Thursday morning saw another amazing breakfast. We set off again, this time towards Charlottenburg. Our destination was the Sammlung Scharf-Gerstenberg to see some surrealism.
Spotted on a street in Charlottenburg.
Could have used some of this 70 years ago.
One wing of the museum was devoted to surrealist art, featuring Has Bellmer, Max Ernst, Paul Klee, Max Klinger and others. Most places discouraged photography, so here I was sneaky as ever. I bought postcards anyway so I did not feel guilty. The other wing housed a vast exhibit of Toulouse-Lautrec, Daumier and Goya.
Hans Bellmer's Selbstbildnis.
Part of Max Klinger's Handschuh series.
Forgot the title, but I believe this is also Bellmer's work.
Following the surrealism, we split into two groups. Martina took the photo enthusiasts one way and Áine brought the rest of us to the Neue Nationalgalerie. The current exhibition there was Der Geteilte Himmel, or Divided Heaven.
The exhibition was beautifully curated, a pleasure just to walk through. My only disappointment was that the Neue Nationalgalerie's permanent collection contains some Dix, and they were not on display.
Divided Heaven.
Leuna 1921 by Willi Sitte.
Title and artist to follow once I locate them...
Les Noces (The Wedding) by Wifredo Lam.
After the Neue Nationalgalerie I was wide awake but everyone else was falling asleep on big padded chairs in the atrium. They decided to return to the hotel and rest before venturing into the night once more. We had walked here via Potsdamer Platz, and I had spotted the film museum on the way. Áine and Maren also fancied the idea, and we made our way as the other 85% U-Bahned it back to Hotel Tiergarten.
It being Thursday, admission to the museum was free. Our small group arranged to reconnect at 6:30, and Maren and I dashed off to the exhibits while while Áine went for a cuppa. The first few rooms were about early technical advances. There were old projectors and components behind glass which could be operated via buttons on the exterior. A hall of mirrors and blown-up posters of film stars ushered me into the Caligari exhibit. Screenplays, sheet music, reconstructed set models, posters, and more.
The following rooms were a trove. I have never lingered so in a museum. I read every placard, every piece of information, as much of the German as I could decipher. Screenplays and props from Leni Riefenstahl's films were displayed beside a copy of Joseph Göbbel's Michael, and presented with stone-cold objectivity
Following the Metropolis displays there was a spiral stair descending past a wall of televisions showing black and white montages. The monitors were flanked by mirrors, which created the illusion of hundreds of screens.
Downstairs and past the death mask of F.W. Murnau, the Dietrich exhibit began. It was extensive, including a large, circular room, which housed a number of pieces from her personal and professional wardrobe. There was a chilling archive of 1930s-40s UFA film clips, documents and paraphernalia. My words cannot do the place justice.
The latter 20th century film exhibits were less interesting, so I meandered on and met up with the other members of my party. We headed back to the hotel once more.
Projected in the wall.
An original premiere invitation.
Script for Das Weiße Hölle vom Piz Palü.
Script and equipment from SOS Eisberg.
Joseph Göbbel's Michael, part of the Riefenstahl collection.
Yes, that is an original script.
A recreation of the classic.
The death mask of F.W. Murnau
The incomparable Dietrich.
A contingent was preparing to assault the Berlin club scene once again, and I went as far as Alexanderplatz, where we had late night sushi (again, incredibly cheap and perfectly standard quality). I called it a night and headed back with a few others.
On Friday morning we savored the last of our breakfasts and divided up. The day was our own, and I had spent some time looking for things to do. The list consisted of three museums, a thrift store and the Reichstag. Of highest priority was the Berlinische Galerie, and it ended up being the only one we visited. There were two shows there, one was Art in Berlin 1933-1938, the other was Art in Berlin 1880-1980. So I guess this particular museum was constructed specifically with me in mind.
We took the U-Bahn with another group headed for the Holocaust Museum, which was not far from our stop. We headed in opposite directions, got just a tiny bit lost and the found signage to guide us to Alte Jakobstraße. The place was a bit out of the way and not remotely busy. I knew I had come to the right place when I saw that the attached eatery was called Café Dix.
Student tickets in hand and coats checked, we headed upstairs. I snuck my camera out for this and that but none of these came out well. I paced myself, knowing I would have to take time with the single Dix painting on show once I got there. And so I did. I was unable to take a photograph, but the internet can easily provide a fine image of his portrait of the poet Iwar von Lücken.
I bought a picture book in the gift shop and we collected our coats. My small group decided Café Dix was as good a place as any to catch a bite. The menu was false advertising, as the staff was quick to inform us that most of their offerings were not available. I settled for a mozzarella tomato salad with pine nuts. The decor was powerfully purple walls and green glass bottles with yellow roses - in homage those in the resident Dix painting.
Café Dix.
A piece from the Dadaist portion of the Art in Berlin exhibit.
Decor in Café Dix.
We walked in the direction of the Reichstag and stopped off in a Russian military antiques shop. Outrageously expensive but beautiful stuff. Then suddenly we were at the Holocaust memorial. The place is a giant maze of square columns, all cut at odd angles at the top. The paths between dip so that in the center you cannot find your way out so easily. Most unsettling in this place was the laughter of children as they hid from and chased one another through the forest of grey blocks.
Soon it was on to the Reichstag for a photo op.
An obliging crow makes the picture that much more haunting.
The Holocaust Memorial.
Deep inside the maze.
A Romany woman begging and, I assume, placing a curse on my family.
Struck me as a great spot for an outdoor assembly.
Mel photobombs the Reichstag.
Die unglückliche vier: Luisa, Melanie, Rebekah, und Adam.
We realized at this point that were was not going to be time to visit the Käthe Kollwitz museum. We sacrificed that for a visit to The Garage thrift store on Ahornstraße, just across from the Croatian embassy for those interested. I procured a €15 black, leather trench which has not left my side since.
We returned to the hotel and assembled, packed up as much as possible, and returned our keys. The bus was ready and waiting, and we wasted no time. We bade farewell to the city as we rolled through the streets and out along the Autobahn to Schönefeld.
Our key.
The Very German Art in our room.
Our flight was a bit of a drama. We arrived too early to check in properly, so we waited for 30 minutes in a paddock-like area past an unavoidable, one-way security check. Then our flight was apparently delayed due either to strikes in another airport or a plane going off the runway at Hamburg (though why that would have affected us is still a mystery). Once we were through security we followed a sign that said something along the lines of "300 yards to Ireland," and arrived at a strange, crowded pub with those awful 3/4 pint glasses. Apparently everyone else was delayed, so the place was so packed that people were sitting on floors and in duty free shops. A few of us bought libations and found a cool spot in a stairwell while we waited for news. An hour or so was all it took for us to get a gate.
From there it was just a moderately turbulent flight to Dublin and a 2 am arrival back in BallyV before we could collapse.