, no horizon, no clear structure, just nature’s chaos. It’s raw and unresolved as if Van Gogh were grappling with the earth, channelling something primal and unspoken. It doesn’t feel like a farewell; it feels like an eruption of energy, an artist still reaching, questioning, even at the end.

Today, standing at this spot is a profound and quietly powerful experience. The roots are still there, clinging to the same sun-dappled hillside, partially veiled in ivy and moss. A discreet plaque now marks the site, but it remains remarkably humble, tucked between houses and hedgerows. To see them in person is to stand in the very place where Van Gogh made his final artistic statement, an unfinished farewell, carved not in words, but in roots, soil, and paint. There’s a stillness here, a reverence, and a startling intimacy with the man who once stood with a brush in hand, translating the tangle of earth into something achingly human.

House-Workshop of Daubigny

Continuing along Rue Daubigny, you’ll pass the Atelier-Daubigny, the actual home and studio of Charles-François Daubigny, a key figure in 19th-century landscape painting and one of the forerunners of Impressionism. Born in 1817, Daubigny was part of the Barbizon School and became known for his naturalistic depictions of rivers, fields, and skies. He was among the first artists to paint en plein air, often from a studio boat he called Le Botin. His fluid brushwork and love for atmospheric light paved the way for artists like Monet, Pissarro, and ultimately, Van Gogh.

Though Daubigny died in 1878, well before Van Gogh arrived in Auvers-sur-Oise, Vincent deeply admired him. He considered Daubigny, a spiritual predecessor who had captured the same quiet rural moods Van Gogh sought to express. He even painted several tributes to Daubigny, including Daubigny’s Garden, which he described as one of his most deliberate and composed works.

In a letter to Theo, he wrote: “Perhaps you’ll look at this sketch of Daubigny’s garden; it’s one of the canvases I’ve planned with the greatest care.”

The painting hums with life, its garden rendered in rich, energetic brushstrokes and luminous colour. It feels more like a memory than a landscape.

Museum Visit

Visiting the Atelier-Daubigny today is like stepping into a preserved pocket of time. Designed by Daubigny himself in the 1860s, the home still holds much of its original charm. The walls are covered with hand-painted murals, created not only by Daubigny but also by his son and close artist friends, including Corot. The studio is modest yet rich with atmosphere; the scent of aged wood and pigment still lingers, and light spills in through old glass panes just as it would have over a century ago.

The experience of visiting Daubigny’s home offers more than insight into one artist’s life. It’s a vision of what Van Gogh’s life could have been. Here was a man who lived surrounded by family, stability, and a creative community, whose art brought him comfort and whose legacy was recognized in his lifetime. For Van Gogh, who sold almost nothing, lived in modest rented rooms, and was often isolated, Daubigny’s home represents a tender what if, a glimpse into a life that might have been, had success and peace come just a little sooner.

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And for Van Gogh admirers, the most stirring part of the visit may be the garden. Natural, slightly overgrown, and lovingly tended, it has retained the quiet beauty Daubigny cherished. It’s easy to picture Van Gogh walking by, pausing to admire it, feeling a kinship with the man who painted the same trees, skies, and light decades before Van Gogh picked up his brush in Auvers.

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The Path to the Wheat Field

Head north from the Atelier-Daubigny, and you’ll soon come across a narrow lane called Sente du Montier. Follow this quiet, tucked-away path as it winds into the hillside. It gradually becomes a dirt trail, leading you deeper into the countryside and directly toward the landscape that inspired Wheatfield with Crows.

The field is still wide, open, and untouched, stretching beneath the same vast sky Van Gogh once painted. In summer, the wheat glows golden, swaying in the breeze like a living echo of his brushstrokes. Even if you visit in another season, the land holds its shape. The gentle curve of the trail, the open expanse, and the hush of the horizon remain unchanged. There’s a timelessness here, a feeling that nothing has changed, yet everything has. It’s easy to see why Van Gogh returned to this exact spot again and again, capturing its quiet intensity in paint and, ultimately, letting it cradle his final steps.

Wheatfield with Crows

Wheatfield with Crows is one of Van Gogh’s most emotionally charged and enduring works, often believed to be his final painting. The canvas is filled with stormy energy: an open field of golden wheat set against a churning, dark blue sky. A dirt path splits the landscape, forked and directionless. Crows lift from the field in scattered flurries, like black brushstrokes tearing across the clouds.

There is no clear vanishing point, no escape, only wind, sky, and solitude. The painting is beautiful and unsettling, a vivid mirror of Van Gogh’s emotional state in his final days. In a letter to Theo and Jo dated around July 10, 1890, he wrote:

“I have painted three more large canvases. They are vast stretches of corn under troubled skies, and I did not have to go out of my way very much in order to try to express sadness and extreme loneliness.”

Standing in this field today, just beyond the edge of Auvers-sur-Oise, is deeply moving. The wheat still ripples, the sky stretches infinitely above, and the dirt path still carves its familiar arc through the land. There are no fences, no crowds, just the quiet of the countryside, waiting. To visit this field is to cross the boundary between canvas and the world. You don’t just see the painting; you feel it. It’s one of the rare places on Earth where you can truly step inside a Van Gogh.

Landscape at Auvers in the Rain

Before you leave the fields, it’s worth pausing to remember one more painting, Landscape at Auvers in the Rain. Created just days before his death, the canvas shows the same golden countryside, but blurred through sheets of rain. Van Gogh used diagonal strokes and dark blue and silver streaks to capture the rhythm of falling water. The sky looms heavy, and the fields ripple beneath it, alive and turbulent.

This painting was inspired by the Japanese prints Van Gogh admired, especially those of Hiroshige, where rain becomes both subject and symbol. Here, it feels like a curtain between the viewer and the world, a veil of emotion, a storm not just in the sky, but within. It is one of the most atmospheric works of his final weeks, soaked in melancholy and motion.

Van Gogh’s Death

Walk through these fields, and you’re not just retracing brushstrokes but stepping into the last landscape Van Gogh ever knew. This is where, on July 27, 1890, he is believed to have walked with a pistol and shot himself in the chest. The trail winds between golden rows, the breeze rustles softly, and the sky presses down in silence.

There is no monument, no plaque, only the land, as in 1890. The hush of the countryside feels reverent, almost sacred. The view stretches endlessly, just as it did when Van Gogh stood here, seeking meaning through every brushstroke. Being in this field is more than a moment of reflection; it is a meeting point between life and death, art and emotion, where the quiet speaks louder than words.

An Alternate Theory

For over a century, Van Gogh’s suicide was accepted without question. But in recent years, an alternate theory has emerged, one that suggests Van Gogh may not have shot himself at all. In 2011, biographers Steven Naifeh and Gregory White Smith proposed that Van Gogh was accidentally shot by two local teenage boys playing with a faulty pistol. According to this version, Van Gogh may have protected them, choosing not to reveal the truth, perhaps out of compassion or sheer exhaustion.

There is no conclusive evidence, and Van Gogh’s reported last words, “Do not accuse anyone. It is I who wanted to kill myself”, still support the traditional account. But the theory adds a layer of ambiguity, another question in a life so often misunderstood. Whether by his own hand or by a tragic accident, what remains certain is that these fields were his final canvas, one last place where light, sorrow, and art converged.

Tomb of Vincent van Gogh

As you leave the fields behind and follow the quiet path toward the cemetery at the edge of Auvers, it’s impossible not to carry the weight of everything Vincent endured. The open landscape narrows into stone walls and ivy-covered gates, and soon, you arrive at a small, humble resting place where Vincent lies buried.

After Van Gogh’s death in 1890 and Theo’s just six months later, the brothers were buried in different countries, Vincent in Auvers-sur-Oise and Theo in the Netherlands. But it was Jo van Gogh-Bonger, Theo’s devoted wife, recognized the depth of their bond and became the force behind their reunion in death. In 1914, she arranged for Theo’s remains to be exhumed and reburied beside Vincent in the fields they both cherished.

Jo didn’t stop there. She ensured their graves wouldn’t just sit side by side, but appear visibly, symbolically entwined. At her request, ivy from Dr. Gachet’s garden, a place of solace in Vincent’s final days, was transplanted to the cemetery. Carefully planted across the twin graves, the ivy soon crept and spread, forming a soft, green shroud. Today, that same ivy still binds their headstones together, a living emblem of love, loyalty, and the unbreakable connection between the two brothers.

Johanna van Gogh-Bonger

Johanna van Gogh-Bonger was not merely the guardian of Van Gogh’s legacy; she was its creator, protector, and relentless advocate in a world that rarely listened to women. When Vincent and Theo died within months of each other, Jo was just 28 years old, a new mother with no formal training in art. But she had something far more powerful: unwavering conviction. While the world had turned away from Van Gogh in life, Jo saw the brilliance in his canvases and the aching beauty in his letters.

