Tel Aviv Museum of Art

Start with the light. Stand near the entrance of the newer wing and look up. Pale daylight falls down through a tall, twisting space. It slides across smooth white surfaces as if poured from above. Outside, the city hums with traffic and conversation. Inside, the noise drops away, and your footsteps sound sharper on the floor. This is the Tel Aviv Museum of Art. Before we look at a single painting, it helps to understand that this building was designed to slow you down.

The museum's story begins in 1932, when Tel Aviv was still a young city of sand, citrus and new boulevards. The collection first lived in a private home. It was the house of Meir Dizengoff, the city's first mayor, on Rothschild Boulevard. Dizengoff gave his home over to the arts, and the young museum grew inside its rooms. For a city that was barely a few decades old, opening an art museum was a statement. It said that this place intended to have a cultural life, not only streets and houses.

Here is the first surprise. That same house later played a part in a much larger story. In May 1948, the leaders of the Jewish community gathered in the museum's hall to declare the independence of the State of Israel. Paintings hung on the walls behind them. Today that building on Rothschild Boulevard is known as Independence Hall. So the institution you are standing in now was present, quite literally, at the founding of a country.

As the collection grew, the old house became far too small. In 1971 the museum moved here, to Shaul HaMelech Boulevard, into a purpose-built main building. Look at its strong concrete forms and its clear, practical layout. It belongs to its era, when architects in Israel were building with bold, plain materials. This main building still holds much of the permanent collection. Walk through it slowly, and you can feel the confidence of a museum that finally had room to breathe.

Then, in 2011, the museum opened the Herta and Paul Amir Building. It was designed by the American architect Preston Scott Cohen. He faced an awkward problem. The plot of land was an irregular triangle, yet galleries work best as clean rectangles. His answer was clever. He kept the gallery floors rectangular and let the walls between them twist and bend. The result is the space you see around you now.

At the heart of that wing is the tall atrium people call the lightfall. It runs down through several levels, and it carries daylight deep into the building. The walls fold and turn as they descend, so the view changes with every step on the ramps and stairs. Take a moment to stand at the top and then at the bottom. From one point it feels open and airy. From another it feels almost like a canyon of pale stone.

Now to the art itself. The collection is wide. There is European painting from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, including Impressionism and the movements that followed it. Impressionism, for anyone unfamiliar, was a style that tried to capture passing light and quick impressions rather than polished detail. You will also find modern masters whose names many visitors recognise, from Picasso to Chagall to Kandinsky. Collections like this one are built slowly, often from gifts by private collectors.

Here is the second surprise. Many visitors come for the famous European names, but the deepest part of this museum is its Israeli art. Here you can follow the story of artists working in this land across the twentieth century. Some looked to Paris for ideas. Others tried to create a new local language of colour and form. Spend real time in these rooms. They show you how a young society tried to picture itself, its landscapes and its questions.

The museum also gives serious space to photography, design, architecture and contemporary art. Exhibitions change regularly, so what you see today may be quite different from what a friend saw last year. This is part of the pleasure. One visit might bring a large retrospective of a single artist. Another might bring video work, installations, or a show that fills a whole floor. Check the gallery plan near the entrance to see what is on during your visit.

Step outside for a moment, if you can. The museum sits within a cluster of cultural buildings. Nearby are the city's main performing arts centre and a large public library. The plaza between them is a meeting point for students, families and office workers on their lunch break. There is also a sculpture garden, where works stand under the open sky. In the warm months, the shade of the trees here becomes as valuable as any artwork.

Notice how people use this place. Some rush in to see one exhibition and leave. Others settle into the café with a book and stay for hours. Schoolchildren move through the galleries in loud, excited groups. Older couples stop in front of one painting and talk quietly. A museum is not only a store of objects. It is also a public room for the city, and this one feels lived in rather than solemn.

It is also worth knowing that the museum has more than one address. It runs the Helena Rubinstein Pavilion for contemporary art, located in the centre of town near the national theatre. That smaller space often shows newer and more experimental work. If you enjoy what you see here, it makes a good second stop on another day. Together, the two sites give a fuller picture of art in Tel Aviv, from early modernism to the present.

As you move between the old and new buildings, pay attention to the change in feeling. The older main building feels solid and grounded. The newer wing feels lighter, almost restless, with its angled walls and shifting views. Neither is better. They simply belong to different moments in the city's life. Walking from one to the other is like walking across several decades of architectural thinking in just a few minutes.

Before you leave, return to the lightfall, or to any window that faces the sky. Look at how the daylight has changed since you arrived. It may be warmer now, or softer, or sharper. That small change is a good reminder of what this museum asks of you. It asks you to notice. And as you step back into the noise of the boulevard, carry that habit with you a little longer.