There’s something undeniably romantic about wandering into a gallery without any idea of what you want to see. Alas, this is a sure-fire way to miss-out on some of the best exhibits, and a one-way-ticket to cultural burnout.
Alright, this one might seem a bit obvious… but when some paintings are worth upwards of 100 million big ones, it’s definitely worth repeating.
Some people like to experience art in a vacuum – but reading-up on the context behind a particular work can transform and enrich our understanding of it.
For example, Edvard Munch’s The Sick Child hits so much harder when you know that it was based on his own sister, while Paul Gauguin’s dodgy personal life completely changes how we view his paintings of Tahiti.
But if you find traditional gallery labels a bit stale, you’re not alone. Download MuseMuse for bite-sized breakdowns of all your favourite pieces, packed full of fun facts and juicy gossip!
A gallery isn’t a library – so if you want to discuss a painting with your friend, or argue about whether we should cancel Picasso, then knock yourself out. But try to keep it down, and try to keep it on topic – because it’s hard to focus on the art when someone’s barking into a mobile phone, or debating what to have for dinner!
Visiting a gallery shouldn’t be an endurance test. Make sure to take a seat every now and then – and if you find yourself seriously flagging, a trip to the café is a great opportunity to refuel and recharge.
Last but not least, we’ve got the art gallery equivalent of manspreading. There’s usually more than enough space for multiple visitors to take in a painting – but then someone decides to stand directly in front of it, blocking everyone else’s view.
Obviously, this is incredibly annoying: so make sure that this someone isn’t you!
So, there you have it – the MuseMuse guide to the dos and don’ts of the gallery world. With these top tips, you’re ready to make the most of your visit. But don’t get too hung up on etiquette: the most important thing is to enjoy yourself!
Let’s start with composition. This refers to how the different parts of a work come together to create a whole (much like a piece of classical music – or a cake).
Next, up, we’ve got en plein air – a fancy way of saying 'outdoors'. Painting en plein air was popular with the Impressionists, who found that working outside let them capture the nuances of light and colour far better than they could in the studio.
Now, like almost every painter who came before them, the Impressionists were figurative artists. In plain English, this meant that they painted real things, like people and places and implausibly stacked fruit bowls.
By contrast, abstract artists aren’t interested in depicting the world as we normally see it: if you're into shapes, lines and big blobs of colour, this might be the style for you.
Another bit of art jargon that sounds scarier than it really is diptych. This is simply an artwork made up of two separate parts or panels. And you guessed it – a triptych is a work made up of three.
If a triptych doesn’t float your boat, then how about a tondo? Taken from rotondo, the Italian word for ‘round’, this refers to a work in the shape of a circle.
Another exotic term beloved by art buffs is fin de siècle. This French phrase translates to ‘end of century’, and generally refers to the period from around 1880 to 1900. Of course, you could simply say ‘the end of the 19th century’ – but that wouldn’t be anything like as impressive, would it?
Last but not least, we come to the most valuable weapon in the art expert’s arsenal. Next time you find yourself faced with a work you really don’t understand – or a work you really don’t like – stand in silence, slowly stroke your chin, and after at least twenty seconds have passed, utter the immortal words: hmm… interesting.
Right: you’re all set to dazzle the experts with your newfound vocab. But if you want to take things to the next level, be sure to download MuseMuse.
Our app is packed full of bite-sized breakdowns spanning thousands of years of art and culture. And whether you’re a complete newbie or a cultural connoisseur, you’re bound to learn something new (and have fun while you do it!).
In 1642, Captain Frans Banning Cocq commissioned Rembrandt to paint his civic guard company. Eighteen militiamen paid to be included, expecting equal prominence in a traditional group portrait. Instead, Rembrandt created a dynamic action scene with dramatic lighting that highlighted some figures while obscuring others in shadow.
The men in the shadows weren't pleased. They'd paid the same fee (roughly 100 guilders each, about $2,000 today) but appeared as mere background characters. Some were so dark you could barely make-out their faces. This wasn't just bad positioning: it was a social insult in 17th-century Amsterdam.
The painting's strangest element is a small girl in a golden dress, illuminated by mysterious light, wearing a dead chicken at her belt (a symbol of the civic guard). No one paid for her inclusion. Who is she? Art historians have debated for centuries. Some believe she's Rembrandt's deceased wife Saskia, who died that same year, inserted as a ghostly presence.
Recent analysis suggests the painting may reference a real scandal. The chicken claws on the girl's belt form a symbol that in 17th-century Amsterdam was code language used by members of a particular civic guard faction. The way certain figures' hands are positioned may indicate secret society signs. Was Rembrandt documenting internal power struggles and betrayals within the guard?
After the painting was delivered, Rembrandt's career mysteriously declined. He never received another major commission from Amsterdam's elite. Coincidence?
Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio didn't just paint scenes of violence and darkness, he lived them. The revolutionary Baroque painter who transformed art history was also a murderer, who spent his final four years creating masterpieces while running from execution.
On May 28, 1606, Caravaggio got into a fight over a tennis match with a man named Ranuccio Tomassoni. Swords were drawn. When it ended, Tomassoni lay dead and Caravaggio had a severe wound to his head. Whether it was self-defense or murder, 16th-century Roman law didn't care. The penalty was death by beheading.
Caravaggio fled Rome with a price on his head. The papal edict declared that anyone could kill him without consequence and bring his head to authorities for a reward. He would never return to Rome alive.
What's extraordinary is that Caravaggio produced some of his greatest works while on the run. He escaped to Naples, then Malta, then Sicily, painting masterpieces at each stop to earn the protection from powerful patrons. Each painting grew darker, more dramatic, and more violent than the last.
In Malta, he painted the beheading of John the Baptist: the only work he ever signed, inscribing his name in the saint's spilled blood. The painting's brutal realism came from a man who knew exactly what execution looked like, who painted it while awaiting the same fate.
Caravaggio had a macabre habit: he painted himself as martyrs and murder victims in his religious works. In David with the head of Goliath (1609–10), the severed head is Caravaggio's self-portrait. In The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew (1599–1600), he painted himself as a bystander witnessing murder. He seemed obsessed with his own death.
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In 1610, Caravaggio received word that the Pope might pardon him. He boarded a boat to Rome, carrying three final paintings as gifts to secure his clemency. But he never arrived.
He died under mysterious circumstances at age 38 on a beach in Porto Ercole. Fever? Murder by bounty hunters? Revenge by Tomassoni's family? No one knows.
His body was lost for 400 years, until DNA testing in 2010 identified remains in a church ossuary as likely Caravaggio's, showing lead poisoning consistent with paint exposure. The paintings he carried that day have never been found.
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