We had the absolutely best weather day to visit the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art; the sun was shining, the cool wind was blowing, and the Øresund was sparkling like it was auditioning for a tourism commercial. Our group arrived 90 minutes ahead of our scheduled tour–long enough for some folks to eat at the swanky museum café, while I decided to traverse the unique landscape of the museum grounds.
My journey began at a sign that basically screamed, “Access the George Trakas installation at your own risk!” Naturally, I took that as a personal invitation. So off I clambered down what I’ll generously call a “path”--a jumble of rocks and uneven steps–toward a wooden platform that jutted out to the sea. The display served not only as an interesting use of wood and metal, but as a functional overlook, providing vast views of the water. I would later hear the term, “Nordic Functionalism” on our tour and realize that Trakas’ balance of danger, utility, and beachfront vibes was exactly what they were going for. Who knew that almost spraining your ankle could be so…intentional?
I tried to power-walk through every corner of the sculpture garden before our official start time, but the grounds were vast and my time was limited. I spent my remaining time wandering in and out of buildings, noting not just the immense collection of art, but the beautiful mature trees and the blurred barriers between inside and outside. There are no hard lines between indoors and outdoors; it’s like Modern Art & Mother Nature had a baby. I was struck by how many different activities were happening: People were picnicking, hiking, swimming, lounging, pondering sculptures—basically, it was a cultural festival disguised as a museum. It felt less like visiting a traditional institution and more like stumbling into a curated utopia. The Louisiana is not your average museum.
When it was time for the tour, we met our wonderful guide, Hella, who has spent the last 20 years at the Louisiana. She was with us for an hour to explain the history of the site, the meaning behind all of the beautiful pieces, and answer our many queries. I feel guilty writing this travel piece, knowing that Hella gave me a hell-of-a leg up.
The estate was originally built in 1855 by Alexander Brun, who married three different women—all named Louise. Which sounds suspiciously like a rom-com setup, but apparently it’s true. He named the property "Louisiana," and Knud Jensen thought, “Sure, let’s keep it. That won’t confuse anyone.”
As it turns out, I had done exactly as Mr. Jensen had intended when I explored the space on my own. Jensen, Bo, and Wohlert intended to create an asymmetrical museum, allowing visitors to stay curious and explore around every corner. Hella said, “human beings find their own way of working in the environment; the more individual, the better.” I take that to mean that regardless of your approach or itinerary, the Louisiana is intended to be a “choose your own adventure” kind of space. More of that sly Nordic Functionalism, I suppose.
At this point in our CIDRE adventure, we’ve seen castles, palaces, & museums–oh my! I was worried that folks would have museum fatigue,so I added a little spice to our visit by asking everyone to “pose like a sculpture.” I got follow-up questions like, “Do you mean mimic a statue?” and “What kind of sculpture?”—which, unknowingly, played right into the whole Louisiana ethos. Vague prompts? Loose guidelines? Abstract interpretation? All very on-brand!
Despite my attempt at interactivity, it turns out the Louisiana didn’t need any help being engaging. It was already stunning, smart, serene, and slightly smug in that lovable Scandinavian way.
Cheers to another week of adventure—and to museums that let you picnic, peruse, and ponder in peace.
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