I have a confession to make. I tend to avoid fine art museums that focus on historical art because they intimidate me. Give me the Tate over the National Gallery, the Musée d’Orsay over the Louvre, and the Stedelijk over the Rijksmuseum any day. I generally find the collections at the big, old, grand museums overwhelming and inaccessible to little-old-me-without-an-art-history-degree. And their curation can feel stale, because it often is — based on original hanging arrangements from decades (or, in some cases, centuries!) ago. But a recent visit to KMSKA, the Royal Museum of Fine Arts Antwerp, has me rethinking my stance.

The museum reopened in 2022 after an 11-year renovation during which its neoclassical building was restored and transformed. Galleries featuring ‘Old Masters’ art were freshened up while maintaining their 19th century aesthetic; and a brand new unit of glossy, white-cube galleries was embedded within the building’s core, to display KSMKA’s collection of ‘Modern Masters’. Most coverage of and conversation around the museum’s renovation focuses on the new addition; I gather it was an architectural feat to create essentially a whole new state-of-the-art building inside the old original. But what has me excited is the thoroughly contemporary approach to curation in KMSKA’s historical galleries.

THE WORK

KMSKA’s collection is made up of over 8,000 works of art spanning seven centuries. Circa 600 pieces are on display at any one time and the museum has a particular focus on Flemish artists: Old Masters like Jan van Eyck and Peter Paul Rubens, as well as Modernists like James Ensor.

Art before 1880 (paintings, mostly, with some sculpture thrown in) are on show across 22 historical galleries with richly-painted walls, wood panelling, and gilded details. Unusually for this kind of art, works are arranged thematically rather than chronologically. Portraits, landscapes, and still life paintings are grouped together under the labels ‘image’, ‘horizon’ and ‘profusion’; other gallery themes include ‘evil’, ‘entertainment’, ‘heavens’, and ‘heroes’.

THE WOW FACTORS

There is a lot to look at in pre-20th century Western European art (which encompasses art history movements like Renaissance, Baroque, and Neoclassicism). Paintings were narrative and representational, showcasing scenes and stories from history, religion, and everyday life in great detail.

Though I can appreciate the beauty and technical mastery in works like these, I’ve often struggled to enjoy them, not knowing what I am looking at or what I should be focusing on. Having the paintings grouped by theme made it easier for me to parse their content, and some other clever choices by KMSKA’s curatorial team invite even closer engagement:

(1) Dialling Into Details

Several galleries feature massive sculptures that are impossible to miss: a huge hand hanging overhead, an oversized skull sitting on the floor, a squishy sculpture of two camels intertwined. We quickly realised that they were inspired by details from one of the paintings hanging in that room and had a lot of fun ‘hunting’ through the works in a given gallery to find the object that had been blown-up and highlighted in such a playful way. I later learned that these were part of ‘the 10’, a set of installations by artist Christophe Coppens that create a ‘family route’ throughout the museum. Though intended for children, ‘the 10’ excited me and my husband (maybe we’re just childish?!) and led me to look much more closely at many more paintings than I typically would.

Another intervention enabling a similar effect was a video projected across four walls of one central gallery. Yes, I know that you, discerning reader, are probably turning up your nose at the thought of this immersive(!), 360(!), experience, but hear me out!

Though probably inspired by the various commercial cash-grabs that (often badly) remix famous artworks into digital animations and sell them as ‘shows’; the creators of this particular projection demonstrated great restraint. They selected just five specific details from the backgrounds of five famous artworks in the museum’s collection and subtly-animated each one in high-definition. The resulting video loop lasts just a few minutes but is mesmerising. Like ‘the 10’ sculptures mentioned above, this intervention led me to look more closely for the specific details the video projection had blown up when I eventually encountered the actual artworks in the museum.

(2) Framing Framing

Continuing its commitment to helping visitors focus on aspects of the art they might otherwise miss, KMSKA uses a robin egg blue to frame pieces where the frame (or lack of one) is itself worth paying attention to. The bright hue and blocky borders feel a bit incongruous with the historic gallery walls and the ornate artworks on them but that feels like the point. There is no confusion between original/old frames and these new ones, which act as physical highlighter for special frames.

