It was disturbing in a way. Keen herds of american tourists in brussels, dashing from their airconditioned bus to the gallery, safely protected from the dangers of trams, cars and non-english speaking folks. They went round the gallery at a fair pace, not surprising since they had to be back on the bus in an hour and half. But even so, it seemed strange that they hardly stopped to look at the pictures.
I’d never seen people taking photos in an art gallery before. I guess it makes sense in a way, some of the pictures were amazing, and a quick snap is much cheaper than the postcards. But I found it so odd, the way they hunted down the “well-known” artists, to snap their works, without really admiring them. As though the point of the gallery was to provide photo opportunities.
There was one picture I loved. L’empire des lumières by René Magritte. Suitably surrealist, it shows a house in darkness,
illuminated only by a streetlamp, but with a sunny blue cloudy sky above it. It makes me smile, it makes me think of what church can seem like, lit by the light of a dodgy man-made bulb, with the sunshine out there just waiting for us to walk away from the darkness.
But I didn’t take a photo. I figured I wanted to concentrate my time on enjoying the picture in the gallery. Not that taking photos of pictures is wrong (if the gallery allows it), I just think perhaps the point of picture is to look at them, respond to them, not collect them.