She stepped into a world dominated by male critics and collectors who rarely took her seriously. Still, she pushed forward, organizing exhibitions, lending out paintings, translating Vincent’s letters, and building his legacy piece by piece. She worked while raising a child alone, without institutions backing her, without access to the cultural circles that so often shut women out.

Jo didn’t just preserve Van Gogh’s work; she shaped how the world understands it today. She turned an overlooked, misunderstood painter into a cornerstone of modern art through passion and perseverance. Her story is more than historical; it’s a feminist triumph and a reminder that the most powerful voices in art history are sometimes the ones it tried hardest to silence.

La Caverne aux Livres

On your way back to the station, stop at one of Auvers-sur-Oise’s most delightful surprises, La Caverne aux Livres, a secondhand bookstore tucked inside an old train car parked alongside the tracks. Inside, the shelves are stacked to the ceiling with vintage novels, yellowing magazines, rare art books, and children’s treasures, all jumbled together in the coziest literary chaos.

Though there’s no direct connection to Van Gogh, the symbolism is rich. This old rail line once carried him into the village, into his final chapter. And here, nestled beside those same tracks, is a space filled with stories waiting to be discovered. It feels like a tribute, quiet and personal, to lives lived in creativity and passion.

I sat there for what felt like hours, poring through the hundreds, if not thousands, of old tomes. I found a stack of art history books to take home, their spines faded and pages soft with age. They now sit on my shelf, a tangible memory of that quiet afternoon spent wandering through words in the village Van Gogh called home.

View of Auvers with Church

As you make your way back to the Auvers-sur-Oise train station, pause before stepping onto the platform. Just outside the station, if you look back toward the village, you’ll see a view that might feel startlingly familiar; it’s the same one Van Gogh captured in his painting View of Auvers with Church, created in the final weeks of his life.

In this canvas, Van Gogh distills the village into a sweeping, rhythmic panorama: the church rising gently above the rooftops, the sloping terrain leading the eye across orchards and houses, and the sky billowing with motion and mood. It’s a quieter composition than some of his stormier works, but it carries an emotional clarity that feels like a deep breath.

This view feels different after walking the paths he walked and seeing the fields, houses, people, and places that shaped his last days. You’ve been inside the story. And now, as you stand where Van Gogh once stood, gazing back at the village he painted, loved, and left, you see what he saw: a place suspended between simplicity and sorrow, beauty and farewell.

It’s not just a landscape. It’s the closing frame of a journey that’s been emotional, creative, and deeply human.

Reflecting on Van Gogh and Auvers

As the sun begins to dip behind the hills and the light turns to that unmistakable Van Gogh gold, you’ll find yourself walking back through Auvers with paint in your mind and earth on your shoes. The church bells may chime faintly in the distance, and the breeze may still rustle through the wheat, but something within you has shifted.

You’ve wandered the same crooked lanes, paused beneath the same skies, and stood where brush once met canvas for the last time. This isn’t just a walk through a village; it’s a conversation between you and Vincent across centuries. Not in words, but in colour, in silence, in the rhythm of your footsteps.

As you board the train home, you may carry no souvenirs in your hands, but your heart will be full. Full of beauty, sorrow, and the quiet knowledge that, for a little while, you didn’t just walk in Van Gogh’s footsteps; you walked within his world.

If you enjoyed this walking tour, be sure to explore our other self-guided journeys following in the footsteps of Van Gogh.

Happy Travels Adventurers

The post The Ultimate Self-Guided Tour of Auvers-sur-Oise: In the Footsteps of Van Gogh first appeared on The Creative Adventurer.

This summer, while living in Barcelona, I had the chance to review Art Ticket Barcelona. And I must say this pass is the perfect thing for any art lover. If you plan on visiting any three of Barcelona’s premiere museums listed on the Art Ticket Barcelona, then you’ve already paid for the pass in one go. And with the pass, you might be pushed to discover some museums and galleries you might never have thought of seeing before. But many of these might open your eyes to works of art you will come to have a deep appreciation for.

Table Of Contents

1. About the Art Ticket BCN
2. #1. Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya
3. #2. Fundació Joan Miró
4. #3. Museu Picasso
5. #4. The Museu d’Art Contemporani de Barcelona
6. #5. The Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona
7. #6.

About the Art Ticket BCN

Barcelona Art Passport invites you to take a fascinating journey through the art at the six best museums in Barcelona. Discover the finest collection of Romanesque mural paintings in the world, enjoy Modernisme and be surprised by the most contemporary art and creation at the Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya, the Museu d’Art Contemporani de Barcelona and the Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona. The universes of Miró, Picasso and Tàpies await you as you embark upon this unique experience. The most obvious benefit of these passes is that you will save 45% off the normal admission price. But you also get to skip the line, which can be a real-time saver, especially in the busier summer months. The pass is also valid for 12 months, so if you plan on returning, it is easily spread out over a longer period.

How it Works

The best way to purchase the Articket is online. Once you’ve purchased your ticket online, simply exchange it for your Barcelona Art Passport at the ticket desk of any Articket museum. Then enjoy the experience of seeing the best art in Barcelona!

As someone who loves pieces of ephemera, I was so gleeful when I saw them stamp my actual art passport in each museum I visited. I loved collecting all the stamps as we went!

If you’re unfamiliar with some of the museums and galleries on this list and are considering buying the pass, I’ve given you all the details about each museum. As well as some of my favourite artworks in each space. This piece better helps you understand the culture and history of the Catalan people, as well as the artistic movements that put Spain and Barcelona on the map!

#1. Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya

The Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya sits in the towering Palau Nacional that looks over the city like an artful guard tower. The Palau National was the piece-de-resistance of Barcelona’s 1929 International Exhibition, so even just visiting the museum building itself is an experience. The Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya is the largest museum in Barcelona. It exhibits the world’s finest collection of Romanesque murals. Included in the collection are some fantastic paintings by influential Spanish painters El Greco and Diego Velázquez. It is also a wonderful place to visit to see beautiful examples of Catalan Modernism, with works by Gaudí. To end the experience, head to the roof, where you can enjoy 360º views of Barcelona.

Frescos of Church of Sant Climent de Taüll

The most important artworks to see in the museum are the Romanesque frescos. These incredibly preserved artworks from the Church of Sant Climent de Taüll were painted 1000 years ago! If they had been left in their original location they would have been lost to the ages, but art collectors and historians managed to move the fresco, by striping them off the walls and reproducing the exact same architectural details of the original churches here inside the museum. Here they will rest for ages to come in an environment which will assure their safety for hundreds of years to come. These frescoes are still as vibrant and the faces of the people painted on them still astonishingly emotive. It’s amazing to see the amount of colours used throughout and makes the world of thousands of years ago that much more amazing.

The Spanish Wedding by Marià Fortuny

Going ahead a few hundred years in Spain, we find ourselves in the middle of Catalan Modernism. Marià Fortuny is one of the most important Spanish artists of his era. He is best known for his incredibly detailed paintings, which provide an almost photo-realistic view of what life would live looked like in Spain in the 1800s. In this painting, we see the scene of a wedding party assembled to sign a wedding contract. Surrounding the group are textiles and furnishings which give us a glimpse in the styles popular at the time. Seated to the right of the wedding party are lower class groups of lower class people, highlighted with a bull-fighter in full regalia.

Address: Parc de Montjuïc, 08038 Barcelona
Hours: From 10 am to 6 pm, from Tuesday to Saturday.
Until 8 pm, from May to September.
From 10 am to 3 pm, Sunday and public holidays.
Closed: Mondays (except public holidays), Jan 1st, May 1st, Dec 25th

#2. Fundació Joan Miró

The Fundació Joan Miró is an internationally renowned museum where visi­tors can enjoy and learn more about Joan Miró. Joan Miró’s imaginative and abstract art, characterized by playful shapes, vibrant colours, and dreamlike symbolism, blurs the lines between reality and fantasy, incorporating elements from his Catalan heritage and personal experiences. He was a pioneer in surrealism and contributed significantly to 20th-century modern art. 

The Fundació is an exceptional building designed by the architect Josep Lluís Sert. It stands inside the Parc de Montjuïc, and you can enjoy magnificent views over Barcelona. So even a trip up here will provide you more than just a visit to a museum but also a fantastic view of the city.

Catalan peasant in the moonlight

Catalan Peasant in Moonlight evokes two recurring themes within Miró’s body of work: the connection between humanity and the earth, symbolized by the peasant figure, and the mystical allure of the night, represented by the moonlight. The fusion of man and the earth becomes evident through the shared use of the colour red, both for the peasant’s face and the exposed portions of the landscape. However, in Miró’s artistic universe, the boundaries between sky and earth blur, highlighting their interdependence. This interplay results in a harmonious exchange: the peasant’s attire adopts the hues of the night, while the sky assumes the tones of the field. Additionally, the moon’s shape hints at a sickle, imparting a poetic layer of meaning to the scene.

