BY RORY SIKES

In print | November 15, 2007

The Philadelphia Museum of Art offers a variety of guided tours ranging from the general (highlights from the entire museum) to the specific (“Van Gogh and color”). Having never gone on a tour before, and curious about experiencing the works as mediated by an “expert,” I found myself tagging along on the tour of the 19th century galleries.

Before it even started, things seemed a little rough. Besides me, there were only two other people in attendance, a pair of older women who claimed to be regulars of the museum but had never gone on this particular tour. When our guide arrived, he came up to me and asked if I was waiting for his tour. I said yes, and his response was, “My condolences.” Hmm.

Berthold is an elderly man with a stooped back and bowed legs whose houndstooth jacket I secretly coveted. He prefaced his tour with the caveat that he didn’t have a set script, but because of that he encouraged us to stop him if and when something caught our eye. We set off at a quick pace and from that moment on, he continued to project a rushed air, constantly commenting on how little time we had and how we needed to keep moving. It became apparent that for Berthold, this tour was a kind of “greatest hits” of the 19th century, and that as his audience we deserved to see as much as we could in the one hour we had together. The tour as a whole was scattered and initially hard for me to get into. With so little time spent on any individual painting and with most of his commentary - excluding the occasional technical note - consisting of declarative statements like, “This one is really interesting” or simply a verbalization of who the artist was and when it was painted, it was quite different from the academic lectures I’m used to receiving.

Yet as we were shuttled along from one room to the next, I began to appreciate the tour for what it was really about: Berthold’s own excitement and proprietary pride in the PMA’s collection.While not always the most informative of commentators, Berthold came off as genuinely enthusiastic when talking about the works. He was constantly telling us to get closer, to look closer, though I have to admit that he himself got a little too close for my own comfort — Berthold had a tendency to gesticulate wildly, with his fingers almost brushing the surface of the canvas, to the point where I was convinced the guards were going to intervene (they never did).

His familiarity and comfort with the paintings made the whole tour seem as though he was taking us around his house, showing off his favorite trinkets. Some of the comments he made were also wonderfully charming in their informality — for example, he referred to Matisse’s wife as “Mrs. Potato Head” (and honestly, in that particular portrait she did look strikingly similar to Rumer Willis).

His personal tastes came through quite clearly when one of the women asked him to speak about Leon Frederic’s “Four Seasons” series. Berthold hesitated a moment, said that the artist had a “particular style” and that they were “good at being what they are,” and that was that — we were off to see another painting that would at least merit the word “interesting.”

The tour ended in front of Cezanne’s “The Large Bathers.” Having read and discussed this work in detail before - particularly in regards to the representation of gender - I was curious to hear Berthold’s take. After an hour of hustling that was never quite restful even when we were stopped in front of a painting, Berthold made his strongest statement of the tour when he stood entirely still and just stared up at the painting. Remaining silent for several long moments, his last words were simple yet true: “Now this is a masterpiece.”

Rory is a senior. You can reach her at rsykes1@swarthmore.edu.

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