Hamburger Kunsthalle

Listen first. Behind you, the trains of the main station rumble and brake. Ahead, a wide flight of steps rises toward a building of warm red brick and pale stone. Gulls cry somewhere over the water nearby. On a grey Hamburg morning, the brick seems to hold its own small glow. This is the Hamburger Kunsthalle, one of the largest art museums in Germany. It sits on a quiet rise between the railway tracks and the Alster lakes.

The word Kunsthalle means simply art hall. In many German cities, a Kunsthalle shows temporary exhibitions and owns nothing at all. Hamburg is different. This museum holds a deep permanent collection, from medieval altarpieces to art made in our own century. So the name hides a surprise. Behind these walls are many centuries of European painting, and some of the most loved pictures in the German-speaking world.

The story begins with the citizens of Hamburg. This was a merchant city, a proud member of the old Hanseatic League, a trading network of northern ports. Hamburg had no royal court to fill a palace with paintings. Instead, local art lovers and collectors pushed for a public museum. The original building opened in 1869. It is the red brick structure with its rich decoration and its rounded windows, built in a style that looks back to the Italian Renaissance.

As the collection grew, that first hall became too small. An extension opened in 1919, built in lighter stone with a large dome. Then, in 1997, a third building arrived across the square: the Galerie der Gegenwart, which means Gallery of the Present. The architect Oswald Mathias Ungers designed it as a bright, square block of light stone. Today the three buildings stand side by side. Walking between them, you can follow a century of ideas about how a museum should look.

One man shaped this place more than any other. Alfred Lichtwark became the first director in 1886. He wanted ordinary people, not only experts, to look closely at art. He gave public talks and wrote about how to look at a painting. He also did something unusual for his time. He commissioned artists to paint Hamburg itself — its harbour, its streets, its leading citizens. Many of those city portraits still hang in the galleries today.

Lichtwark also looked backward. He searched for forgotten art from northern Germany and brought it back into the light. Among his finds were the medieval altarpieces that now fill some of the oldest rooms. The great Grabow Altarpiece by the painter known as Master Bertram is here. It was painted in the late fourteenth century for a church in Hamburg. Its gold backgrounds and small, busy scenes of the Creation still feel fresh. Look for the animals. They are charming and a little strange.

Now, the picture that brings many visitors through the door. Caspar David Friedrich's Wanderer above the Sea of Fog hangs in this museum. A man in a dark coat stands on a rock with his back to us. He looks out over peaks and rolling mist. Friedrich was a leading painter of German Romanticism, an early nineteenth century movement that valued feeling, nature and solitude. The painting is smaller than many people expect. Here is the first surprise — up close, it feels intimate, almost private.

Near the Wanderer, look for another Friedrich work, The Sea of Ice. Huge slabs of frozen ice push up into a sharp, broken pyramid. Half hidden among them lies the wreck of a ship. It is a cold, silent image, and many people find it more powerful than the Wanderer. The museum also holds a large group of works by Philipp Otto Runge, another Romantic painter, who came from this northern region. His portraits of children are clear, round and very direct.

The nineteenth century rooms continue into French art. Édouard Manet's painting Nana is here. It shows a young woman at her mirror, half dressed, while a man in a top hat waits on the edge of the canvas. In its day, the picture caused a scandal and was refused by the official Paris Salon. Today it is calm and quiet on the wall. Notice how the man is cut off by the frame. Manet makes him almost unimportant.

The twentieth century brings a darker chapter. In 1937, the Nazi regime removed hundreds of works from German museums as so-called degenerate art. This collection lost many modern paintings in those years. Some later returned through purchase or gifts. Others are gone for good. As you walk the modern rooms, it is worth knowing that their walls were rebuilt with patience. Today you will find artists like Max Beckmann, Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Edvard Munch and Paul Klee.

Cross into the Gallery of the Present, and the mood changes. The rooms are white and high. Daylight falls in calmly. Here the museum shows art from the 1960s onward, including large installations, photography and works that fill whole rooms. Some pieces invite you to walk around them or even through them. If the old masters asked you to stand still, these spaces ask you to move. This is a good place to slow down and let the quiet work on you.

The museum also renewed itself in the last decade. A major refurbishment finished in 2016, supported by private donors from the city. That fits the story of this place. From the start, Hamburg's citizens paid for much of what you see. There is a café inside, and a generous shop. Outside, the square between the buildings is a good spot for a break. In fine weather, people sit on the steps and watch the city pass below.

Before you leave, step to the edge of the terrace and look around. The station tracks run on one side. The Binnenalster, the inner Alster lake, lies a short walk away, often bright with sails or swans. Behind you, the red brick and the pale stone stand together, old beside new. Carry one image with you as you go — a man in a dark coat, looking out into the fog. Then look out at Hamburg, and see what you notice.