It was all over old central imperial Vienna. Posters and banners were everywhere, subtly screaming to two of art history’s superstars. Claude Monet and Pablo Picasso, acclaimed giants of modern painting, standing side by side in an exhibition at the prestigious Albertina Museum. How could one ever resist? To be in Vienna, with its cathedrals and palaces, museums and monuments, and to be tastefully right in the face by such iconic names at every turn, was nothing short of irresistible!

Our hotel was close by — walking distance, only two blocks away. No matter which way we would go for a paseo, we came across another “Hear ye, hear ye!” for Monet and Picasso. We were in the perfect location for its advertising and promotional blitz.

One day, we decided to accomplish a mission. The destination: The Albertina. Its name, we soon found out, was a combination of Albert Casimir, Duke of Teschen (1738-1822) and wife Maria Christina (1742-1798). Inside, the galleries unfurled into animated loudest whispers of such contrasting styles: Monet’s impressionist foray, and Picasso’s surrealist approach.

Here are some of the paintings which enraptured me.

Born in Paris but raised in Le Havre, Oscar-Claude Monet the man was a restless spirit, never content to paint things as they were, but as they appeared in light and atmosphere. As an artist, the Frenchman somehow pursued not the subject itself, but the impression it left in the eye. Critics once dismissed his canvases as unfinished sketches, yet time proved him the pioneer, the visionary.

In View of Vétheuil (1881), we saw his earlier formidable mastery of landscape, the quaint village nestled on the banks of the River Seine. The tones were brighter, clearer, almost celebratory of nature’s constancy. The painting somehow spoke of home and continuity, even contrary to Monet’s own life – filled with constant moves, exploratory experiments, and painful financial struggles.

The Village of La Roche-Blond (Sunset), painted in 1889, captured that magical instant when daylight turns into dusk. The houses and hills seemed to shimmer and glisten, as if the air itself shivered and quivered. Monet gave us not the exactness of architecture, but the warmth of the last enduring light, the short-lived glow which mysteriously lingers just before night falls.

The Water Lily Pond (1917–1919) was quintessential Monet, the culmination of decades lovingly spent adoring his garden in Giverny. Here, water and sky beautifully blended, and we no longer knew where one began and the other ended! The lilies floated, serene and unhurried, a meditation on perception itself.

By 1925, in House Among the Roses, Monet had turned toward bolder colors and broader gestures. The flowers tumbled across the canvas in riotous pinks and reds, which totally enveloped the modest house in abundance. It was a late work that revealed his persistence, even as cataracts clouded his vision. Inspired by his own feelings, he persisted to paint with vigor.

Then came Pablo Picasso, the man, born in Málaga, trained in Barcelona, matured in Paris. A prodigy whose first word was said to be piz — short for lápiz, “pencil” in Spanish — he never stopped drawing, reinventing himself with each passing decade. As an artist, he obsessed over form, stripping it down, breaking it apart, then triumphantly reinventing it with a new truth.

The Playing Cards (1912) was pure Cubism, planes intersecting, perspectives shifting. The familiar pastime of playing cards was reimagined as shards of geometry, forcing the viewer to see not the act, but the idea of it. Stunned and perplexed, I moved on.

In Woman, Sculpture, and Vase with Flowers (1929), Picasso brought together human figure, art object, and still life. The lines fractured, the curves exaggerated, the composition unsettling yet magnetic. He seemed to ask: what is real, the person, the sculpture, or the depiction of flowers? 

With Mediterranean Landscape (1952), Picasso returned to bright colors, simplified forms, and a sense of place. Houses, trees, hills, and sea were reduced to bold patches. However, the warmth of the Mediterranean radiated unmistakably. It was childlike in appearance, and deeply rooted in his playful memory of the Côte d’Azur.

Finally, Nude Woman with Bird and Flute Player (1967) revealed the exuberance of his late years. The form was voluptuous, the bird a whimsical companion, the flute a reminder of music and bliss. At age nearly ninety, Picasso still painted with energy, unafraid of distortion, reveling in invention.

Some of these paintings I had glimpsed before, in various European capital cities. Seeing them again, in Vienna, brought back memories — the thrill of recognition, the joy of reconnecting while on tour. And then there were those I encountered for the first time, unexpected discoveries — but that’s another story for another time.

¡Bravo, Monet! ¡Bravo, Picasso! ¡Enhorabuena, The Albertina!