Pair of Lovers Playing with Almond Blossoms

During the 1970s, Miró began to explore larger and more ambitious sculptural projects, receiving notable commissions for outdoor pieces, which he enthusiastically embraced. Pair of Lovers Playing with Almond Blossoms embodies a minimalist approach, featuring simple shapes adorned with vibrant colours, suggesting that the larger sculpture closely adhered to the smaller original model. The artwork portrays two abstract figures within an enigmatic, perhaps surrealist, realm.

One figure is a tall cylinder with yellow and reddish sections, crowned by a blue spherical shape embellished with prehistoric-style abstract motifs imbued with symbolic significance. The second figure is a tall structure with a pointed blue element leaning away, accented by a red, claw-like feature around its midpoint. This element could be interpreted as a hand reaching out to catch the ball perched atop the other figure, though further exploration is required for a definitive interpretation.

Address: Parc de Montjuïc s/n, 08038 Barcelona
Hours: Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday, from April to October, from 10 am to 8 pm
Thursday, from 10 am to 9 pm
Saturday, from 10 am to 8 pm
Sunday and public holidays, from 10 am to 3 pm
Closed: Mon (except public holidays)

#3. Museu Picasso

The Museu Picasso of Barcelona is the reference centre for Pablo Picasso’s formative years. The 4,355 works of the Muse­um’s permanent collection reveal the genius of the young artist. The Picasso Museum of Barcelona is filled with a piece of Picasso’s work before he discovered Cubism, but many of which lend hints of what’s to come. Some people might be disappointed not to see any of his more famous pieces, but I think this collection is unique and truly personal to this city. We’ve all seen, at least in photographs, most of Picasso’s classic paintings, but these hidden gems are something you’ll only find in Barcelona. And they give us a glimpse of a young, burgeoning Picasso.

Science and Charity

At first glance, Science and Charity looks like it was painted by Goya or Fortuny. You’d never have imagined that a painting with such attention to realistic detail and subtle tones would be from the same man who later was defined by primitive geometric shapes and powerful colours. As a child, Picasso was a prodigy, and his father encouraged him to enter this piece into a competition, launching his career into the stars, where it would only expand from there.

Las Meninas Series

Pablo Picasso’s series of paintings based on Diego Velázquez’s masterpiece “Las Meninas” is a notable example of his exploration of art history through reinterpretation and reinvention. Picasso created a total of 58 paintings, drawings, and studies inspired by Velázquez’s iconic work between 1957 and 1961. In these reinterpretations, Picasso reimagined the characters and elements of Velázquez’s composition in his distinctive Cubist style, which he had pioneered earlier in the 20th century.

The original “Las Meninas” depicts members of the Spanish royal court, with a young princess at the center and various attendants and courtiers around her. Velázquez’s painting is celebrated for its complexity, use of mirrors, and exploration of perspective. In Picasso’s versions, he fragmented and deconstructed the figures, reshaping them into abstract and geometric forms. Faces became masks, and bodies dissolved into angular and overlapping planes. Picasso’s reinterpretations play with the viewer’s perception of space, form, and identity, challenging traditional notions of representation in art.

Address: Fundació Museu Picasso of Barcelona, Montcada 15-23
Hours: Tuesday to Sundays: 9am to 7pm (including holidays)
Thursday: until 9.30pm
Monday: 10am to 5 pm (from July 24 to September 25)
Closed: 1st Jan, 1st May, 24th June and 25th Dec.
On 24th and 31st Dec museum closes at 2.00pm.

#4. The Museu d’Art Contemporani de Barcelona

The Museu d’Art Contemporani de Barcelona, commonly known as MACBA, is the most prominent contemporary art museum in Barcelona. The MACBA Collection consists of artworks produced by artists from Catalonia, Spain, and around the world, primarily from 1960 to the present day. These collections encompass a diverse array of artistic mediums and materials, encompassing painting, sculpture, drawing, collage, assemblage, objects, installations, audiovisual creations, and sound recordings, among various other artistic forms and expressions.

Self Portrait, Jean-Michel Basquiat

Basquiat’s self-portrait is a highly charged piece with many influences and expressions. Basquiat himself was highly inspired by Spanish painter Pablo Picasso’s work, which is especially evident in this work. He combines dynamic use of colour and abstract forms to convey layered meanings throughout his paintings. Basquiat was one of the first “graffiti” artists to make this type of work considered “good enough” to make it into the galleries and now is considered one of the seminal artists in the neo-expressionist pop movement. The brush strokes and colours used throughout the piece convey such emotion and, in this piece, anger; it is hard to view the piece without becoming enraged yourself.

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Barrière, Jaume Xifra

Jaume Xifra was a famous Catalan Conceptual artist. In 1959, he fled to France to escape the dictatorship. And it was here in France where he would pour his traumatic experiences into a new form of art. Xifra worked with cheap materials and objects to critique the world of consumerism. ‘BARRIÈRE’ is Xifra’s commentary on the police’s control over the people. A barrier, a device supposedly used to protect pedestrians, is here covered in barbed wire. Putting the supposed pedestrians at risk and creating an even more violent separation of the people from the state.

Address: Plaça dels Àngels, 1, 08001 Barcelona
Hours: From 11 am to 7.30 pm, Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.
Until 8 pm, from June 24th until September 25th.
From 10 am to 9 pm, Saturday.
From 10 am to 3 pm, Sunday and public holidays.
Closed: Tue (except public holidays), Jan 1st, Dec 25th

#5. The Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona

The Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona (CCCB) is a vibrant cultural center dedicated to contemporary culture and the arts. It serves as a multidisciplinary space where various forms of artistic expression, including visual arts, music, literature, film, and digital culture, converge. Unlike the other museums on this list, the CCCB hosts a diverse range of exhibitions and installations that explore contemporary themes, trends, and issues. These exhibitions often incorporate innovative approaches and multimedia elements, encouraging visitors to engage with contemporary art and culture in thought-provoking ways. But the program is always changing as there is not a permanent collection.

When we visited, the exhibition on display was titled “Sade: Freedom or Evil.” This exhibition explored the contemporary cultural, philosophical, and political impact of the Marquis de Sade. De Sade’s writings are seen as both liberating and corrupting, embodying a philosophy of freedom and evil simultaneously. The exhibition delves into his influence on artists and intellectuals, as well as his role as an icon in mass culture. Although the exhibition was pretty confronting, it was by far one of the best-curated art exhibitions I have seen in years. So I can confidently say that any exhibition you come to see here is bound to be of the highest quality.

Address: C/Montalegre 5, 08001 Barcelona
Hours: From 11 am to 8 pm, from Tuesday to Sunday and public holidays.
Closed: Mon (except public holidays), Jan 1st, Dec 25th

#6.

 houses a large collection of artworks by Antoni Tàpies. And the foundation was created to promote knowledge of modern art. Many people don’t even know who Antoni Tàpies is, but learning all about him is a great way to spend a breezy afternoon. The foundation is housed in a modernist building designed by architect Lluís Domènech i Montaner. And the building is an architectural gem in its own right. 

For those unfamiliar with Tapies, he is one of the greatest Catalan artists. His father was a lawyer and Catalan nationalist who influenced his cultural and political identity. Tàpies initially studied law, but his artistic inclinations led him to pursue art at the Acadèmia Valls in Barcelona. His early works were influenced by Surrealism and Catalan artists like Joan Miró. Especially once you’ve visited the Joan Miró foundations, you can see how closely he was tied to the works of Tapies.

Earth on Canvas

Tàpies is famous for his ‘pintura matèrica’ style, where he often incorporated a wide range of materials, including found objects, mixed media, and unconventional materials like sand, string, and marble dust. àpies had a deep fascination with the materiality of art. His paintings are characterized by their textured surfaces, as he used thick layers of paint and collage elements to create tactile, three-dimensional effects.

Address: C/ Aragó 255, 08007 Barcelona
Hours: Tuesday / Wednesday / Thursday / Saturday: 10 a.m. to 7 p.m.
Friday: 10 a.m. to 9 p.m.
Sunday, 10 a.m. to 3 p.m.
Closed: Mon, public holidays, Jan 1st and 6th, Dec 25th

With so many museums to see, it’s always nice to be able to save a few bucks where you can. With Articket Barcelona, you get access to all six museums for only 38€, a savings of 45% off the normal price of admission. And with this ticket, you’ll find that you’re more inclined to visit some museums you might not have thought to see and experience something unexpected.

The post An Honest Review of Art Ticket Barcelona, A Guide to the Most Amazing Museums first appeared on The Creative Adventurer.

Just steps from the centre of town, shaded under the shadow of the Alpilles, hides the old asylum of Saint-Paul de Mausole. It was here, in 1899, that would-be famed artist Vincent Van Gogh came to seek treatment and refuge for the madness that plagued his creative mind. This self-guided tour unravels the layers of Van Gogh’s creative spirit. With each brushstroke, each captivating corner, and each soul-stirring story, you gain a deeper appreciation for the enduring impact of his work on art history and the human experience.

