the Grand Tour blog

Exploring North-Eastern Germany

The Grand Tour Blog is a record of my occasional ventures from the UK into mainland Europe. Such trips are invariably to do with art or photography or music, and the blog takes its name from a five-week music-themed rail tour I made back in 2008, which is documented in its own website. Subsequent trips, described here, have included return visits to some of my favourite Grand Tour cities in eastern Germany, and my first journey by rail down through Italy, as far as Rome.

Now I'm a few days away from a return to Germany, this time following an almost straight line from Köln to Lübeck, and taking in Wuppertal, Hannover and Hamburg. In the 13th century Lübeck was birthplace of the Hanseatic League, a kind of trade-based forerunner of the EU that finally fell apart when it got too big for its boots. If all goes well I'll take a look at the Baltic from the island of Rügen – the most north-easterly point in Germany – before an overnight stop in Berlin, one of my favourite cities, and a fast train back to Köln.

Staatsoper: ‘Der Freischütz’

The final highlight in my brief but very enjoyable visit to Berlin was a Staatsoper performance of ‘Der Freischütz’, by Carl Maria von Weber. In a way it was the trigger for the trip, as I’d been rather hooked by the opera after the OAE included the dramatic Wolf’s Glen scene in their 21st. anniversary concert back in 2007 (more about the Wolf’s Glen later). At any rate it set the dates. I booked a ticket online a month ago.

The Staatsoper’s permanent home on Unter den Linden has been undergoing major renovation work since 2010, not due to be completed until 2015, and the company has decamped to the Schiller Theater on Bismarckstraße, just west of Ernst-Reuter-Platz. So after changing into slightly smarter clothes (and thinking about packing for the journey home tomorrow) I took the U9 back to Berlin Zoo. Walked west along Kantstraße to Savignyplatz to find an early evening meal, from where it was a 10 minute walk to the Schiller Theater. 

I had a good seat in the centre of the eighth row of the stalls. The orchestra in the very open pit was clear and very audible; in the interval I counted 20 violin seats (10+10) although I don’t think the other instruments were “in proportion”. The singers were in period dress, while the scenery was a simplified modern representation of the forest (even when the action was set outside the pub), and simple but attractive interiors. All good.

The singing was excellent, especially Kaspar (Tobias Schabel) and the delightful housekeeper Ännchen (Silke Evers); I felt that the heroine Agathe (Véronique Gens) was slightly reserved and her voice perhaps not as sweet as it should be. In the orchestra I would have liked more horns and more ‘oompah’ in the rumbustious hunting and military music (I’ve probably been spoiled by my Berlin Philharmonic recording: the Berlin Phil does horns rather well, and they sound very natural under Harnoncourt). But overall I enjoyed the performance a lot.

However, there were problems. First, two minor points to do with the Schiller Theater. As the lights dimmed and the audience hushed at the start I became aware of a faint high-pitched whistle – possibly electronic, possibly to do with the air-conditioning – and one or two people in front of me were looking around as if they’d heard it too. Since parts of the overture are very quiet it was rather intrusive, though I suppose after a time we mostly got used to it. Then, in the final act, when the forest backdrop moved slowly and quite dramatically away to reveal a big gathering of hunters and village people, the curtain track supporting the backdrop was irritatingly noisy.

My second set of complaints is more serious and concerns the production: specifically the Wolf’s Glen scene, the centrepiece of the whole opera, in which our hero Max watches his dubious fellow huntsman Kaspar cast seven magic bullets under the eye and the spell of the Black Huntsman, Samiel. The music is dramatic, and Weber wonderfully heightens the tension as each bullet is cast by having the (off-stage) chorus whisper a terrible echo as Kaspar counts out the bullets: Eins! eins... Zwei! zwei... Drei! drei...

But here the echo was not a scary whisper from the chorus but a spoken word from a single actor through the theatre’s sound system, which rather broke the spell. Earlier, at the beginning of the scene, the evil Samiel appears at the edge of the Glen and speaks his few threatening lines to Kaspar, in his “terrible voice”: here again the voice came from a loudspeaker, not obviously from Samiel, and was (for me) on the wrong side of the stage. Disappointing.

