By Mattea Gernentz

On Saturday, September 12th, the doors to the City Art Centre in Edinburgh were opened to the public once more. This made the museum one of the first institutions in the city to reopen since closing due to COVID-19 while many, such as Modern Two, The Writers’ Museum, and the Scottish National Portrait Gallery, remain closed for the foreseeable future due to the continued presence of the pandemic.

My friend and I quickened our pace towards the entrance of the City Art Centre as, rather characteristically, a sudden bout of rain began to fall in Edinburgh. Met by an attendant, we confirmed our booked time slot and continued upstairs where the first of the two current exhibitions began: City Art Centre at 40: Highlights from the City’s Art Collection. This exhibition has been curated to reflect how far the institution has come since its opening in August of 1980 and to showcase the City of Edinburgh’s renowned collection of Scottish artworks, including pieces by The Scottish Colourists.

I was immediately captivated by the geometric elegance of Wilhelmina Barns-Graham’s “Rocks, St Mary’s, Scilly Isles” and its neighboring paintings, George Henry’s “Poppies” (1891) and James Cadenhead’s “Lady with a Japanese Screen and Goldfish” (1886)—all united by pronounced texture and vibrant shades of gold.

Across the way, an intricate depiction of Tristan and Isolde by John Duncan shone, and “The Flight of the Swallows” (1906) by John Henry Lorimer, as my friend pointed out, was reminiscent of J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan in its contemplation of childhood and the loss of innocence. Within it, a group of girls in pale gauzy gowns cluster around a window as swallows take wing to migrate; one of the young girls hunches alongside, her face in her hands, crying.

Downstairs, Bright Shadows: Scottish Art in the 1920s proved to be a delightful trip back into the past, revealing an age brimming with decadence and spunk, albeit with undertones of great sorrow and residual trauma following World War I. The spirit of this era, captured so well in the gallery space, creates a fascinating lens through which to ponder our own current mélange of experiences and emotions in the 2020s—roughly a century later.

I couldn’t help but linger in front of a wall covered in paintings of women by Dorothy Johnstone, including “Rest Time in the Life Class” (1923). These scenes captured on canvas brimmed with vitality, brilliantly showcasing the duality of women at work and at rest within a time of burgeoning freedoms.

However, what struck me most was the mere reality of being back in a gallery and physically near the art itself. So, it was no surprise that, on a visit such as this, I was unavoidably confronted by a series of internal questions: What is the value of an art museum in a pandemic? Why is reopening so essential when a slew of new digital means are being offered to make art more accessible? Does being in the room truly matter? Is art appreciation muddled by masks? Is the viewing of art no longer communal?

I can only begin to answer such queries from my own limited experience, but, for me, reentering a museum was a welcome embrace of normalcy after over six months of tumultuous uncertainty and isolation. Through art, we are gently reminded of what others have borne and endured. We can glimpse how means of creativity can transform pain into ecstatic beauty, and, most powerfully, we are reminded that we are not alone.

From my perspective, being in the space did matter. In our culture of hurry, precious moments of stillness can be few and far between, and I found I was able to focus far more intently on the stories being shared through the visual arts in-person rather than by squinting at a screen. The quiet of the gallery encouraged prolonged reflection and thought, inviting me, and any other curious visitor, to slow down and stay a while.

There is a mutuality in experiencing art in person, something you can only earn by showing up; whether entering an exhibition bursting with enthusiasm or downtrodden after a hard day, art is able to meet you there, uncannily reflecting your lived experience or perhaps even enabling you to transcend it. Though today’s museumgoers may be two meters apart and shrouded in masks, there is still something profoundly comforting in being surrounded by others that are seeking. This strong communal desire and resulting appreciation remind us that, even in these strange times, art will always be present to comfort, challenge, and change us.