During his stay in Saint-Remy and Saint-Paul de Mausole, Van Gogh produced 150 paintings and over 100 drawings. Many paintings he completed here, like Starry Night, are considered his magnum opus. And while his stay at the asylum was mixed with light and dark moments, there is no doubt that his art continued to flourish here in Provence. So, set foot in the footsteps of this iconic artist, embrace the beauty and darkness that shaped him, and immerse yourself in his enchanting landscapes here in Saint-Remy.

Table Of Contents

1. About Saint-Rémy-de-Provence Van Gogh Walking Tour
2. The Life of Vincent Van Gogh
3. Start Your Walking Tour: Place Jules Pelissier
4. Walking the Van Gogh Art Route
5. Van Gogh's Cypress Trees
6. Van Gogh's Olive Grove
7. Saint-Paul de Mausole, Van Gogh's Asylum
8. Exploring the Gardens
9. The Cloisters
10. Outer Courtyard
11. Van Gogh's Bedroom
12. The Starry Night
13. Van Gogh's Diagnosis
14. The Death of Vincent Van Gogh
15. A Meadow in the Mountains
16. Les Antiques

About Saint-Rémy-de-Provence Van Gogh Walking Tour

This guided walking tour will lead you from the centre of Saint-Remy, along the Route de Van Gogh, and through the Monastery Saint-Paul de Mausole. After exploring the asylum, we will make a short stop outside the Roman ruins, ‘Les Antiques,’ that lie on the outskirts of Saint-Remy. Inside the asylum and the surrounding countryside, we will discover the places that shaped his creativity and immerse ourselves in the beauty that captivated him. Leave yourself at least a half-day to explore the city, take things at your own pace and dive into hidden corners you discover for yourself. If you want to make a whole day out, consider visiting the Roman city of Glanum and treat yourself to a wonderful dinner in town.

History of Saint Remy

Saint-Rémy-de-Provence is located in the Alpilles region. The name “Alpilles” is derived from the Latin word “alpilulae,” meaning “small Alps,” due to its resemblance to the larger Alps mountain range.

Despite being in the middle of France, the area has some of Europe’s most well-preserved Roman ruins. During the 2nd century BC, the Romans established a settlement near Saint-Rémy, known as Glanum. This important Roman city flourished for centuries and boasted some of the most impressive architecture, including huge temples, a large forum, a theatre, and lavish houses. 

Following the decline of the Roman Empire, Saint-Rémy entered a period of relative obscurity. The town underwent a series of transformations and changed hands multiple times between feudal lords. In the 9th century, a Benedictine monastery was established in the town, and its influence grew over time.

Over the years, the town became a center of artistic activity, attracting writers, painters, and great thinkers. In the 16th century, French astrologer and physician Nostradamus wrote his book “Les Prophéties,” which contains cryptic prophecies about future events. Nostradamus was born in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence in 1503 and spent time studying medicine and astrology in the region. But no one person left a more indelible mark on the city than Vincent Van Gogh.

The Life of Vincent Van Gogh

Vincent van Gogh was born on March 30, 1853, in Groot-Zundert, Netherlands. Van Gogh was born into a deeply religious family. His father, Theodorus van Gogh, was a Protestant minister. But it was on his mother’s side where the artistic part of his mind came was born. His mother, Anna Carbentus, came from a family of bookbinders and art dealers. At the age of 16, Vincent began working for his uncle’s art dealership, which sparked his interest in art and the world of visual expression. But despite this, his early career path remained focused on the ministry. He attended a theology school in Amsterdam in 1877, intending to become a pastor like his father and grandfather.

Vincent’s Religious Upbringing

However, Vincent’s time as a pastor was short-lived and ultimately unsuccessful. His deeply empathetic and passionate nature often clashed with church practice’s more rigid and formal aspects. He also faced personal challenges and mental health issues, leading to his dismissal as a pastor after a brief stint in a rural congregation in Belgium. When he returned home, his father wanted to send Vincent to a lunatic asylum.

Vincent’s Mental Health Struggles Begin

Throughout his life, Van Gogh faced numerous mental health challenges that affected his ability to maintain stability and find contentment. He experienced periods of intense anxiety, depression, and emotional turmoil. These mental health struggles manifested in episodes of erratic behaviour and led to strained relationships with family, friends, and even fellow artists. But one relationship remained stronger than all the others, and this was with his brother Theo. Theo has seen a few of Vincent’s charcoal drawings he has been making while in Belgium. They were studies of the people and scenes around him. Theo immediately saw what others did not, and it was at his insistence and aid that Vincent was spared the madhouse and instead began his study and pursuit of a career in the arts.

Vincent & Theo

Theo van Gogh played a crucial role in Vincent’s personal and professional life. He was six years younger than Vincent, and while Vincent worked as a preacher, Theo embarked on a career as an art dealer. With an eye for talented artists, Theo was able to recognize Vincent’s talent immediately. He began supporting Vincent both emotionally and financially. And would continue to do so until the end of his life. Theo believed in Vincent’s artistic potential when few others did. And if it were not for Theo’s financial assistance and encouragement throughout his career, there is no doubt in my mind that Vincent would never have become one of the most famous artists of the 19th and 20th centuries.

The written correspondence between Vincent and Theo forms a rich tapestry of their relationship. They exchanged hundreds of letters, offering insights into their thoughts, struggles, and artistic aspirations. The letters reveal Vincent’s emotional vulnerability, challenges, and unwavering commitment to art. Theo, in turn, provided continuous emotional support, advice, and feedback on Vincent’s work. They were more than brothers, more than family, they were truly each other’s soulmates.

Van Gogh in Provence

In 1888, Van Gogh moved to Arles in southern France to seek inspiration and refuge. Here, he produced some of his most iconic works, including The Sunflowers and Café Terrace at Night. However, his time in Arles was also marked by increased mental instability, leading to conflicts with others, including his friend and fellow artist Paul Gauguin. Following a heated argument with Gauguin, Van Gogh infamously severed a portion of his earlobe. He was sent to the local hospital after being found in a pool of blood inside his apartment.

Even after returning to his home from the hospital, Vincent confided in his brother that he was still suffering from hallucinations and delusions of poisoning. On the insistence of both his brothers and physician Félix Rey, Vincent voluntarily admitted himself to the asylum of Saint-Paul de Mausole in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence in May 1889.

Start Your Walking Tour: Place Jules Pelissier

We now begin our walk. In the centre of Saint-Remy, Vincent would have arrived to make his way to Saint-Paul-de-Mausole asylum. Standing in the Place Jules Pelissier, the town’s central square, take a moment to soak in the atmosphere. Look around and admire the historic buildings surrounding you. On the west side of the square, look up and see the towering spire of the Saint-Martin Collegiate Church. This spire was one of the few things Van Gogh could see from his bedroom in the asylum. And it is one of the most iconic elements of his renowned painting, The Starry Night.

One can imagine how lonely Van Gogh must have felt. He would have been so close to the centre of town, and yet he was confined to the grounds of an asylum. On any day of the week, this square is filled with people having lively conversations outside on the terraces. He probably could have heard the noise from the square travel across the fields into the window sill where he painted. Van Gogh loved going out during his time in Arles. And he must have longed for those long nights outside the cafes. 

Walking the Van Gogh Art Route

As you turn south down Rue de la Commune, you are approaching the start of the Van Gogh Route. This is a self-guided walk towards the Monastery of Saint-Paul de Mausole. Along the way, there are 19 signs reproducing Van Gogh’s most emblematic paintings. A short quote from one of Van Gogh’s letters accompanies each image. And while I think trying to contextualize these paintings is so important, much remains to be discovered and discussed. So I hope this article is a great accompaniment. The walk is marked by these small golden emblems on the ground that bare Van Gogh’s iconic signature.

Place Mireille

Standing at the apex of the Place Mireille, you can look down the roads to put yourself at the very spot where Van Gogh painted a scene entitled The Road Menders. In this artwork, Van Gogh captures several figures engaged in manual labour, working along this very road. A road which now bears his name in his honour.

The Road Menders

In his paintings, Van Gogh often depicted scenes of everyday life and the toils of the working class. In The Road Mender, he highlights the dignity and significance of ordinary people and their contributions to society. Compared to Van Gogh’s paintings in Arles, you can see how the colours in this palette are much more muted. Although the brushwork still conveys that classical Van Gogh-ian sense of energy and emotion, the piece has a tone of sadness. Like he is looking into the lives of these everyday Provencal men and women but cannot connect with them, simply paint them from afar.

Canal des Alpines

Continuing along, we can see a large cypress tree on the right side of the road as we cross the Canal Des Alpines. This is just one of many Cypress trees found all over Saint-Remy, which deeply inspired Van Gogh’s oeuvre. 

Van Gogh’s Cypress Trees

Cypress trees hold significant importance and symbolism in the works of Vincent van Gogh. And he painted an entire series dedicated to them during his stay in Saint-Remy. Cypress trees have long been associated with notions of immortality and eternity. The tall and slender form of the cypress tree, reaching upward into the sky, is reminiscent of a natural cathedral spire. Van Gogh often used the cypress tree to symbolize the divine and the connection between the earthly and the spiritual realms. As if the tree, just like himself, were trying to reach out, away from the pains of this mortal realm, into eternal and transcendental peace.