Finally, the all-important casting of the bullets was a bloody affair. Kaspar sings that he blends lead, ground glass from broken church windows, quicksilver, three bullets that have already hit the mark, the right eye of a hoopoe, and the left eye of a lynx. But in this production he in some way fashions the bullets from the internal organs of a dead animal, probably a boar, at the front centre of the stage. It gave Kaspar and Max a dramatic opportunity to smear themselves with “blood”, but actually it was an unpleasant (especially just before the interval) and in my view unnecessary departure from the text in an otherwise good production.

As we left I talked briefly to my neighbours in the audience – zwei Frauen im besten Alter – who had been visiting the Deutsche Oper, a little further west along Bismarckstraße, for the last 30 years; they clearly disapproved of some of the modern “innovations” in recent productions. Then, after collecting my warm coat from the cloakroom I set out into the very cold night and walked along Bismarckstraße to Ernst-Reuter-Platz U-bahn, where it seemed that the rest of the audience was waiting on the platform. It was only one stop on the U2 to Zoo, then on the U9 for the third time today to be home by 11:00.

Helmut Newton: World Without Men

A fast M45 bus took me from outside the Scharf-Gerstenberg gallery opposite Schloss Charlottenburg, through Ernst-Reuter-Platz and down to the bus station at Berlin Zoo (or Bahnhof Zoologischer Garten as it’s strictly called). I grabbed a roll by way of lunch and at 13:50 went out of the back door of the station into Jebensstraße for the Museum für Fotografie (and Helmut Newton Foundation), which is almost exactly opposite.

There were four exhibitions to see here (this is hard work, I tell you!). The big one was ‘Helmut Newton: World Without Men’). Before Newton published his own books of fashion photography he worked on commissions for top magazines and fashion houses. He later published many of these iconic images from the 1960s to 1980s in his fourth book, ‘World Without Men’, in 1984. This exhibition was a presentation, for the first time, of all of the photos in the now legendary book.

Whether or not one likes Newton’s work (and I do), or is interested in fashion, there is no doubt that he was the consummate professional, with everything impeccably staged, lit and photographed. Bearing in mind the market he was working for there were some remarkable images here, with all the drama and surprise that his publications demanded. The huge staircase up to the first floor is panelled with massive B&W enlargements of some of his well-known nudes, of course.

• Museum für Fotografie leaflet: Newton + Banier

'World Without Men' was complemented by ‘Archives de Nuit’, an exhibition of Newton’s portraits, nudes, landscapes and still life – but no fashion – from the late 1980s and early 1990s, originally created as an exhibition by him and premiered in Paris in 1992 before touring in Europe. There seemed to be some more personal, family images here, which I liked, and it was good to see what Helmut Newton made of what we might think of as more conventional subjects.

Exhibition number three was a single room of 30 photographic portraits by the French artist and author François-Marie Banier. [Wikipedia describes Banier as a “French novelist, gigolo, playwright, artist, actor and photographer... particularly known for his photographs of celebrities and other public figures and for his friendships with members of high society”.] His subjects here were certainly all public figures, most of whom I’d heard of, and I enjoyed nearly all the pictures.

The selection included HM The Queen and at least two US Presidents. As a classical music fan I was particularly interested in two photos of the great pianist Vladimir Horowitz (I think he was the only subject with two portraits in this show), probably taken when he was in his early 80s; one showed him sitting astride a huge Honda motorbike, with an equally huge and boyish grin on his face!

My final exhibition filled the whole top floor of the Museum für Fotografie. Called ‘Idylle + Desaster’ it assembled just some of the many historic and sometimes mundane photos collected by the Düsseldorf artist Bogomir Ecker, this big selection focusing on ‘idylls and disasters’. It was not as sensational or as depressing as it sounds! Ecker collects anything from 19th-century landscapes to 20th-century news and sensational photos, and uses them directly in his artistic work and also as a source of inspiration. 

