Setting is so important. For everything – a date, studying, looking at art. As I mentioned in my last post, I didn’t really learn to appreciate Bonnard and Vuillard until I saw their works at the Fondation de l’Hermitage in Lausanne. I can’t explain why but it was through the museum – the setting – that I truly discovered their work. So what happens when the world’s ugliest museum holds a major Monet exhibition?

Well, curators and directors around the world can rest assured, the crowds still come. Monet is still synonymous with blockbuster exhibition and it doesn’t seem like horrible lighting, horrendous red walls and an oppressive exhibition experience can lessen the enthusiasm for the world’s favorite Impressionist.

As avid readers will recall, Impressionism is a difficult subject for me. Not because it’s particularly challenging but because it has become increasingly difficult to be enthusiastic about a movement and artists so incredibly overexposed. And yet the lure of seeing works from the Musée Marmottan without having to make the trip to France was still enough to ensure a visit to the depressing Fondation Pierre Gianadda. And surprisingly enough, the Gianadda’s horrendous building might have allowed me to (re)appreciate Monet’s flecks of beauty. The tiny dots of orange in Bateaux à Rouen (1873), the subtle greens of Printemps à Argenteuil (1872), the Turner-steam in Le Pont de l’Europe, Gare Saint-Lazare (1877) might be more easily appreciated in a place that lacks light and beauty itself.

Other works are more difficult to discover. Literally. Portrait de femme (1890-95) could have been an exhibition highlight if it wasn’t hidden in darkness on a corner wall that makes it almost impossible to see. Also easy to miss – the tactility of Monet’s works. The texture of his works, that in proper lighting reaches out to grab your attention, is difficult to recognize in most of the works, other than the large-scale ones at the center of the exhibition room, including Nymphéas (1916-19). The purple haze of Les Glycines (1919-20), another of the rare works given worthy light, sparkles and is exemplary of the effect a Monet can have. Sadly, most of the works don’t get to shine. And so, while worth a visit, not because of the Marmottan works but those from private Swiss collections that have rarely been shown before, the exhibition is ultimately a disappointment. But this time it has nothing to do with Impressionism.

On view through November 20th, 2011

Imagine traveling to Paris in 1908 with the purpose of checking out French artistic life! Has there ever been anything comparable? Will there ever be?

Arthur and Hedy Hahnloser were already collecting some big Swiss names at the time – Giovanni Giacometti, Ferdinand Hodler, as well as Félix Vallotton – when they decided to take a trip of a lifetime. It was Vallotton who recommended they visit Paris and meet his friend Pierre Bonnard, who in return introduced them to his fellow Nabis, thereby establishing the foundations of one of Europe’s most unique art collections.

As anyone with artist friends knows, buying art from a friend makes for a very different connection to an artwork. Although the Hahnlosers did buy various works through Eugène Druet and other Parisian art dealers, photographs showing the family vacationing with Bonnard and Matisse in Nice, make for a personal context. Which might explain some of the less successful and less interesting works in the exhibition. It was a personal collection, influenced by the close friendships the Hahnlosers developed with the artists they collected, and not a collection with works bought to show off the best of the best by each artist. Vallotton was clearly one of their closest friends and is therefore (over-)represented in the exhibition. And while this allows visitors to trace his career and changes through the many works on view, it can make for some boring moments. Which doesn’t mean the very personal collection doesn’t include several gems.

Various prints and drawings, particularly those by Bonnard from 1899 and Vuillard from same year, show off the sometimes forgotten graphic genius of the Hahnlosers’ close friends. Another absolute highlight awaits visitors on the top floor. Walking up there behind a large group of people makes for the most dramatic reveal – hearing people’s reactions to Manet’s Amazone (1883) at the top of the staircase allows for a multi-sensory experience. Unlike the works by Rouault that take up most of the rest of the space and are massively disappointing.