While at the asylum of Saint-Paul de Mausole, he could look out his window every day to gaze upon the cypress trees spread out across the Provencal countryside. When he was allowed to leave the ground and paint en-plein air, these were some of the closest fields where he could come to study and sketch the cypress trees. So this very tree might have been one of the many that Van Gogh painted.

Almond Blossoms

Just past the canal crossing, on the right side of the road, we can see far-reaching fields of almond trees. These iconic trees were etched into the history book in Vicent van Gogh’s painting Almond Blossoms. Van Gogh painted Almond Blossoms as a gift for his brother Theo upon the arrival of his firstborn son. Although Vincent was no doubt worried about how the little child would impact Theo’s ability to support Vincent financially, the love he had for his brother was immense. And therefore, for his new nephew as well.

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

Vincent

He wanted to create a painting that was intended to commemorate the joy and hope associated with the arrival of a new life into the family. Almond blossoms begin to bud at the beginning of Spring. And therefore, they have long been associated with hope and rebirth. Van Gogh’s use of this floral motif suggests a sense of renewal and new beginnings. Perhaps a hope for a renewal in himself as well as for the new baby for Theo.

The delicate blossoms against the vibrant blue sky can be seen as a reflection of Van Gogh’s longing for peace, serenity, and emotional harmony. The upward-reaching branches and the ethereal quality of the blossoms evoke a sense of spirituality. As if these blooms are not placed within our mortal realm but instead up in the heavens.

Influence of Japanese Art

Van Gogh was greatly influenced by Japanese art, particularly ukiyo-e prints. He admired Japanese woodblock prints’ stylized and decorative qualities. Their flattened perspective and stark, bold outlines. In Almond Blossom, Van Gogh employed bold, dark outlines around the blossoms and branches, reminiscent of the black outlines found in Japanese woodblock prints. The bright blue sky against the delicate white blossoms also creates a striking visual effect.

The Colors of Provence

Continuing along Avenue Vincent Van Gogh, take a moment to look around you as you walk, to soak up all the colours of Provence. Van Gogh’s artistic style underwent a significant transformation during his time in Provence and in Saint-Remy. The vivid landscapes and unique light of the area greatly influenced him. As you walk, see what you can find that is reminiscent of Van Gogh’s Provencal colour palette, characterized by bold, deep, and intense colours. You might spot vibrantly painted window shutters and rainbows of flowers blooming along the road. The radiant yellows of the sunflowers and wheat fields dominated the Provençal countryside. And, of course, the bright blue skies above you.

Van Gogh’s Olive Grove

Turn left down Avenue Dr. Edgar Leroy towards Saint-Paul de Mausole. Although this route takes us away from the main road, this detour provides beautiful views across the Alpilles Valley. Further away from houses, you can see far out across the landscape of Provence. 

Along the road, we pass a series of olive groves, which were the subject of dozens of variations painted by Van Gogh. I think Olive Trees are one of his best series. Exemplified in these paintings is his emblematic expressive brushwork. The textural strokes capture the energy and movement of the foliage and the terrain. As if we can feel the breeze through the trees in the painting itself. But walking along this road, try to close your eyes and feel for yourself that movement in the wind that Van Gogh captures, like magic in a bottle.

Olive trees are also frequently associated with the idea of peace. In Roman times, athletes and emperors were awarded olive wreaths as a symbol of peace and honour. And in Christian art, the dove carrying an olive branch is often depicted as a symbol of peace, representing the reconciliation between God and humanity after the Great Flood. Van Gogh’s obsession with these trees was not just because they were what was available for him to paint. But due to his deep desire for tranquillity in his mind.

Saint-Paul de Mausole, Van Gogh’s Asylum

A short walk from the Avenue Dr. Edgar Leroy, make the first right to walk along the thick outer stone walls of the Saint-Paul de Mausole. Take note of how high and imposing these walls are. Ensuring all those inside cannot get out or even see the countryside around them. And although Vincent was given special permission to occasionally venture outside these walls, for the most part, he spent the last months of his life only within the confines of the asylum.

Hours and Admission

Hours: Open seven days a week, from 9:30 a.m. to 7 p.m. in the summer, with earlier closings in the winter. Admission: Adults 7€ | Student, Teens (12-16) and Seniors 5€ | Children under 12 are free

History of Saint-Paul de Mausole

In the 11th century, a Romanesque monastery was built on this site. The name “Mausole” is derived from the Latin word “mausoleum.” It was given this name as its location was a mere few meters from the ancient Roman mausoleum, just outside the ruins of Glanum. The monastery flourished for several centuries, serving as a religious center for monks and pilgrims.

In the 19th century, the monastery underwent a significant transformation. In 1815, the religious order left, and the building was repurposed as a psychiatric institution. It became an asylum known as the “Asile de Saint-Paul,” catering to individuals with severe mental health conditions. The tranquil surroundings and therapeutic environment sought to offer patients a place of refuge and treatment. But treatment for mental health conditions in the 19th century left much to be desired. And for many, treatments were little more than a restrictive diet and twice daily baths.

Van Gogh in Saint-Paul de Mausole

Although Vincent voluntarily admitted himself into the hospital, his stay there relied heavily on his brother Theo’s assistance. Vincent received not one but two private rooms. One of which Vincent could use as his studio. A luxury no other patients were given.

When he first arrived, he was hopeful and spoke positively about his experience. “I feel happier here with my work than I could be outside. By staying here a long time, I shall have learned regular habits, and in the long run, the result will be more order in my life.” Much of this early progress was made simply due to the fact that the doctors here at Saint-Remy forced Van Gogh to stop many of his harmful vices. Van Gogh was not only an alcoholic, but his eating habits and overconsumption of coffee all negatively impacted his mental health conditions.

Exploring the Gardens

When Vincent was first admitted, he couldn’t leave the ground until the doctors and nurses deemed him fit enough to do so. During these first few months, Van Gogh painted only what he found within the gardens surrounding the Monastery. He looked closely at everything around him, finding peace in those quiet little moments and vignettes that proliferated the gardens.

Entering through the front gates, you step into the asylum’s tranquil gardens, left almost exactly as they would have been when Van Gogh stayed here. Lining the outer walls of the asylum are beautiful garden beds. Vines crawl up the stone walls to disguise their prison-like intentions. Van Gogh vividly describes the gardens for us in a letter to Theo;

A view of the garden of the asylum where I am, on the right a gray terrace, a section the house, some rosebushes that have lost their flowers; on the left, the earth of the garden – red ochre – earth burnt by the sun, covered in fallen pine twigs. This edge of the garden is planted with large pines with red ochre trunks and branches, with green foliage saddened by a mixture of black. These tall trees stand out against an evening sky streaked with violet against a yellow background. High up, the yellow turns to pink, turns to green. Under the trees, empty stone benches, dark box. The sky is reflected yellow in a puddle after the rain.

Vincent Van Gogh

Irises

The very first painting that Van Gogh endeavoured to paint was that of the garden’s irises. Van Gogh captures these flowers in different stages of their blooms. Some almost appear to be falling to the ground under the weight of their petals. This painting was one of Van Gogh’s studies, meaning he painted it directly from life without sketching it first. There was some calm he found in these intricate studies. Like he was immersing himself into the world of the painting, leaving his darkened world behind him.

Lilacs

A stark contrast to his almost realistic portrayal of the Irises is Van Gogh’s painting of the Lilacs. You can even see the purple irises in the background of the painting, but their forms are almost abstract. Nothing more than a few swashes of painting. Through Lilacs, we can see Van Gogh’s absolute dynamism in his vivid energy and dramatic expression he communicates to us through his brushstrokes. He pushes the boundaries of impressionism and creates his own post-impressionist style.

When you receive the canvases that I have done in the garden, you will see that I am not too melancholy here.

Vincent Van Gogh

Corner of Saint-Paul Hospital

While Van Gogh was trying to let give his brother hope that his stay here at the asylum was helping him rid himself of the sadness he felt in Arles, there was no doubt that this place still felt like a prison. He felt trapped inside, literally and figuratively both inside the walls of the asylum and inside the prison of his troubled mind.

“You’ll understand that this combination of red ochre, of green saddened with grey, of black lines that define the outlines, this gives rise a little to the feeling of anxiety from which some of my companions in misfortune often suffer, and which is called ‘seeing red’.”

Vincent Van Gogh

Romanesque Chapel

The entrance to the old Romanesque stone chapel is beside the entrance to the asylum. The chapel is as silent as silence can be. The huge stone arches frame the cold stone walls in the darkness. The only light being emitted from the stained glass windows and the entry door. Modern-day lighting has been added to the ceiling to give the visitor a better view of the 11th-century architecture. Van Gogh would have been encouraged, perhaps even forced, to come here for prayer, as this was still thought to be a method of curing their mental illnesses. 