There were many images of technology and experimental science, as well as natural disasters, destruction and more subtle but menacing situations. Many of the individual images were very interesting – typically they were all quite unrelated to each other although the hanging of the exhibition was good – but collectively they did say something of the human condition.

Finally I was out of the Museum für Fotografie after an hour and a half at 15:20, caught the U9 direct from Zoo to Osloer Straße, and was back to my apartment in 20 minutes.

Goya, Daumier and Toulouse-Lautrec

The permanent display of the Scharf-Gerstenberg collection is superb, but I was actually here to see the special exhibition ‘The Eccentric Gaze: Goya, Daumier and Toulouse-Lautrec’. I went in at 11:45 (after warming up in the very nice café). Works by these three artists, from their three different generations, were among the cornerstones of Otto Gerstenberg’s historical collection, now reconstructed after being dissipated during the war.

• Postcards: Goya, Daumier, Toulouse-Lautrec

Paintings by Francisco de Goya (1746-1828) document the events of the Peninsular War of 1808-1814 while his prints make biting criticism of the grotesque social conditions at the time. He mocks the nobility – often showing them as donkeys – despite being employed as court painter. The caricatures of freelance artist Honoré Daumier (1808-1879) supported the revolutions of 1830 and 1848 in France – he spent six months in prison in 1832 for being critical of the government – and he continued to create overtly political caricatures until he lost his sight in 1872. Coming from an aristocratic family in southern France, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (1864-1901) became a sharp observer of a social class that had slid into a state of decadence.

The three are united in showing through their etchings and caricatures and drawings how individuals relate to the society around them. They adopt the eccentric perspective of outsiders, and their subjects are shown as pompous, or comical, or ridiculous. Through the strong medium of printmaking they show both the glittering and the dark sides of society. The sharp contrasts in Goya’s etchings are echoed both in Daumier’s caricatures and in Toulouse-Lautrec’s stage drawings, with their rich visual effects; examples from the Gerstenberg Collection show that Toulouse-Lautrec clearly studied and responded to the earlier works by Goya and Daumier.

The exhibition was exceptional, and I enjoyed it immensely. Part of it was arranged in groups of three pictures, one by each artist, with a common subject, and the influences were obvious. Elsewhere, each had his own space. Daumier was new to me and I liked both his caricatures and his oil paintings, a few of which were on display.

I would have liked to spend some time back in the Scharf-Gerstenberg main collection, but as this is my last full day in Berlin I had to press on with my schedule for the west side of the city, and move on to Helmut Newton.

Snow in Charlottenburg Gardens

I was on my way west to the Museum Scharf-Gerstenberg, opposite Schloss Charlottenburg. From Gesundbrunnen an S42 anti-clockwise to Westend, then an M45 bus for a couple of stops along Spandauer Damm. But before going into the gallery I thought I should see what the snow had made of the Schlossgarten. 

There was almost no-one in the gardens apart from a few tentative joggers trying not to slip on the scrunchy snow; I was full of admiration for their dedication, and especially for a group of well-wrapped grey power-walkers with their poles who were determined not to be beaten by a little snow.

This was actually my first proper visit to the Schlossgarten, and was an hour well spent.

Georg Pencz at the Gemäldegalerie

After a very late, fairly enjoyable, and not very cheap lunch in the huge Arkaden shopping mall – so many ice cream places, so little protein – I walked back to the Kulturforum to visit the wonderful Gemäldegalerie (‘Painting Gallery’) for a small exhibition on the 16th-century artist and engraver Georg Pencz; the one-room show was curated by the Kupferstichkabinett (‘Engraving Cabinet’), the Gemäldegalerie’s neighbours in the Kulturforum.

Georg Pencz (~1500-1550) was some 20 years younger than Albrecht Dürer, the towering figure of 16th-century German painting and printmaking. Like Dürer he was based in Nuremburg, then the leading art centre in the German-speaking world, and in fact worked for a time in Dürer’s workshop. After Dürer died in 1528, Pencz – active as a painter, cartographer and engraver – was one of the most highly sought-after artists in Nuremberg; Dürer had apparently already faded into obscurity. Today, sadly, Pencz’s name is little known.

