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<p align="center"><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><i><font size="+2">Das
Moma</font></i><font size="+2"> in Berlin Neue Nationalgalerie,</font></font></p>
<p align="center"><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Kulturforum-Potsdamer
Platz, </font></p>
<p align="center"><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">20th February to
19th September 2004 </font></p>
<p align="center"><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Guardian/Modern
Painters Award for Writing on Art, 2004</font></p>
<p align="center"><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Kate Robinson</font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"> It was the middle of June and
we were in a pub in Berlin - a basement dive decked out like a Seventies'
living room replete with TV, fish tank and plastic leather sofas. A girl in
an Eskimo costume kept coming round with more drink. I was sitting in the
corner with an Irishman, a Dane and an Indonesian woman from Holland. It was
late. I had already had one too many daiquiris when the conversation rolled
round inevitably to the United States' temporary cultural invasion of the
capital. </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Two hundred 'Meisterwerkes' from
New York's collection of modern art are on show at Mies van der Rohe's glass
and girders building, the new national gallery, at Postdamer Platz, in the
centre of Berlin until nineteenth September. The collection left in the States
is denuded, provisionally housed in an unprepossessing block at Queens, amid
garages and office blocks, a penitentiary looming sullenly round the corner,
before returning to its revamped home in Manhattan. </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">I had gone to see <i>Das MoMA</i>
the previous evening, already three months into the exhibition. And yet even
at this late hour the building was still skirted by a dense queue of determined
Berliners waiting their turn to enter, all intent on catching a glimpse of
The Big Apple's artistic core. Posters for the exhibition are ubiquitous throughout
the city, announcing the appearance of the collection in film star lettering
against a shocking pink ground; public curiosity tangible. </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'But there was just too much,'
said Niall, the Irishman. 'You couldn't take it in. They would have been better
to choose, say, just six pieces, and show only them. That way you would look
properly.' </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Ah, but which six?' the rest of
us chimed. </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Fuelled by daiquiri, I launched
in first. 'James Ensor's Masks Confronting Death,' I said. </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Why?' demanded Niall.</font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"> '1888,' interrupted Bruno. 'That's
when he completed it. Obsessed with painting death, Ensor.' </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Because it's so tentative and
questioning and understated. And because Ensor was a Belgian. And I'd have
that goat�' </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'The She-Goat,' said Niall. </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Picasso,' said Anique. 'Cast in
1952. Did you see the tube at the back for its pee-hole?' </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'For its balls,' I went on. 'And
I'd have Monet's Water Lilies. I've wanted to see that all of my life. I cried
when I saw it.' I was slurring now. 'And for number four, I'd have Brancusi's
Bird in Space because he's the most daring sculptor of the twentieth century
and it is an object of sublime beauty and power and lyric�liri..' </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Lyricism,' interjected Bruno.
</font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Thank you. Just what I would have
said,' I said. 'Number five�' </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Where was it?' said Anique. 'I
didn't see it.' </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Bird in Space?' said Bruno. 'A
slim bright bronze wing pointing into the future next to the door of the second
gallery.' </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Number five,' I said loudly, 'would
be Balzac. In fact he should be number four because Rodin's earlier than Brancusi.
' </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Did you see his erection?' asked
Niall.</font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"> 'Whose?' </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Balzac's.' </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Nope.' </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Did you look?'</font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"> 'Yep. And number six would be
the one of the suspended chairs and girders on the first floor. Don't know
who it was by�' No one volunteered an answer. 'Because it perfectly balanced
and complemented the Neugallerie itself.' </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'So you wouldn't have any of the
Klees?' asked Anique. </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Ah, well, yes. Maybe I'd have
to drop�' </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Or what about the Gerhard Richters?'
said Bruno. </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Well, yes. I could trade�' </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'Duchamp? ' said Niall. </font></p>
<p><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">'OK, someone else's turn,' I said.
</font></p>
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