Yet what makes this exhibition so intriguing, besides some incredible highlights – including Matisse and Hodler in the basement rooms – is the personal nature of the collection: seeing an artist’s works through friends’ eyes, not (art) history.

Furthermore, I challenge anyone to tell me a better place to discover the Nabis, particularly Bonnard and Vuillard, than the Fondation de l’Hermitage. Not really a great fan of either until I saw their works here as part of the 100 Masterpieces from the Städel Museum exhibition in 2010, I can’t quite describe what about this place makes it so perfect to enjoy the two prophets. Interestingly enough, many of the very young children who seemed to absolutely love this show, agreed. Although, for the latter it could have something to do with Bonnard’s Le dejeuner du chien (1910).

On view through October 23rd, 2011

How do (self) portraits influence our view of an artist? Rembrandt, Dürer and friends shaped our perception of them through their self-portraits; but with the invention of the camera came our hope for a ‘more intimate, real’ look at our favorite artists. Not that the photographs are any less constructed then the self-portaits, even looking at 100s of photographs of Picasso, it remains difficult to see the person behind the artist. But one of my favorite part’s of the Man Ray retrospective I saw in Lugano a few months ago, were his portraits of other artists. As staged as some of them might have been, they nevertheless revealed something unique about each artist.

The premise of The Unseen Alberto Giacometti exhibition at the Bündner Kunstmuseum is still problematic - I prefer letting a work speak for itself, without dragging the artist’s personal life into it – but my inner voyeur nevertheless enjoyed catching a glimpse of Giacometti’s life. 101 photographs, many of which have never been seen before, are exhibited along with drawings, paintings and sculptures by Giacometti. Yet there seems to be a dissonance between the photographs and the works of art.

I did truly enjoy seeing Man Ray’s portrait of Giacometti (1932) again and Henri Cartier-Bresson’s photographs of the artist from 1938 and 1946 are wonderful. But I kept going from the personal to the global. From Giacometti, the person, to the all-encompassing humanism of his works. Not that I was not interested in learning more about Giacometti. (Whatever you can “learn” from a photograph.) And I would never disassociate the artist from his work. But what sets apart the Greats – the Masters – is that their art manages to rise above the ‘mere’ person who created them. In the case of Giacometti, his ‘genius’ lies in representing the unrepresentable. No artists has been able to capture the horrors of war like Giacometti – so much of the inexpressible aspects of World War II are heartbreakingly embodied in his works. And while the photographs on display might reveal new insights into Giacometti’s life, it his works of art that continue to be chillingly relevant.

In the aftermath of the horrors of Norway, Giacometti’s statues – agonizing reminders of the inhumanity and sheer evil of Nazi ideology – continue to express the incomprehensible. His fragile, emaciated figures continue to resonate, as we wonder how to escape from The Cage (1950).

Giacometti, a close friend of Jean-Paul Sartre, created existentialist tragedies, and yet, the photographs paint a more hopeful picture: touching images of Giacometti and his wife, Giacometti and his family, Giacometti in his studio. A particularly wonderful shot taken by Jean-Régis Roustan shows Giacometti working is studio in 1961. Giacometti, the artist who captured the terror of WWII, lived, continued to work, continued to create art. So maybe the photographs are exhibition-worthy after all. Maybe seeing Giacometti through a photographer’s eyes does allow for a more multifaceted understanding of the artist. Fittingly, the exhibition’s last Giacometti sculpture is a portrait of a photographer, Eli Lotar III (1965).

On view through September 4th, 2011

I apologize for the long absence but I spent my summer excavating a sanctuary as part of an archaeological team in Cyprus!

Constantin Brancusi once said: “Why write about my sculptures? Why not just simply show photos of them?”

So enjoy this shot of Princesse X (1915-16)

You got ideal femininity from that, right? No? Maybe, some words are necessary after all. When this sculpture was removed from the Salon des Indépendants in Paris in 1920, Brancusi was furious. He rejected any comparisons to a phallus and would show anyone the photograph of a woman which the work was supposedly based on… An artist’s inspiration is not always clear, even after he points it out.