(3) Conversations with the Contemporary

One final way the KMSKA’s curators have made their Old Masters collection more accessible to the average Joe Amirah is to punctuate its thematic galleries with an occasional contemporary piece. The connecting threads between the old and new works can sometimes feel a little superficial or on the nose but, on the whole, the attempt does support closer consideration of the content of the artworks rather than just their technical qualities. Plus, the contrasts between the old and new(er) hit home the vast difference in what art looked like then vs now.

THE WHAT DO YOU THINK?

While walking around KMSKA, I was really struck by how much fun visitors seemed to be having. The mood felt much livelier than at other fine arts museums like the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, where I often see tourists quietly pointing out works they ‘think are famous’. Personally, I felt like this was the first time I was walking away from a museum focused on historical European art with both an appreciation for specific works and an understanding of the context surrounding the complete collection.

Critics of KMSKA’s revamp seem to be offended specifically by the choices to make the visitor experience more accessible and playful — some of the very things I loved and have named in this piece. I’d love to know how you feel when you visit museums showcasing Old Masters. Do you think a more traditional atmosphere feels like the appropriate setting to view works like these, or do any of these curatorial choices sound like they might enrich your experience? Let me know with a comment below (if you’re reading this online or in the Substack app), or with a reply to this email (if you’re reading in your inbox).

This could happen because something is so awe-inspiring and striking that it makes us stop what we're doing and draws us in (which aligns with more traditional definitions of art). Or, it could happen because we encounter the art in a physical or emotional state that helps us slow down and focus in on it.

All museums and galleries attempt to create these spaces for contemplation to some extent, but probably the most stand-out example I've experienced so far has been the collection of 'art shrines' on the islands of Naoshima and Teshima in Japan's Seto Inland Sea.2 What began as a CSR initiative by publishing company Benesse Holdings (and its founding Fukutake family) to revitalise rural regions polluted through industrialisation, has, over the last 35 years, become an intentional exercise in exploring how nature and architecture can enable an unrivalled experience of art.

THE WORK

What makes this example of curation a little different is that we're not talking about artworks in a single exhibition or museum— we're talking about blue-chip (AKA very expensive) art presented in several custom-built spaces, including:

• water-lily paintings by Monet in the Chichu Art Museum (the museum also houses two site-specific installations by James Turrell and Walter de Maria)

• seven 'art houses' where artists like Hiroshi Sugimoto and James Turrell have transformed traditional houses in a residential neighbourhood into works of art

• an installation by Rei Naito experienced in the Teshima Art Museum, a striking structure shaped like a water droplet

There are also a couple of more typical-feeling museums (like the Benesse House Museum and Lee Ufan Museum) that show many smaller works in a series of galleries vs just one or a few large-scale installations. But even in these, the pieces are given huge amounts of space to breathe on the walls.

THE WOW FACTORS

The time and effort needed to get to the 'art shrines' in the first place means you arrive primed to see something worthy of the journey you've made. I don't want to pretend this destination is totally off the beaten path — a million people visited in 2019, and I imagine 2025 visitor figures are even higher given how popular Japan has been with tourists post-pandemic. But if you're travelling from a major city like Tokyo or Osaka, you'll need to take at least a Shinkansen bullet train, a local train, and a ferry (which cannot be pre-booked — you check an old school timetable and then pay for your tickets in cash before you board) to get to the islands. Once you're there, you have to rent bikes or rely on infrequent minibuses (and more old-school timetables) to get to each of the different sites.

Then, the design of the specific spaces and surroundings themselves further inspire the presence and slowness that help you see art in a new, deeper way. Here's how:

(1) Necessary Nature Walks

The art sites are often designed so the entrance is set at the end of a path that takes you through nature. Probably the best illustration of this is on Teshima, where after cycling through rice paddies, you arrive at a ticket office close to the structure you correctly assume is the art museum. But, instead of walking the short and direct route into the exhibition space, you are directed towards a winding route that takes you through a thicket of trees and past coastal views before you loop back into the museum. All your senses are simultaneously engaged and calmed before you even see the art.

