In thinking about cities to visit during time off I had while staying in Cologne, Germany, Brussels became a top priority due to the current location of Jacques-Louis David’s painting The Death of Marat (1793): the Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium in downtown Brussels. David’s political involvement in the French Revolution has fascinating and complicated manifestations in his paintings, mainly through his themes of patriotism and sacrifice for one’s country. He is one of my favorite artists of all time. Without examining the rest of collection at the museum, or any other museums in Brussels, I (along with a small cohort of friends) drove two and a half hours to Brussels on a chilly August morning to see David’s masterpiece in real life.

This was perhaps my most heinous act of art tourism. The Royal Museum’s collection of old masters boasts an entire room full of almost two dozen enormous, fantastic Rubens paintings, an extensive collection of Flemish paintings including works by Rogier van der Weyden, Robert Campin, Anthony van Dyck, and Jacob Jordaens, as well as a temporary exhibition dedicated entirely to Pieter Breugel’s masterpieces. However, due to the presence of The Death of Marat, I found myself brushing past other collections in frenzied anticipation of finally seeing the piece before my own eyes. I sat in front of the painting for so long that I had very little time to view the rest of the museum, despite it’s immense collection. If The Death of Marat had not been in the museum, I would have spent significantly more time with the other works in the museum. However, it didn’t particularly bother me at the time—I had seen David’s masterpiece and wasn’t extremely interested in spending time with Rubens or van Dyck anymore.

This phenomenon was not unique to me, not to The Death of Marat. Perhaps the most pronounced occurrence of it was at the Galleria dell’Accademia in Florence, Italy, where Michelangelo’s heroic and renowned statue David (1501-04) resides. Tourists flock to this museum, a large percentage of which we witnessed see David, snap several (hundred) pictures, and leave. A significant amount of visitors to the museum ignore the other works in the museum due simply to the cultural recognition and reputation of David. One could argue that this phenomenon almost completely discredits the rest of the art in the museum as it is deemed not as “worth it” as David.

However, is this phenomenon entirely bad? In my case, as an art history student, I would argue it shows a certain lack of attention and care to important works and artists, which I reprimand myself for. In the future I hope to capitalize more on my opportunities to see works of art in person. Yet in the case of an ordinary tourist, I think this phenomenon takes on a different meaning. The treatment of works like David as quasi art-celebrities, something to check off a to-do list of sites to see in Florence, certainly disgraces the value of the work of art as a historical and art-historical icon. However, the elevation of works like David encourages an engagement with the arts that an average tourist may not recognize without the celebrity status that David has achieved. A typical tourist probably wouldn’t go see a work of art unless it was held in such high esteem as David is. Even the bare-minimum, surface-level experience that a significant amount of tourists have with David is still an engagement with artistic and cultural material. Undoubtedly most people who go to visit David, even if only to cross it off their list, are still amazed by its size and magnificence. You don’t need an art historical vocabulary to understand how powerful it is as a work of art. In terms of the content and presentation, it’s one of the most accessible works of art that I’ve ever seen. And if its stardom encourages more tourists to come see it, it becomes even more accessible to the general public. I would assert seeing David, even as superficially as most tourists do, is better than not seeing David at all. Therefore, David’s recognition, while encouraging less-than-ideal interactions with the work, creates a space more accessible to the everyday tourist.

With the concept of art tourism, and traveling to see a piece such as David or The Death of Marat, the question becomes: is it worth it? To return to The Death of Marat, in my case, I felt both overwhelmed and underwhelmed by my obsessive journey to and intense time spent with this painting. Museums are successful almost entirely because of the phenomenon of art tourism and the idea that seeing a painting in the flesh is more fulfilling than looking at a picture of it. In my case, I would definitely agree with this. There was something about seeing Jacques-Louis David’s brushstrokes, the exact tones of the colors he used, and his intense use of light and shadow in person that made my experience with the painting much more intense and intimate. The painting became something that I had experienced myself in my lifetime rather than an imagined object that I had learned about. However, Jacques-Louis David’s greatest strength (in my opinion) became the greatest disappointment in my visit.

To me, what makes David’s work so interesting is his engagement with the political turmoil of the French Revolution. The Death of Marat is an intensely complicated and political work, one that has been dubbed “the first work of modern art” for many reasons; among them is its creation to be displayed as a political symbol for the masses. Jean-Paul Marat was a radical Jacobin journalist and leader of the French Revolution. He ceaselessly advocated for the rights of the Third Estate, defended the sans-culottes, and attacked the most influential and powerful groups in Paris including the Constituent Assembly and the commune. He was known as a “friend of the people.” David’s representation of Marat after he has been murdered is an intense idealized portrait that is meant to commemorate a personable hero. Marat is presented as a martyr, with specific references to the death of Jesus Christ in his elongated arm draped limply over the side of the bathtub.

I can understand why supporters of Marat, his writings, and his political beliefs would have been inspired by such a work. I can feel some of it, too—a stirring of anger and resentment at his death, a hope to avenge it, and a desire to carry on his legacy. However, I also felt a twinge of sadness. There is no way for me, as a viewer in the 21^st century, sitting in on a couch in a museum, to fully experience this art as it was intended. I am not a part of the Third Estate during the French Revolution, I have not faced the injustices peasants at this time period did, and I’ve never read “L’Ami du people” or experienced the innovation of it’s contents. I was not standing in a crowd of angry peasants, watching Jacques-Louis David unveil this painting in a frenzied flourish to commemorate the death of a revolutionary hero. No matter how much historical knowledge about the French Revolution I consume, I will never fully be able to understand what Marat and this work meant to the people of France in 1793. From my position on a couch in museum gallery in 2017, had a sense of loss, of missed opportunity, in viewing this work. There is a power and force carried within this work that erodes over time.

Here comes my plug for exhibitions like the Venice Biennale and Documenta: this is exactly why I believe engagement with contemporary art is so important. There is a power that art carries when you view art that engages with issues that you have experienced in your life or are relevant to you. It makes art an intensely more personal and powerful experience. Contemporary art has the ability to resonate with its viewer in a way unlike any other form of art. So yes, it is worth it to travel to these exhibitions and experience the art there. And, despite my melancholy feelings about not being able to experience The Death of Marat as it was intended, I was still able to have a personal and poignant interaction with the painting that definitely made the traveling pay off.