Which is also the case with Richard Serra. Serra speaks very highly of Brancusi – “You can take nothing away from Brancusi. Absolutely nothing.” and often cites him as a major influence. Indeed, Serra spent almost every day at Brancusi’s studio while in Paris between 1964 – 65 and the Beyeler exhibition opens with this “key biographical moment.” The curators also mention that they wanted to take this opportunity to produce some sort of retrospectives, with neither artist ever having enjoyed such an exhibition in Switzerland.

There are 40 Brancusis, along with 10 Serras, as well as a series of works on paper by the latter, including his most recent series Elevational Weights (2011). The works are wonderful and the comparison makes for some spectacular visual highlights – as in the case of Brancusi’s stunning Prometheus works from 1911 with Serra’s Olson (1986) in the background. The curator’s mention Brancusi’s Sleeping Muses, also shown in this room, as a comparison to the Olson piece and the “precarious equilibrium” found in both artists’ works. I get that, but the ultimate beauty of the comparison and contrast is the smooth, luxurious and fragile beauty of Brancusi’s works versus Serra’s massive, masculine, indestructible weatherproof steel creations.

Other comparisons are less successful, particularly the first one. Brancusi’s Little French Girl (1914-18) and Cup II (1917-18) distract from and clash with Serra’s Belts (1966-67). All the works are interesting but there’s that feeling of an indiscriminate mix you often get when seeing a lonely Picasso stand out at a confused gallery in the contemporary crazy of Art Basel. You get too distracted to actually focus on the art.

But its a great exhibition nevertheless. One that makes you think, as well as providing some stunning visual moments. It also helps that the Beyeler is set in a gorgeous park and brilliant building. Serra’s The Consequence of Consequence (2011) is given its own room with a view and makes for a particularly striking experience. Maybe Brancusi was right; words can’t really do some of these works justice.

On view through August 21st, 2011

Joseph Kosuth might be my perfect artist. In love with literature almost as much as with art, I swore my allegiance to the artist the day I heard about A Last Parting Look (for C.D.), a tribute to Charles Dickens. Kosuth has yet to disappoint me. Same with the Haus Konstruktiv.

Their current solo exhibition of Kosuth brings together all thats great about the artist, including his famous Documenta IX work Passagen-Werk, the first time it has been shown since it was presented in Kassel in 1992. The work is still wonderful, although its impact at Documenta can not be recreated. Kosuth chose quotes from Robert Graves, Jacque Derrida, Kafka, Goethe, Ludwig Wittgenstein and others, had them screen-printed on black cloths and draped and hung these over works from the Neuen Gallery’s permanent collection. Now the cloths hide works from the Haus K’s collection but the lurking presence below is easily forgotten in context of a solo exhibition. Still, the central piece is a Swiss proverb - “Ein guter Zuschaer schafft mit.” / “A good spectator also creates.” Wholly appropriate both in terms of location and Kosuth’s latest neon installation.

Texts for Nothing (Waiting for -) takes up the entire entrance hall of the Haus Konstruktiv. You enter a completely dark room, with a band of white neon text encircling the top of great hall. Kosuth quotes Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot and Texts for Nothing and standing alone in darkness, reading the snippets from Beckett’s texts is a very moving experience. It was only on my second visit to the room that I discovered the small light box at one end of the hall, with a black and white reproduction of Caspar David Friedrich’s Two Men contemplating the Moon (1830). The painting, which supposedly was a major source of inspiration for Beckett’s absurdist play Waiting for Godot, adds another level of the sublime to the experience.