Most of the engravings on display were quite small, as if for book illustrations; beautiful and very interesting. But there were two or three larger (‘A4’ size) works, one of which was a remarkable coloured engraving titled ‘Venus’:

A larger Dürer too, which was pretty darned good. I wandered round the rest of the gallery, much of which I’d visited before, enjoying the works which attracted my eye rather than trying to be academic! The Kupferstichkabinett, upstairs in the same building, is closed for a while, and I ended a pleasant afternoon with a welcome hot chocolate in the large laid-back café next door. In the evening to the wilds of Görlitzer Straße to eat at the excellent Italian De Noantri.

Philharmonie Lunchtime Concert

From the Alte Nationalgalerie a 200 bus took me quickly and directly from Lustgarten to the Philharmonie, for the free Tuesday lunchtime concert, at 1:00pm. It’s a popular event, and even at 12:30 when I arrived the huge foyer was crowded. I went upstairs and managed to find a space by the rail, almost behind the temporary stage.  

The concert was given by two young families: parents Walter Küssner, (viola), Noriko Küssner (piano) and Ulrich Knörzer (viola); and their very accomplished children Elena Küssner, 11 (violin), Jubal Küssner, 13 (viola), Leon Küssner, 8 (cello), and Charlotte Knörzer, 10 (piano). They looked younger than their years. Watch for their names in the coming decade. 

The programme, announced and generally managed by Walter Küssner, opened with the Pachelbel canon in D major, and included string works by Kabalewski, Bernhard Romberg, Max Bruch, Clementi and Cornelius Gurlitt. The two fathers played Frank Bridge’s ‘Lament for Two Violas’, and 11-year-old Elena played a remarkable Caprice, opus 24, by Pablo de Sarasate. It ended with one of Frank Bridge’s Miniatures for Piano Trio, ‘Saltarello’. All very enjoyable, and much appreciated by the scattered audience.

Romantic Painting After Schinkel

I was out of the apartment by 9:25, and by U-bahn and S-bahn the few stops to Friedrichstraße. The next M1 tram was still 7 minutes away, so I walked briskly east in the cold morning air past the Deutsches Historiches Museum and over the river towards the Alte Nationalgalerie, diverting briefly into Lustgarten – the open and today empty space fronting the austere Berliner Dom and Schinkel’s Altes Museum – for a couple of photos of the cathedral.

After another photo-pause outside the Alte Nationalgalerie I went inside to warm up and buy my ticket for ‘The Romantic Middle Ages: Architecture and Nature in Painting after Schinkel’. This was an excellent exhibition on the top floor of the gallery, bringing together paintings from a roll-call of Romantics: Gaertner, Carl Blechen, August Haan, Elasser, Karl Friedrich Lessing, and the Dresden painter Oehme – a friend of Caspar David Friedrich – among others. The great Friedrich himself and the architect and painter Karl Friedrich Schinkel were there too of course; the Alte Nationalgalerie has a good selection of works from both men in its permanent collection.

Architectural painting experienced a revival in the first half of the 19th century, when medieval architecture in Germany became rather emotionally charged; buildings were destroyed during the Napoleonic Wars, and the secularisation of Germany in 1803 left churches, monasteries and castles facing demolition. But the old buildings invoked feelings of nationalism, patriotism and romanticism, becoming an integral part of Germany's cultural heritage. Medieval castles and forts were a popular motif in literature and painting. The aim of this exhibition was to show such architectural paintings from the time of Schinkel, and from the following years.

Schinkel allegedly made his career change from painting to architecture – with remarkable and wonderful results – after seeing the work of Caspar David Friedrich and deciding he could never be as good. But the few late Schinkel paintings on display in this collection were superb, often using what I would consider photographers’ techniques: for example full contre jour with the bright sun hidden directly behind a central tree. 