But for Vincent, his relationship with religion was complex. And it continued to evolve throughout his life. Although he was raised in a religious family, his failure to become a pastor and his disillusionment with the church as an institution deeply wounded him. While Van Gogh distanced himself from traditional religious institutions, he continued to engage with religious themes in his art. 

The Pietà

But during Vincent’s time at the asylum, especially when he could not even go outside after his episodes, he found solace and inspiration in biblical stories. And he developed a more personal and reflective view of his spirituality. During moments of despair and loneliness, he believed his art was a spiritual expression and a means to connect with a higher power. When he could not make art of his own, he began making copies of some famous paintings, most of which were religious. He told his brother;

“I started making them inadvertently and now find that I can learn from them and that they give me a kind of comfort. My brush then moves through my fingers like a bow over the strings of a violin – completely for my pleasure.”

Van Gogh made the Pietà from a lithograph of Delacroix’s painting. While the composition of the subject remains the same, Van Gogh’s brought his stylistic approach to the brushwork. The Pietà depicts the Virgin Mary cradling the dead body of Jesus Christ after his crucifixion. The word “Pietà” comes from the Italian word for “pity” or “compassion,” and the theme is one of deep sorrow and mourning. It is impossible not to see the connection for Van Gogh in this work of art. A man desperate for compassion, for understanding, and to be held by a woman. Most of the women in Van Gogh’s were sources of pain and rejection. And yet here we see a woman who is the epitome of acceptance.

Vestibule in the Asylum

Stepping inside the main building, take a minute to walk inside and turn back towards the entry door. This view was captured almost precisely as we see it today by Van Gogh during his stay. Van Gogh hated the living condition here. He described the experience to his brother;

“There is someone here who has been shouting and talking like me all the time for a fortnight. He thinks he hears voices and words in the echoes of the corridors, probably because the auditory nerve is diseased and over-sensitive, and in my case, it was both sight and hearing at the same time, which is usual at the onset of epilepsy, according to what Dr. Félix Rey said one day.”

Especially when compared to the actual view of the hallways, one can really appreciate how his painting displays the profound solitude he felt there. The walls seem to fold in upon themselves. Not a single person can be seen, yet tension is in the air as if we can hear that invisible man screaming from afar.

The Cloisters

Proceed inside the main building, towards the interior cloisters. Cloisters are covered walkways, usually surrounding a courtyard or garden. Cloisters are a distinctive architecture in monasteries built in the 11th century. Today, you can still wander around the cloisters to experience the tranquil space Van Gogh himself would have experienced during his daily walks.

From inside the cloisters, look up at the second-floor windows. It was from here that Van Gogh would have looked down on the gardens on days when he was too ill to go outside.

Outer Courtyard

Before heading upstairs to Van Gogh’s bedroom, walk through the gift shop towards the outer courtyard. Rows and rows of lavender bloom here in the summer and the fields are packed with poppies, irises and roses in the spring.

View of the Asylum and Chapel of Saint-Rémy

As indicated by several letters to Theo, Van Gogh spent the autumn painting in the courtyard. One of the most important paintings he made here was View of the Asylum and Chapel of Saint-Rémy. It is the only painting Vincent made of the entirety of the asylum, not just its gardens or interior walls.

Unlike some paintings he painted indoors from sketches he made outside, this one was painting en-plein air. Standing right here in the lush green space. The colour palette of this painting is very different than his vibrant paintings. The colours are muted, with hues of green infiltrating the rest o of the colours. This was due to the fact that Van Gogh was attempting to capture the changing light outside in the autumn. It was something he was obsessed with—the ability to freeze time and capture a moment in paint.

Van Gogh’s Bedroom

Walking upstairs, we step onto the second floor. It was here where the patient’s bedrooms were held. Inside a room facing out onto the back courtyard, we find the very room where Van Gogh once resided. The room has been meticulously restored to resemble how it appeared during Van Gogh’s stay. The only difference was that Van Gogh was not allowed to paint in the bedroom. Instead, he would have had to go to his studio to do any painting. But the studio and bedroom set up have been combined in this recreation.

Observe the simple furniture and the worn floor. But most important, take your time to gaze out the east-facing window. The bars of which were a prison cell for Van Gogh. He would have been inspired to sketch the painting The Starry Night from this window.

This morning, I saw the countryside from my window a long time before sunrise with nothing but the morning star, which looked very big.

Vincent Van Gogh

The Starry Night

The Starry Night depicts a small village with houses and a church steeple nestled beneath a swirling sky filled with luminous stars. Van Gogh painted this same scene numerous times. But this is the only version of the painting set at night. While the paintings during the day capture the scene accurately, the version at night takes on a more dramatic and expressive tone. Van Gogh takes more risks, changing the scenery to fit his vision. Although historians can date the painting and know that the moon was a waxing gibbous moon on this night, Vincent paints it as a crescent moon.

Although the idea of changing elements of a landscape to suit the intention of the painting better seems like an obvious choice, it was one Van Gogh struggled with. While living with Gaugin, Gaughin frequently encouraged Vincent to delve more into abstraction. But Van Gogh was so focused on painting precisely what he saw. And yet here we see him break away from reality and reach for the stars…literally.

The swirling sky, filled with vibrant stars, seems to move before your eyes. The vivid colours contrast against the night sky. The intense movement and whirling patterns convey a sense of chaos, yet they also evoke a feeling of transcendent beauty and spiritual depth. The stars, in particular, have been interpreted as symbols of hope. They are aspirations beyond the earthly realm. And those iconic cypress trees serve as a bridge from reality towards the celestial domains. It is as if Vincent is trying to paint his way out of his dark existence.

Van Gogh’s Diagnosis

While in Saint-Rémy, Van Gogh’s mental health continued to fluctuate. He experienced both periods of intense creativity and moments of utter despair. During his stay, Van Gogh suffered four serious “attacks” as they were described by the doctors. These were painful and distressing for Van Gogh and his brother Theo. The attack was followed by a period of deep depression in which Van Gogh didn’t paint at all. Then, after some time, Vincent’s creativity and drive would return, and he would resume paintings.

So what did Van Gogh suffer from? This question has enraptured the minds of psychiatrists from around the world for ages. And the truth is that we will never know without these doctors being able to speak directly to the man himself. But many surmise that Van Gogh suffered from manic-depressive psychosis, worsened by his epileptic fits. Epilepsy was prevalent on his mother’s side, and as it is a hereditary disease, this connection makes sense. These attacks were brought on by triggering events in Van Gogh’s life. 

At Eternity’s Gate

One of the most intensive paintings done in Saint Remy was his painting entitled At Eternity’s Gate. Vincent had made this sketch of a pensioner and war veteran in 1882, and while recovering from one of his intensive attacks, he began painting this sorrowful scene. And yet, even in the darkest moments, we have the reference to eternity. As if Van Gogh himself is still clinging to his faith to see himself through this period of darkness.

Portrait of a patient

Though here there are some patients very seriously ill, the fear and horror of madness that I used to have has already lessened a great deal. And though here you continually hear terrible cries and howls like beasts in a menagerie, in spite of that, people get to know each other very well and help each other when their attacks come on.

Vincent Van Gogh

Prisoners’ Round (after Gustave Doré)

Another painting that seems to evoke the internal nature of Van Gogh’s mind during his time in Saint-Remy was Prisoners’ Round. This painting is another copy he made after a print by Gustave Doré. The scene depicts a group of prisoners walking around in a circle in the exercise yard at Newgate Prison. The scene is dark, damp and almost claustrophobic. The walls seem to cave in upon the prisoners below.

The man in the group’s centre is placed at the forefront of the image; his head turned slightly towards us, the viewer. This man is also the only one now wearing a cap on his head, showing off his strawberry blonde hair, the same as Vincent himself. Vincent is placing himself in a literal prison, as no doubt this is how he felt inside the asylum and the torment of his mind. And yet even in the darkest recesses of the world, there is hope. Small and delicate but present. And we can see this by looking closely at the two white butterflies soaring high above the prisoners below. As if they are on their way out, escaping this dark world and flying toward the sun.

The Funeral of Van Gogh

When Van Gogh died, only two months after leaving the asylum, this was one of the paintings that Theo chose to be placed next to his coffin. Painter Émile Bernard came to Vincent’s funeral. When he saw this painting, he wrote,

Convicts walking in a circle surrounded by high prison walls, a canvas inspired by Doré of a terrifying ferocity and which is also symbolic of his end. Wasn’t life like that for him, a high prison like this with such high walls – so high? And these people walking endlessly round this pit, weren’t they the poor artists, the poor damned souls walking past under the whip of Destiny?