The Haus Konstruktiv does a particularly great job at producing exhibitions which make you want to keep coming back. Kosuth’s solo show is another example – each visit will reveal new discoveries, particularly his works from the series Text/Context, which began in 1979. This series was the first time Kosuth wrote his own texts for a work, many of which are translated into several languages, which he presents in two different contexts – in the street and in the museum space. Kosuth presents these self-referential works in the context of advertising on billboards around Zurich, Wallisellen and the Stadelhofen railway station, while the same posters can also be seen in the exhibition – changing the work completely. A challenging series, raising questions about the necessity of art being recognized as such outside a museum context.

Seeing these works alongside Kosuth’s works from the late 60s, when he entitled all his works A.A.I.A.I. – “Art as Idea as Idea” - provides additional insight and a wonderful overview of Kosuth’s oeuvre. Don’t One and Three Chairs (Eng. – Ger.) (1965) and the brilliant Wall – One and Five (Eng. – Fr.) (1965). Kosuth, speaking about his ‘a chair is a chair is a chair’, once said:

“I liked that the work itself was something other than simply what you saw… It meant you could have an art work which was that idea of an art work, and its formal components weren’t important.”

Still a revolutionary idea.

On view through August 1st, 2011

Mai-Thu Perret is close to becoming an art world superstar. She’s increasingly popping up on all the major international art radars, while in Switzerland she’s become impossible to ignore. Earlier in the year she won the fourth annual Zurich Art Prize (last year’s winner was Ryan Gander), which includes a solo show at the Haus Konstruktiv opening in late August. This summer she will be included in the Venice Biennale, one of the artists hand picked by Bice Curiger to participate. And currently Perret is showing off her art at a major solo exhibition at the Aargauer Kunsthaus entitled The Adding Machine.

The exhibition, which includes several works created specifically for this show, is wonderful in that it clearly asks the viewer to draw comparisons and connections between all the works. This is no isolated room by room, work by work, kind of show but draws up new cross-references and perspectives of Perret’s multidisciplinary art. However, the underlying connections aren’t easy to grasp.

Most of them are based on Perret’s The Crystal Frontier, a text she has been writing over the past ten years about a utopian commune of women who live isolated somewhere in New Mexico in order to escape capitalism and the world’s patriarchal structure. The text is the basis of a lot of her work, even including excerpts, although her wonderful series Society is a Hole (2009) is more likely a reference to the Sonic Youth song.

The only other people who were visiting the museum while I was there, was a group of kindergardeners with their teacher and what I assume to be a museum staff member. I have to admit that my experience was fairly tainted by these very young museum goers’ almost intuitive understanding of works such as Perret’s series Crack-Up (2009). To create the works, Perret poured paint on carpets and folded them to create Rorschach test-like images. Perret refers to these works as ‘anti-paintings,’ although the kids did not seem to think of it that way and were particularly intrigued by her work process and material.

Children and adults are equally fascinated by Perret’s supersized tea pot – Little Planetary Harmony (2006), which opens up to reveal a mini picture gallery inside. The curators of the exhibition seem to contextualize the work in today’s I.M. Pei, Jean Nouvel, Zaha Hadid designed museums, provocatively asking: “Do we need flashy eye-catching architecture in order to present plain pictures inside?” No doubt an interesting question, although I’m not sure it does Perret’s work justice, ignoring the work’s lighthearted playfulness.

The exhibition can be challenging at times and works such as The Adding Machine (2011), a foam copy of an ancient Mexican stone jaguar sculpture, are more intriguing for  viewers who know about Perret’s Crystal Frontier. Perret’s ceramic pieces are very hit or miss, as is the fairly unsuccessful Ornament and Crime No. 1 (2004). Although again in context of its source, Adolf Loos’ influential Ornament and Crime essay from 1908, the work is significantly more interesting. Herein lies the exhibition’s biggest problem – Perret’s art becomes significantly more fascinating and meaningful, the more a visitor knows about Perret. Thankfully, with Perret’s increasing fame, this is becoming less and less an issue.