(2) Surprising Spaces

Many, though not all, of the buildings are designed by renowned architect Tadao Ando who talks about ‘invisible buildings’ which ‘merge into the topography and environment’. What's exciting about his architecture is that you can’t really see his structures from the outside; they are often partially buried underground and blend into the nature around them. Because of this, you enter a space with no idea of how big it will be or how you’ll move through it, making your eventual encounter with the art inside feel like a delightful surprise even as you expect it.

(3) Tactility and Texture

My visit to the Benesse Art Sites was probably my most physical encounter with art yet. While you're not allowed to touch the art works themselves, there is a lot of materiality built into the viewing (rather, sensing) experience. Over a year on from my visit, I'm still thinking about the experience of standing on the tiles in the Claude Monet room at Chichu art museum. Before you enter, you're asked to switch your shoes to slippers as the room features 700,000 tiny white cubes of Carrara marble as its floor. You also take your shoes off when entering Teshima Art Museum, where Rei Naito's artwork blends with cool concrete floor. We lay down for over an hour observing the artist's little water droplets form and travel as if by magic. Likewise, in many of the smaller 'art houses' you are grounded by natural materials used for the floors and walls: cedar, stone, paper, and in one case, pure earth.

If you know me in real life, you will know I generally live at quite a fast pace. I walk fast, read fast, and even see art fast — often reaching the end of an exhibition while my husband is still looking around one of the first galleries. But even I was forced to slow right down when on Naoshima and Teshima — and I'm so grateful for everything that went into enabling that rich art experience.

Thanks for reading! I know the Japanese art islands are on many of your to-travel lists. If you have been, I'd love to hear what resonated about your experience. If you haven't been, and have any questions about planning a trip, let me know! My top tip is to make time for dinner in Port Uno before or after your visit — specifically for one of the unexpectedly best pizzas I think I've had anywhere.

THE WORK

The show featured works by Locke (who happens to be one of my favourite contemporary artists) alongside selected objects from the British Museum's collection, organised under the themes of 'sovereigns', 'trade', 'conflict', and 'treasure'.

Locke's artworks often appropriate and recontextualise colonial documents or statues. For example, in his Share series of works, Locke paints on original stock certificates for companies that extracted wealth via colonialism. And, in his Souvenir series, Locke loads up busts of British royals with found materials symbolising empire.

Works from these two series (amongst others) were set in dialogue with artefacts with dark histories: 18th century pro-slavery propaganda, drawings and watercolours made on plantations or of indigenous cultures, and precious pieces looted during military expeditions.

THE WOW FACTORS

Curated by Locke with support from curators Indra Khanna and the British Museum's Isabel Seligman, what have we here? is pointedly personal. No exhibition at this particular institution can be neutral (I'm of the firm opinion that saying nothing about an object's provenance is still saying something), and this one doesn't pretend to be. It makes its point of view clear from the moment you walk in, and reiterates it till you walk out. Here are a few ways how:

(1) Damning Displays

There is nothing subtle about the design of this exhibition—and that’s a good thing. The gallery you enter feels like a storage closet where objects are still being unpacked. Works are displayed in shipping crates, some stacked to the ceiling. You're immediately reminded (or informed) of how many of items on show arrived to this place from far-flung corners of the globe.

(2) Context and Commentary

In this show, the artist's perspective is ever-present, included alongside the classic context cards showing information about the who, what, and where of an item. Little speakers dangling from the ceiling and a video at the start literally bring Locke's voice into the gallery (listen to one audio clip looped overhead below) and bright yellow cards feature quotes providing his personal observations or reasons for including a piece as part of the curation.

(3) Space for the Story

Unlike in the rest of this museum where priceless treasures are crammed together in vitrines with a maze of museum labels to navigate if you want any information, the artefacts in Hew Locke's curation are carefully contextualised. Not just by the conversational commentary (mentioned just above), but through detailed context cards and even infographics if necessary.