Émile Bernard

Road with Cypress and Star 

I want to end this tour, in the treatment room, just opposite Van Gogh’s bedroom. Here, Vincent would take his twice-daily baths, the only “treatment” the doctor gave him to cure his illness. A therapy that no doubt made little to no difference. Instead, he was left abandoned by the very people, the doctors and nurses, who he so desperately had hoped would cure him of his disease. And there must have been no worse feeling than the hopelessness that that abandonment would have caused. More than anything, I think Vincent was very lonely and needed companionship. His search for romantic love in his life has been utterly heartbreaking. And the real true love of his life had always been his brother. To be closer to him, Vincent decided to check himself out of the hospital and move to the small town of Auvers-sur-Oise near Paris (where Theo lived.) 

The Obelisk of Death

Vincent’s last painting while in Saint-Remy is this scene entitled Road with Cypress and Star. This vertical landscape depicts a winding road centred by a deep, dark cypress tree. Many call this an “obelisk of death,” as if Van Gogh knew he was to die.

Behind the tree is a vast expanse of yellow wheat fields and blue mountains. The night sky dominates the upper part of the canvas, with a bright yellow star shining brilliantly above the cypress tree on the left and a vibrating crescent moon to the right. The sky is painted in swirling, turbulent patterns. But it is the bottom of the painting that we will focus upon. In the sea of churning grass are a pair of travellers, walking almost arm in arm. The two men are walking towards the tremendous black cypress tree. Their heads held high, unafraid, looking up towards the beautiful eternal sky above them. Beauty surrounds them in the face of great darkness.

The Death of Vincent Van Gogh

When Van Gogh arrived in Auvers-sur-Oise, he was placed under the care of Dr. Paul Gachet. Despite receiving some medical attention, his mental health continued to decline. And on July 27, 1890, at the age of 37, Van Gogh tragically took his own life by shooting himself in the chest. He passed away two days later, with his brother Theo by his side. 

Devastated at the loss of his brother and suffering from syphilis, Theo died only a year later. They were buried together, side by side, in the town cemetery of Auvers-sur-Oise. Ivy was planted on top of their graves. And today, the vines have grown together, clutching each other, forming one large mass. Emblematic of the connection these two brothers had for one and one in their lifetime. And now for eternity.

Leaving the Asylum

We now take our time to leave the Saint-Paul Asylum, walking back through the gardens and out onto VC des Carrieres road. As you walk back through the gardens, we walk the same path that Vincent would have taken upon his departure. One of Vincent’s last letters to Theo from Saint-Remy spoke enthusiastically of his health and creative endeavours.

At the moment the improvement is continuing, the whole horrible crisis has disappeared like a thunderstorm, and I’m working here with calm, unremitting ardour to give a last stroke of the brush. I’m working on a canvas of roses on bright green background and two canvases of large bouquets of violet Irises, one lot against a pink background in which the effect is harmonious and soft through the combination of greens, pinks, violets. On the contrary, the other violet bouquet (ranging up to pure carmine and Prussian blue) standing out against a striking lemon yellow background with other yellow tones in the vase and the base on which it rests is an effect of terribly disparate complementaries that reinforce each other by their opposition.

Vincent Van Gogh

A Meadow in the Mountains

Exiting through the main gates of the asylum, we turn to the left to walk down the small path that leads into the Parc D’Amour. This beautiful park is where Vincent Van Gogh would come to paint the mountains. In his painting, A Meadow in the Mountains: Le Mas de Saint-Paul, we can see a vast meadow surrounded by rolling hills and mountains in the background. The same mountains we can see spread out in front of our eyes.

The hills in this background play a significant role in this painting. They represent a sense of permanence, stability, and grandeur. Something that we know Vincent was profoundly searching for in his life. A state of tranquillity, enduring, just like nature itself. Their pale blue colour contrasts with the dynamic nature of the vibrant yellow and green meadow below. Walking along this path, you can take in the calm surrounding this valley. The sound of the wind rushing through the tall grass is the only sound that casts itself down on the ground in the sun-soaked afternoon.

Les Antiques

Walking through the park, towards the west side where the D5 roadway now passes, we can hope across the road to see the ruins of Glanum. Just outside a car park stands the great Antiques of ancient Rome. “Les Antiques” refers to these two Roman monuments that once stood on the outskirts of Glanum. The grandest of the two structures is the Triumphal Arch of Glanum. It was erected in the 1st century BCE to commemorate the military victories of the Roman Empire. This arch would have served as the entrance gate to Glanum. The arch is adorned with intricate carvings, including images of military generals and their prisoners. All across the arch are beautiful carvings of the Provencal harvest. We can see grapes, olives, stone fruits and even chestnuts. These agricultural symbols were a means for Rome to display the wealth of their land to any visitors. 

Mausoleum of the Julii

The tallest of the two structures is the Mausoleum of the Julii. The name of the 11th-century abbey, Monastery of Saint-Paul de Mausole, refers to this very Mausole or Mausoleum. When the Benedictine abbey was built in the 11th century, this site was still as important to the people of Provence as it is today. Although Vincent never painted these Antiquities, he would have no doubt visited these sites frequently as they were so close to the abbey. The Mausoleum of the Julii, also known as the “Tomb of the Julii,” dates back to the 1st century BCE. It was built to house the tombs of the mother and father of the three Julii brothers.

The father was a military general, and Julii was one of the most distinguished families in Rome. Carved into the tombs are a series of acanthus leaves, representing eternal rebirth to the ancient Romans. As a man obsessed with eternity, one can imagine how this structure would have greatly captured the imagination of the great artist. Perhaps inspiring Van Gogh to continue his search for the hereafter in the symbolism he painted into his masterpieces.

I hope you have enjoyed this extraordinary journey into the tumultuous yet brilliant artistic world of Vincent van Gogh. As you wander through the charming streets that once captivated the tormented artist, you can’t help but feel a sense of reverence for his resilience and creativity amidst personal struggles. I hope that you come away from Saint-Remy with a deeper understanding of this masterful painter, and maybe seeing this magnificent part of Provence will ignite your own artistic journey!

Happy Travels, Adventurers

The post The Ultimate Self-Guided Tour of Saint-Rémy-de-Provence in the Footsteps of Van Gogh first appeared on The Creative Adventurer.

This had been a mission of mine for a while. But I’m usually too busy to sit or haven’t found the right artist. Lucky for me, on this last trip, I completely fell in love with a watercolour painter. He totally charmed me into finally checking this experience off my list. It was one of the best moments of my life, and I came away with a work of art I will treasure forever. I wanted to share all there is to know about getting your portrait painted in the Place du Tertre and taking home a one-of-a-kind souvenir from Paris.

Table Of Contents

1. Location & Access
2. History of the Place du Tertre
3. The Painters of Place du Tertre
4. When To Arrive
5. How to choose an artist?
6. My Experience at the Place du Tertre
7. Learning to Sit for a Portrait
8. What to Wear?
9. How Long Does it Take to get a Portrait?
10. How much does a portrait at Place du Tertre cost?
11. Do You Need to Speak French?
12. How to get your portrait safely home?
13. What to Do in the Area?

Location & Access

The Place du Tertre is a delightful, historic square located in the heart of Montmartre. It is merely a few steps from the famous Basilica of the Sacré Cœur. To get to the Place du Tertre, take the metro to Abbesses station. From there, it is a gorgeous five-minute walk (uphill) toward the celebrated square.

History of the Place du Tertre

The Place du Tertre has a rich and storied history that dates back to the Middle Ages. Originally, the area of Montmartre was a tiny village on the outskirts of Paris. The word ‘Montmartre’ means “mountain of the martyr.” Legend has it that the patron saint of Paris, Saint-Denis, was beheaded on the hill of Montmartre in the 3rd century AD.

In the 12th century, the Benedictine Montmartre Abbey was built here, and the Place du Tertre stood in the centre. After the dissolution of the monastery, the area was opened to the public in 1635. And this square served as the centre of village life in Montmartre.

During the 19th century, the Place du Tertre became a gathering place for artists. They were drawn to Montmartre’s free spirit and artistic atmosphere. Famous artists such as Picasso, Van Gogh, and Toulouse-Lautrec frequented the area. And many studios and workshops popped up in the narrow streets and alleys around the square.

In the early 20th century, the Place du Tertre became a tourist destination. Local artists began selling their paintings and creating portraits of tourists on the square. Today, the square is still a hub of artistic activity, with dozens of local artists selling their work and creating portraits for visitors.

The Painters of Place du Tertre

After I got my portrait painted, one of the main questions I got was, “are the painters here really that good? Or is this another tourist trap?” Great question and one that I initially had myself. The reality is, you can’t be just anyone to be able to paint here. There are a limited number of painters allowed to set up their easels on the square. And each of them had to undergo a rigorous portfolio approval review process to become an “artist in residence.” The wait time for these residences can be up to ten years! News spots only open up if an artist dies or decides to give up his residence. So anyone you find here has really paid their dues.

This means that you might be able to find the same artists painting here year after year. Many people make it a tradition to get a new portrait painted here every five years, often by the same painter. Each artist is given one square meter to set up their outdoor studio. You can see the little markings on the cobblestones when it’s not filled with artists. Each artist is given a printed permit which proves they are approved to work here. Any painters set up here without permission could be fined so you know these artists are the real deal!