On view through July 31st, 2011

To avoid the never-ending lines outside (and inside) the Musée d’Orsay – to see Manet – and based on the online frenzy over the Grand Palais – Anish Kapoor’s Monumenta contribution – here’s a review of three Parisian exhibitions where you’ll actually be able to see and experience art without pushing and shoving through thousands of frustrated tourists.

Claude Lorrain & Rembrandt at the Louvre

This might not seem like a natural choice for avoiding crowds but if you take the Carrousel du Louvre entrance on Rivoli and skip the Mona Lisa and Winged Victory, two fascinating exhibitions await you.

Claude Lorrain – The Draftsman Studying Nature

I know this isn’t everyone’s cup-of-tea but it’s SO worth it when you spend some quality time with the man who gave us Turner & Co. It’s an exquisite exhibition with intriguing works not only by Claude himself but also his northern friends, such as Cornelis Poelenburch, Herman van Swanevelt, as well as the “other” French guy Poussin.

And although I mentioned Turner above, this is also a crucial exhibition for anyone who loves the Impressionists. Lorrain’s Rome is far from Giverny but he and his friends were the first generation of artists to paint directly from nature, even if they allowed themselves some artistic freedom when painting large scale oil works – “atmospheric interpretations” as the exhibition calls them. And yet despite those liberties and despite being in Paris, I’ve never wanted to be in Rome more badly. And Claude is definitely worth seeing out of an art historical context and just for his own masterpieces. How many other artists are known by their first name only…

Claude’s unique, luminous light, which crushed Turner’s spirit when he first saw them because he felt sure he’d never be able to paint anything like it, remains unchallenged. His subject matter often just gets in the way. Distracted by his increasingly allegorical figures – he begins with country life and peasants and eventually moves to the classical myths and Bible themes – make sure to focus on the light, his colors, his almost blinding sun.

On view through July 18th, 2011

Rembrandt and the Face of Jesus

Right across from the Claude exhibition, you’ll find another master of light, albeit a very different one. The exhibition intends to show how Rembrandt revolutionized the artistic depiction of Christ by painting ‘from life.’ Lacking any physical description of Jesus, artists have struggled with the depiction of Christ for centuries. Rembrandt, a Protestant, working in extremely liberal Protestant Holland, had the unique freedom to paint a ‘real’, a suffering Christ. Rejecting (Catholic) Ruben’s beautiful Christ, Rembrandt painted a suffering, haggard man dying on the cross. His heartbreaking images influenced his contemporaries, including Jacob Adriaensz Backer and Jan Lievens, whose own Christ on the Cross works are shown alongside Rembrandt’s for the first time.

Rembrandt himself looked to other artists as well, particularly hoping to outdo Mantegna, Dürer and Lucas van Leyden, who are all represented with incredible works, including van Leyden’s incomparable Le Grand Ecce Homo (1550).

The exhibition, obviously, also showcases one of the Louvre’s masterpieces, Rembrandt’s The Pilgrims at Emmaus (1648), a subject the artist frequently painted, beginning at the age of 23. The exhibition does an incredible job at documenting Rembrandt’s lifelong quest to portray Jesus. A must-see if you do plan on eventually facing the Manet lines and seeing his own paintings of Christ.

On view through July 18th, 2011

Redon at the Grand Palais

Odilon Redon – the Prince of Dreams

The first retrospective of Redon, a contemporary of the Impressionsists, in Paris since 1956(!), is an extensive and wonderfully complete look at a key artistic figure of symbolism and a forerunner of surrealism. Redon drew on the imagination and subconscious when naturalism was en vogue and although he exhibited with the Impressionists in 1886, he obviously took a very different path. It was his lithographs which made him famous, particularly those he created in tribute to Delacroix, Goya and Edgar Allen Poe, but make sure to look at for his paintings! His use of color is out of this world. La Cellule d’Or (1892/93) is a particularly mesmerizing image, as are works such as Béatrice (1897) and Mlle de Gonet (1907).