For example, replicas of the Koh-i-Noor diamond are accompanied by an illustrated overview of all the rulers who ever owned the diamond (those from South-Asia, and then the British Royals who ended up with it), laying out a much broader and more detailed history of the stone than I’ve typically seen.

"If you don't like a good story, this show ain't for you" — Hew Locke

Immediately after seeing the show, I wandered over to Room 25 on the lower floor: the British Museum’s ‘Africa’ gallery. There, several original Benin bronzes (replicas of which had been included and explained in Locke’s show) sat in dusty glass vitrines, looking magnificent, but lacking the context and story that helps people understand their value (and current status as contested objects).

Hew Locke: what have we here? was on view at the British Museum in London between October 2024 and February 2025. If you missed the exhibition but would like to learn more, I suggest watching this recording of a curator’s tour, or purchasing the catalog.

I'm not a White Cube girl — I generally like to experience art in interesting and/or inspiring spaces with creative build-outs that help bring the work to life. Which is why I was especially struck by what the artist and curators behind this show managed to achieve with very limited technical intervention. The Sakir Khader exhibition was shown in one of FOAM's more unassuming galleries. In a narrow corridor and two long rooms, the walls were painted a deep, absorbing black; and most of the emotional impact came from how the work was positioned on the walls.

THE WORK

The starting point for any great curation is of course what's being curated itself and Khader's black and white portraiture is incredibly powerful seen in any context. The Palestinian-Dutch photographer focuses on the 'relation between life and death' and 'poetic sorrows of everyday life' in areas affected by conflict like Afghanistan, Turkey, and, of course, Palestine. Featured at FOAM this time were portraits of martyred young men, their mothers, and their funerals taken over the last four years in Jenin, a stronghold of Palestinian resistance in the West Bank that is the target of frequent Israeli raids and military operations.

THE WOW FACTORS

I'm not sure who exactly curated the show (Foam's curatorial team includes Mirjam Kooiman, Claartje van Dijk, and Aya Musa), but my sense is that the artist was very heavily involved. Every decision, from framing in the wall text to the flow of the show served to bolster the themes of farewell and departure in this specific, Palestinian context. Here are a few elements that really stood out to me:

(1) Emotional Entrance

Entering the exhibition required you to duck under a white cotton kafan (Islamic burial shroud) draped from the ceiling. Handwritten on the shroud was a list of journalists killed in Palestine — apparently the artist updated the exhibit on the occasion of every additional death. The simple, unstitched sheet prompted a physical pause to contemplate death, right at the boundary of the exhibition.

(2) Unapologetic Islam

As a Muslim, I was shocked (in a good way) at how open the exhibition was about the importance of Islam in Khader's work and in his photographic subjects' lives. It's sad but true that I've become used to images of prostrating muslims or inclusions of Islamic phrases being accompanied by explanations that over-explain, hedge, justify. Here, information about relevant Islamic customs and beliefs were sprinkled throughout the wall text poetically. For example:

In this scene, he performs sujud (prostration), the deepest bow in Islamic prayer. His head touches the earth—sacred ground—in a search for closeness with the divine. Amidst the olive trees of Palestine, he surrenders in total submission and humility, his body bowing toward the same earth treaded by prophets like Abraham, Jacob, and Joseph. It is a reminder: from the earth we came, and to the earth we shall return. In sujud, a believer is closest to Allah (God).

(3) Put Between Mothers & Sons

Finally, the powerful positioning and hanging of the work that I've been alluding to throughout this post. In every room, related works were hung opposite one another: portraits of grieving mothers faced portraits of their martyred sons; video of coffins being carried were set in dialogue with video of wailing mourners. This hanging enabled a viewing experience that magnified the emotional impact of the work. Your position was literally between a mother looking at her dead son's body, trapped within her gaze. A seemingly simple curatorial decision that will stay with me for a long time.

Sakir Khader: Yawm al-Firak (Day of Separation) was on view at Foam in Amsterdam between February and May 2025. If you missed the exhibition and would like to learn more about Sakir Khader’s work, I suggest following him on Instagram, scrolling through his photojournalism for the Volkskrant, or purchasing a copy of his limited-edition art book Dying to Exist.