When To Arrive

Painters start arriving here around 10 am throughout the week. I find Mondays the quietest. The French aren’t early risers, so don’t expect them to come out in droves until they’ve had their morning coffee. The painters generally stick around until the sun begins to set. But there is no firm set time for opening and closing.

In the winter, especially when it gets freezing, you’ll often find fewer painters coming out to brave the cold. But even at Christmas, I found the square was packed! Weekends are the most popular, so prepare for it to be hectic! But you’ll also find the most artists on the show on those days as well. No one will come out during the rain, so consider those days a write-off.

How to choose an artist?

With so many artists in the square, choosing the right one for you might seem like a difficult task. It can be overwhelming to see so many artists working away and feel the need to pick just one. But the first thing you should do, before making any decisions, is to spend some relaxed time just looking at all the artists at work. Roam around, and look at the past example paintings done by these artists. As well as the ones they are in the midst of painting. This will ensure that their technique has stayed the same since those portfolio examples.

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When I visited, there were a variety of different art styles that I could see across the square. There were hyperrealistic pencil drawings that were so detailed they looked almost more like a photo than a painting. Then there are the more classical caricatures that overemphasize people’s most eye-catching characteristics, but these are a bit “cartoony.” The charcoal drawings are so expressive and really convey the silhouette of a person’s face. But the watercolour paintings were my favourite. Although perhaps not as photorealistic as the pencil drawings, they felt so expressive and conveyed much emotion through the brushstrokes.

My Experience at the Place du Tertre

I spent about 15 minutes observing various artists and inquired about their pricing. Most were about €60, but nothing completely entranced me. That was until I saw, in the middle of the crowd, my very own Van Gogh, Majid Aghili. Majid had been painting here on the square for over 15 years. And he looked like he was plucked right out of a French film with his chic round black glasses, checkered scarf and flat cap. He was smoking a cigarette and had paint all up under his fingernails. A sign of a real artist.

We hit it off immediately as I told him how much my late mother loved watercolour painting, which drew me to him. He loved the bright colours I was wearing on such a dreary winter’s day. He stated his price, €80, and I immediately went to find the ATM. €80 was more than the average I had seen in the square, but his work was much more elevated than some of the cheaper options, and I loved his unique style. And style and experience will always add something to your bill.

Learning to Sit for a Portrait

The key to sitting for a portrait is choosing a comfortable position. Not just in how you’re seated but ensuring you select a relaxed facial expression. A big-toothy smile is pretty hard to keep up after 10 minutes. If you know your best side, let the artist know and sit in that orientation.

Another thing to remember when sitting for a portrait is that people will be looking at you the entire time. You are literally on display. This felt awkward at first, but if you just zone out and relax, you’ll come away with a much better portrait than if your face shows any of that uncomfortably. One of the hardest parts was seeing other people reacting to the paintings before being able to see it myself! But when he turned it around, it was such a wonderful surprise, and I was just in awe. Not only of his skills but how beautifully he captured my spirit and self.

What to Wear?

I hadn’t planned on getting my portrait done, but in retrospect, I think I would have thought more in advance about what I wanted to wear if I was going to do it again. I was lucky I loved my outfit and wasn’t wearing too many patterns or accessories that would be harder to capture in the portrait. These portraits might be something you’ll want to have on display forever, so be sure to choose an outfit that will pass the test of time. A simple, more classic look is always a great choice so the outfit doesn’t detract from your face. This is less of an issue with black-and-white paintings, but you might want to keep your fashion style in mind.

I generally wear some pretty vibrant makeup colours, but a bare face would have been a better approach for this occasion. That way the artist can better capture your natural features, otherwise hidden behind the makeup.

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How Long Does it Take to get a Portrait?

Some artists have huge queues, so waiting in line for your turn might take an hour or so. This also might play into your decision of which artist to choose. Many artists might have a list and will tell you when to return instead of waiting in the square.

How long the actual process of painting your portrait will take depends on the complexity of the work. The quick, gestural charcol drawings can take as little as five minutes. While watercolour impressionist paintings take around 30 minutes. And some hyperrealistic colour pencil drawings, with multiple family members, would an hour or more! If time is a consideration, you can also ask yourself this question to your artist prior to agreeing upon getting the portrait made. But you definitely don’t want to rush your artist.

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How much does a portrait at Place du Tertre cost?

Every artist has a different set price. Some artists have their prices written on their display boards, but others will require asking to find out. With so much variety in style, the price varies to reflect the time and skills of the artists. The black and white caricature-like drawings were the cheapest. But the caricatures are often less realistic in representing the sitter. The paintings which are more representative are, of course, going to cost more. In general, I saw prices from €25 to €120. Be sure to set the price before you sit down and have the money on hand. If you adore your painting, you can also tip, but tipping in France is not the norm or expected.

All the artists I spoke with only accepted cash, so be aware of this if you plan to get your portrait painted. There is an ATM down the street if you need to take out some money. While mobile payments by card are getting more and more popular, many artists here are still very old-school.

Do You Need to Speak French?

Since most of these artists are used to working with tourists, many speak some English, but it’s not guaranteed. Learning French before your travels is a great idea, and I’ve included some key phrases to learn when speaking to the artists on the square.

Hello – Bonjoy!
Thank You – Merci
How much is one portrait? – Combien coûte un portrait?
How much for two people? – Combien pour deux personnes?
How long will it take? – Combien de temps ça va prendre?
Do you take credit card or cash? – Prends-tu une carte de crédit ou des espèces?
When should I come back? – Quand dois-je revenir?
This is beautiful – C’est beau

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How to get your portrait safely home?

Various sellers are walking around the square peddling small cardboard tubes to safely store your rolled-up portrait. Some artists also offer these as part of their portrait package. When I asked how much they cost, the seller told me €10. I thought this was too much, so I walked away, not needing it that badly. And, of course, the seller chased me down, asking me for my best offer. After offering him €5, he too happily agreed. I think could have haggled him down further based on how fast he decided to take the fiver. But it was worth it to keep the work of art safe. I carried it around in my bag for months, and when I got home, it was in perfect condition.

What to Do in the Area?

If you need to wait your turn for your portrait, there are plenty of things to see and do in Montmartre to pass the time. While you might be tempted to sit at one of the cafes facing Place du Tertre, these places are insanely overpriced and the definition of a tourist trap. If you want to enjoy a coffee, there are lots of cute and affordable options on Rue des Trois Frères.

If you’re looking for something to eat, I’d recommend heading to Rue des Abbesses. This is one of the most picturesque streets in Montmartre but it still manages to avoid being filled with overpriced cafes.

Basilica of the Sacré Cœur

If you’ve never been to the Basilica of the Sacré Cœur, it’s well worth checking out. Depending on what time you arrive, the line to get inside can be pretty long. But since entry is free, the line moves quickly. If you’re not looking to go inside the Basilica but just want a great photo, I’d recommend getting a shot from Rue du Chevalier-de-La-Barre. This street is located behind the church and is often almost empty compared to the jam-packed balcony outside the front entrance to the church.

Montmartre Cemetery

Another great thing to do in the area is to visit the Montmartre Cemetery. The cemetery is about a 15-minute walk from the Place du Tertre. This picturesque burial ground is known for its tranquil atmosphere and scenic beauty. The cemetery is the final resting place of many notable figures, including artists, writers, musicians, and actors such as Edgar Degas, Hector Berlioz, François Truffaut, and Emile Zola.

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The Moulins

One of the most iconic aspects of Montmartre are the various Moulins, or windmills, found throughout the neighbourhood. In the 19th century, Montmartre was originally a rural village on the outskirts of Paris. The windmills were used to grind wheat into flour and were vital to the local economy. At the peak of their use, there were as many as 30 windmills in Montmartre, but today only a few remain. Despite their diminished numbers, the windmills remain an iconic symbol of Montmartre and are a popular attraction for visitors.

The Moulin Rouge

The most famous of all these windmills is the iconic Moulin Rouge. Made famous for being the setting for the film of the same name starring Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman. The Moulin Rouge is a renowned cabaret and dance hall. It was opened in 1889 and quickly became a symbol of the Belle Époque era, with its stunning decor, lavish costumes, and talented performers. It was the birthplace of the can-can dance, which quickly becoming popular across Europe and beyond. The Moulin Rouge also attracted famous patrons such as Pablo Picasso, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, and Edith Piaf. The same painters that inspired many of the artists working in the Place du Tertre today!

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Getting your portrait painted on the Place du Tertre is a special memory for anyone visiting Paris. It’s a unique and unforgettable experience that captures the essence of the city’s vibrant artistic culture. Whether it’s your first or 10th time, getting your portrait painted on the Place du Tertre is an experience that should not be missed!

Happy Travels, Adventurers

The post The Ultimate Souvenir from Paris, Portrait Paintings on the Place du Tertre 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.