And yet of course, his lithographs are difficult to ignore. Redon challenges, frightens and inspires us in black and white like few others have. His works are incredible contemporary and often extremely ironic. Only someone with Redon’s talent for the macabre could make a spider look friendly and cuddly. Be sure to calculate plenty of time for this thorough exhibition!

On view through June 20th, 2011

I didn’t spend three days inside of Anish Kapoor’s Leviathan currently on view at the Grand Palais in Paris but it’ll hopefully be the closest I get to experiencing how Jonah felt when swallowed whole by a whale. Probably one of the strangest parts of the Bible, it was the first thing I thought about when entering the massive, red, womb-like space of Kapoor’s Monumenta project. Not surprising given the title.

But it also felt strangely comforting, something I’m gonna assume Jonah did not feel, but it’s scale does make you worry about how you’ll ever get out. Sitting at the bottom of something like a mixture between a whale’s stomach and a massive womb, I experienced everything from initial awe, helplessness and warmth to thinking the whole thing was just kind of bizarre, and yet very beautiful. All encompassing art – or being “inside” a work of art – can be quite surreal and the powerful echoes of other visitor’s clapping, singing or general noise can enhance and change the effect of the work even more – covering everything from humorous to menacing. Kapoor dedicating the work to Ai Weiwei during the opening adds one more layer of emotion.

And then you leave the warm fuzzy feeling … of terror … and see Leviathan from outside. Or well inside the Grand Palais – to see four eggplant-esque structures connected to create what from inside looks like a whale stomach of cathedral proportions. Only appropriate for its location.

Since 2007, Monumenta annually invites an artist to fill the massive Grand Palais, some 35 meters high with a volume of 13’5000 square meters. Previous artists have included Anslem Kiefer, Richard Serra and Christian Boltanski, with Kapoor seeming an obvious next choice. Known for his gargantuan works, such as Temenos – Kapoor’s self-declared “biggest art project in the world” or the slightly smaller but still massive Marsyas at the Tate Modern in 2002, he has recently been commissioned with designing a landmark for next year’s London Olympics. So Kapoor was adequately prepared for the challenge, which makes Leviathan no less remarkable.

Kapoor has created two very different, very challenging environments and more than fulfilled his hope of creating “a contemplative and poetic experience.” Even if you don’t spend several days inside his ‘monster.’

On view through June 23rd, 2011.

What happened in Spain between Goya’s death in 1828 and the beginning of Picasso’s career? Who were the artists that carried on Goya’s legacy and passed on the torch of Modernism to the young Pablo? Many Spanish Modernists have been forgotten outside of Spain but the l’Hermitage’s exhibition El Modernismo is changing that.

The entire ground floor is dedicated to Joaquin Sorolla, a favorite amongst American collectors at the beginning of the 20th century, who influenced his contemporaries, particularly John Singer Sargent, through his magnificent use of color. Several of his paintings have a very Impressionistic feel or at least share a similar palette, see Soleil Couchant Biarritz (1906) or the absolutely wonderful Mon épouse et mes filles au jardin (1910). But Sorolla also painted in other extraordinary styles as in  Pêcheuse avec son fils, Valence (1908) or La belle Maria (1914). His energetic brushstrokes but particularly his colors, his light - much like American luminism – influenced others greatly and is still very powerful today.

The first floor continues with another wonderful Sorolla – an incredibly modern portrait of Miguel de Unamuno (1920), a Spanish philosopher and modernist who inspired many of the artists exhibited at the l’Hermitage. His book Essence of Spain, which encouraged artists to celebrate their Spanish heritage was particularly influential on the work of Basque painter Ignacio Zuloaga, an admirer of Goya and El Greco, as well as a good friend of the French sculptor Rodin.