Overall a superb exhibition, which kept me entertained for an hour and a half or more.

Rudolf Buchbinder: Beethoven Piano Sonatas

Before leaving home I’d found that there was a concert of Beethoven piano sonatas tonight at the Kammermusiksaal of the Philharmonie, the second of a series of seven concerts covering all 32 sonatas, performed by Rudolf Buchbinder. I had tried to buy a ticket in advance, but the Philharmonie don’t handle ticket sales for ‘guest promoters’ online, and the promoter in this case doesn’t take credit cards. Not in the 21st century anyway.

So from Niederkirchnerstraße I walked back to Potsdamer Platz and across to the Philharmonie to wait for the ticket office to open; it's open just 3:00pm till 6:00pm daily. My destinations today all conveniently close. The temperature was still below freezing and the pavements coated with packed snow, but all were well gritted (Berlin seems to manage the snow rather than trying to melt it with salt, or do nothing, as is the English custom). I bought a ticket without problem, and was back again later in good time for the 8:00pm concert.

The design of the Kammermusiksaal matches the dramatic, angular style of the Philharmonie. Designed at the same time as the Philharmonie by Hans Scharoun in the early ’60s, for financial reasons the Kammermusiksaal wasn’t built until 1984-1988. My seat was high up on the left hand side, directly behind the pianist. The hall turned out to be no more than 50-60% full, so I needn’t have worried about getting a ticket.

I confess to not being familiar with Rudolf Buchbinder’s playing. He is something of a Beethoven specialist, and an enthusiast for live performance rather than the recording studio: living dangerously! Tonight he played Sonata no. 5, opus 10 no. 1; Sonata no. 12, opus 26; and Sonata no. 22, opus 54; followed after the break by Sonata no. 4, opus 7; and Sonata no. 14, opus 27 no. 2 (‘Moonlight’).

I very much enjoyed these earlyish sonatas with their great contrasts and a certain feeling of experimentation on Beethoven’s part. Buchbinder had plenty of power when necessary, but also great delicacy. As an encore he played the final movement of another sonata, which I recognised but couldn’t place. My only slight niggle concerned the acoustic of the Kammermusiksaal (am I allowed to criticise?) which was quite lively up in my high seat, especially given the big sound of the Steinway; maybe the empty seats had an effect. 

We were out of the hall at 10:15 into the cold night, and I was back in the warmth of my apartment by 11:00.

Schmidt and European Food Production

From Potsdamer Platz I walked the short distance south-east to the Martin-Gropius-Bau in Niederkirchnerstraße, for the exhibition of photographs by Berliner Michael Schmidt entitled ‘Lebensmittel’ (‘Food’). Schmidt (born in 1945) has spent five years planning and implementing this photographic essay on the processing of foodstuffs in Europe; since 2006 “he has been photographing Norway’s fish farms, Germany’s industrial bakeries & Italy’s apple-processing industry”. 

It sounded an interesting project: combining art and creative photography with observation and comment on the people and processes of the industry.

But I found it disappointing. Most of the images failed to excite me. Many of the food shots appeared casually composed and lit with “flash on camera”: perhaps they were carefully contrived to look that way, but for me it didn’t work. Without them looking like studio shots I wanted more precision in the composition, and softer, more thoughtful lighting. A few images of people working in fields were natural and more satisfying. 

The collection on display didn’t really work as comment either. The juxtaposition of images felt too random, especially the 30-40 photos on one of the big walls on the top floor of the Martin-Gropius-Bau. Almost nowhere did adjacent images work against each other to make a point. Rather better, in my view, was the heavy €59 book of the project, where the print quality was much improved (or benefitted from a smaller image size), and the page layout of one or two images to a spread enabled more thoughtful matches. 

I had a brief discussion with two German ladies who had been in the exhibition and had spent much time studying the book. They completely disagreed with me and felt the exhibition was a strong social comment on the complexities and contradictions in the production of our everyday food. But writers of most of the comments (75% perhaps) in the visitors’ book for the exhibition – which opened only two days ago – seemed sceptical like me.