I have to have a more ordinary gallery to go to than Mies' temple of doom. This is it; the Berlinische Gallerie Fur Moderne Kunst. In Mies, I sit in the cafe/bar, I pour scorn, I pay my respects to the dead, but here, in this lovely little contemporary German thing (with furniture to cafe unfathomable as below) which concentrates on what we might call modern, with a fabulous collection of Prouns and other nonsense, Nuam Gabo by the crateful, and drawings of the Wiemar period to make you cock your head and go 'Ooooo!' plus grumpy fat waiters who hardly give a toss and matronly sexy girls selling you tickets, it qualifies as a real find. It is the only gallery I can stay in for more than an hour without the cramps.
OK it still shows a lot of crap too, it has to, twenty truck tires piled/suspended whatever by a tosser, but somehow it doesn't matter when you can mince with a Moholy Nagy, admit you are rather captured by Lissitzky and just love that Hannah Hoch (infact almost buy a facsimile of her 1933 'Album' in my case, until I got some sense in to me in that slightly strange cafe).
It's a good place, surrounded by IBA architecture, which doesn't look too bad either when you think of England's appalling record of....er...Heseltine's garden festivals of the equivalent period.
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