The Spanish influence of Goya, El Greco but also the influence of his frequent trips to Paris, particularly the spirit of Toulouse-Lautrec – and possibly Manet – are reflected in Zuloaga’s dark, realistic works such as Le Maire de Torquemada (1905) and La distribution du vin (1900). His cityscapes are significantly less successful, as are some of the early Picassos from Paris shown in the exhibition, such as Portrait de Gustave Coquiot (1901).

Some of Picasso’s early Parisian works are more surprising, including Les courses à Auteuil (1901), which is something along the lines of Hermenegildo Anglada Camarasa’s works on display, see Mur Céramique (1904) and his other fashionable works that could’ve been in Harper’s Bazaar & Co.

The top floor is dedicated to Ignacio Pinazo, one of the few exhibited painters who never left his native Spain. He created many of his works on very small wooden panels, many of which are on the verge of abstraction and are incredibly expressive.

The basement galleries might add several painters to the exhibition but are not particularly interesting or talented. That is, besides Isidre Nonell, a painter who influenced Picasso greatly, and produced modern, expressive, often heartbreaking portrayals of the Spanish poor, particularly in Barcelona. Picasso’s Blue Period seems like a natural next step in this context. The exhibition makes an incredibly important contribution to a better understanding of Spanish art and brings to light several unjustly forgotten masters of modernism.

On view through May 29th, 2011

You might have wondered why I was tweeting from cow pastures recently. There were points, particularly when I was trying to strategize how to best run past the cows without them noticing me, when I was wondering that too. So was farmer Blum when he saw my shoes. (He offered to lend me a pair of his.)

I was roaming around the Blum farm in Samstagern thanks to the Migros Museum of Contemporary Art’s summer exhibition The Garden of Forking Paths. Based on the idea of the enchanted Italian Renaissance garden Sacro Bosco found in Bomarzo – which features sculptures and architectural elements hidden and eventually overgrown to create fantastic mysteries, with the exhibition’s title borrowed from a story by Argentinean novelist Jorge Luis Borges, Migros Museum curator Heike Munder has created a surrealist wonderland in the middle of a farm. The participating artists, including Liz Craft, Thiago Rocha Pitta and others, each created their own site-specific work, with the first five artists having presented their works in early May and an additional four artists adding their works to the “garden” in July.

The curatorial concept draws on all sorts of art history – besides the garden of Sacro Bosco, heralded by Salvador Dali as a foreshadowing of Surrealism, Munder also references Baroque pleasure gardens, public parks, the idea of paradise and the garden, “lacking any inherent function,” existing as a “locus of pure enchantment.” Yet the exhibition has an important additional factor, namely that instead of organizing this “sculpture garden” say in any of the numerous parks in the city of Zurich, the visitor has to trek out to a fairly remote farm. Besides the cows, which make for some fantastic photo ops, walking across farmland, and therefore land cultivated with very much a purpose, changes the context of the sculptures dramatically. This is no pleasure garden to contemplate fine art, or at least the tractor on the nearby field, quickly destroyed any romantic notions about an “enchanted” garden. No matter what the museum brochure says. But it does emphasize the art-ness of art. Does that make sense?

When you’re in a fine arts museum, you rarely contemplate art for art’s sake, in the sense of figuring out what defines a sculpture. Unless you just read too much Greenberg. But here you are, on a picturesque farm, looking at a massive snowman, aka Peter Regli’s Reality Hacking No. 270 made of beautiful white marble. Or a few steps further down the path, a tree with weird “growths” inspires a second look, which reveals Ursula Palla’s Arrangement für Exoten video installation. Probably the most provocative of all the works, Palla’s installation asks and goes beyond the “Where does the tree end and the art start?” Museums rarely raise the in situ question and indeed, besides a Renaissance altarpiece or parts of a Greek temple that clearly look out of place, consideration of the art work rarely goes beyond the frame. The Garden of Forking Paths stirs things up – surroundings matter. Look at Thiago Rocha Pitta’s Monument to the Continental Drift. This is no Land Art but can it exist without its setting?

On view through October 30th, 2011