Which Has the Harder Door? Berghain or the Boros Collection
On the sunny, cheerful morning of August 6, 2022, my best friend and I got denied entry to the Boros Collection in Berlin, Germany. This is a chronological rendering of our experience:
August 5th 10am:
The only sorted part of our trip was the arrangement to stay in a friend of a friend of a friend’s apartment, an eccentric ketamine therapist who told us we MUST get around to seeing the Boros Collection. He gave a short but thoughtfully curated list of the experiences we should create for ourselves. The list went as follows: “Myxa for breakfast at the corner, Teufelsberg!, sunset watching at the crossing of the canal – between Neukolln, Treptow and Kreuzberg, Sammlung Boros for Art, and Berghain – Sunday morning to get in.” As travelers who didn't plan ahead, we took his recommendations as law. We booked our spontaneous week-long trip to Berlin with the expectation of exploring the city as local – or as the friend of a friend of a friend would.
As a self-proclaimed art enthusiast, I insisted our first stop on the trip be the Boros Collection. We were on our merry way, well-fed after breakfasting at Myxa. After walking in circles around an intimidatingly large and unassuming concrete building, went to reference Google maps only to realize we were circumventing the correct address. The entrance was not tourist-friendly, but nonetheless, our sheer determination and geographical acuity somehow actualized orientation. To our surprise, we found the door – only after seeing a couple open it effortlessly. We followed them feeling accomplished.
August 6th 1pm:
The first thing I noticed was the short line of people exclusively speaking German. My friend and I were advised on how to approach the situation we were in, one that we wouldn’t even consider a “situation” in America. There are unspoken rules for lines in Berlin. It is believed one should maintain a particular demeanor that best resembles a balance between “act like you’re too good to be here” and “act like you’re really excited to be here.” We tried our best. Ultimately, balancing the fine line between this expected, contradictory code of conduct. Finally, we led the line of Germans, but it took just shy of 30 seconds for our dreams to plummet – the exhibition tickets were sold out for the next three weeks. We turned to one another and made an accusatory statement in the form of a joke, as we always would with any minor inconvenience, and facetiously said “that felt antisemitic.”
Feeling dejected, we tried to glance around the museum to peek at the art on display. The sculpture by the restroom enticed us to try again. After some light begging, namely in the form of weaponizing our limited stay in the glorious city of Berlin, we were miraculously allotted the 3 p.m. time slot on August 11th. Who would have thought the entry process to the museum would be a major component of my experience at the Boros Collection.
August 11th 3pm:
August 11th came around we walked in projecting only the “act like you’re too good to be here” attitude, knowing we had our tickets secured. As we approached 3 pm, our tour group slowly congregated in a waiting room. The tour guide offered water, tea, coffee, and champagne before our tour began. It resembled the experience of shopping at a luxury establishment, as a reward for being in attendance and showing interest. There was a prefatory announcement informing our intimate tour group of the museum rules: we must always stay with the group, we couldn’t carry large bags, and we were not allowed to take pictures or videos of the art.
My head was still wrapping around the fact that I, as a Gen Zer, wouldn’t be able to capture the experience on my beloved digital device; whenever I visit a museum, I make sure to take photos because they act as an archive for my memories. The photos allow me to reflect on the works and narratives I find most engaging. My game plan for the Boros Collection called for due realignment. As the project would necessitate some kind of notetaking or at least discrete reference to the work on exhibition – I struggled to prepare myself for the tour. Mental notes compensated for the lack of visual proof or reference and somehow made the experience all the more visceral. Taking notes on my phone propagated a sense of urgency; I wrote how the work made me feel, not what it looked like. I was certain I would never see into the museum again, but the tour rules couldn’t deprive me of the ways the work and space impacted me.
August 11th 3:15pm:
We had no prior knowledge of the space - comically sticking true to our reputations as Americans. As we walked into the museum, the tour guide commented on the apparent brute nature of the building and told us its origin story: the space first acted as an air-raid shelter/Nazi bunker during the war. Our prior joke on experiencing antisemitism didn’t feel too far off. He then starkly transitioned to the work on display, which was done by Eliza Douglas. The work was a speaker hanging by a chain that played sounds throughout the museum hourly. We were told we’d hear it sometime throughout our time there. The following piece was by Anne Imhof, a performance artist who formerly mentored Eliza Douglas. Her work was titled “sex” and was an elevated bed with a ladder that served the function of representing dysfunctionality in sex, specifically in sex clubs. Do you make contact? Can you interject? What does this have to do with a Nazi Bunker? I’m not quite sure.
The collection of art is dispersed among four floors with each showcasing a versatile array of artists and their work. We finished touring the first floor and walked up the narrow staircase to the second level. The tour guide then explained that the space had a history beyond being an abandoned bunker. The building also had a dark history of acting as a prison center for the Red Army. Another stark transition led us into a room with an Anna Uddenberg statue in the form of a bent-over biker lady holding a selfie stick. This was just one of the many post-modernist works on display. There was a multitude of emotions that were experienced after these two floors, the primary being confusion.
On our way up to the third floor, my best friend turned to me and said, “ I can’t believe we’re here; I’ve never experienced anything like this.” I thought to myself, “I haven’t even had the time to process what we’ve just seen.” Just after, the tour guide pointed to a window by the stairs and emphasized the width of the concrete. He explained that it made for the perfect environment to store exotic tropical fruit from Cuba, leading it to gain the temporary title of “Banana Bunker” - it was certainly a refreshing narrative. As we explored the third floor, we came across a room with a collection of paintings by Wilhelm Sasnal that I confused with Salman Toor because of their shared vibrant green pallet. No one noticed my error, allowing me to continue pretending to have familiarity with the work I’d never seen before. I would attribute my lack of honesty to the desire to have similar taste in art as the prestigious Boros collectors.
Another tidbit of history was given to us as we exited the third floor: the museum space was also the hardest techno club in the world due to its fetish and fantasy parties in the 90s. The founder of this club founded Berghain once the former club was shut down. To create the image of the chaotic conditions of the club, the tour guide told us to imagine the steps being bordered with tea candles, which indicated when the club needed to be evacuated. Since the venue was heavily insulated, a densely packed space would result in the absence of oxygen flow, causing the candles to blow out. The tour guide then led us up the stairs to a display of motorized sculptures that raised awareness for movement in children with disabilities. I remember thinking that was one of the more off-putting transitions. Following this display was a pool of coca-cola ash created by He Xiangyu. I was fascinated by the way he was able to transform an American commodified product into art, almost resembling Warhol through a different mode of creation. After an hour and a half, we never heard the sound from Douglas’ work. And with that, the tour ended and we headed back to the first floor.
August 11th 4:45pm:
There were other unmentioned works, but for time’s sake, you can try to conceptualize them independently. Imagine the most avant-garde art conveying the most pressing social critiques and with that, you could create the museum for yourself. Quite frankly, I don’t remember all of the art- we were left in a state of shock trying to process the amalgamation of emotions elicited. However, I vividly remember thinking the experience would forever be inimitable. My best friend articulated her primary emotion as “jittery with adoration.” Every sentence contributed to the beautiful storytelling of the museum space and the works within it. The stark contrast between the works and the history of the space prompted a glorious mystification that had us “jittery” for more. Thank you friend of a friend of a friend for one of the most unique moments with my friend
.