Lifestyle
'Like it or not, we live in Oppenheimer's world,' says director Christopher Nolan
TONYA MOSLEY, HOST:
This is FRESH AIR. I’m Tonya Mosley. Today we begin our countdown to the Oscars with our very own “Oppenheimer” “Barbie” double feature. Let’s start with “Oppenheimer,” which is nominated for 13 Academy Awards, including best picture, director, actor, supporting actor and actress, adapted screenplay, original score and more. The film is also nominated for a Grammy, which takes place this Sunday for best score or soundtrack.
“Oppenheimer” is about J. Robert Oppenheimer, the man known as the father of the atom bomb. He was a theoretical physicist and directed Los Alamos, the secret project in New Mexico where researchers created, designed and tested the first atomic bomb, which was intended to end World War II. By the time it was tested, Germany had surrendered but Japan had not. In 1945, the U.S. dropped atomic bombs on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. That ended the war, but it’s estimated that as many as 200,000 people were killed. After the war, Oppenheimer became an advocate of arms control and opposed military plans for massive strategic bombing with nuclear weapons, which he considered genocidal. He also opposed the creation of the even deadlier hydrogen bomb.
In 1954, during the height of the anti-communist era, Oppenheimer was accused of being a risk to national security because of his alleged ties to the Communist Party. He protested at a hearing which resulted in him being stripped of his security clearance. Nearly 70 years later, in December of 2022, Energy Secretary Jennifer Granholm revoked that decision. Terry interviewed “Oppenheimer” writer and director Christopher Nolan last August. Nolan is also known for his World War II film “Dunkirk,” as well as “Tenet,” the “Batman” trilogy, “Inception,” “Insomnia” and “Memento.”
Let’s start with a clip from “Oppenheimer” speaking with Leslie Groves, the general who headed the Manhattan Project, which Los Alamos was part of. Groves asks Oppenheimer about the possibility that the atom bomb test could set off a chain reaction that would set fire to the atmosphere and destroy Earth, a possibility he’d heard one of the top nuclear physicist Enrico Fermi refer to. Oppenheimer is played by Cillian Murphy and Groves by Matt Damon. Groves speaks first.
(SOUNDBITE OF FILM, “OPPENHEIMER”)
MATT DAMON: (As Leslie Groves) What did Fermi mean by atmospheric ignition?
CILLIAN MURPHY: (As J. Robert Oppenheimer) Well, he had a moment where it looked like the chain reaction from an atomic device might never stop setting fire to the atmosphere.
DAMON: (As Leslie Groves) And why’s Fermi still taking side bets on it?
MURPHY: (As J. Robert Oppenheimer) Call it gallows humor.
DAMON: (As Leslie Groves) Are we saying there’s a chance that when we push that button, we destroy the world?
MURPHY: (As J. Robert Oppenheimer) Nothing in our research for over three years supports that conclusion. Except it’s the most remote possibility.
DAMON: (As Leslie Groves) How remote?
MURPHY: (As J. Robert Oppenheimer) Chances are near zero.
DAMON: (As Leslie Groves) Near zero.
MURPHY: (As J. Robert Oppenheimer) What do you want from theory alone?
DAMON: (As Leslie Groves) Zero would be nice.
(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED NPR BROADCAST)
TERRY GROSS: OK. That’s a scene from “Oppenheimer,” and my guest is the writer and director of the film, Christopher Nolan.
Christopher Nolan, welcome back to FRESH AIR. It’s a pleasure to have you back on the show.
CHRISTOPHER NOLAN: Thank you.
GROSS: That’s such a frightening idea. And I know that the scientists were really convinced that there wasn’t going to be this atmospheric ignition where the whole atmosphere would catch on fire and destroy Earth. But you’re not – I guess you never really know, based on theoretical physics, what’s going to happen when you blow up an atom bomb. So what was it like for you to think about that as you were making the movie?
NOLAN: I think for me, that knowledge that – leading up to the Trinity test, the leading scientists led by Oppenheimer, they could not completely eliminate the possibility of this chain reaction. That was one of the things that really got me interested in Oppenheimer’s story and making a film from it, because it’s simply the most high-stakes, dramatic situation that you could conceive of. It beats anything in fiction. I’d actually put a reference to it in my previous film, “Tenet,” in dialogue. I used it as analogy for the science fiction situation at the heart of that film. But we referred to that moment.
And then after finishing that film, it was actually one of the stars of “Tenet,” Rob Pattinson, he gave me a book of Oppenheimer’s speeches – post-World War II speeches in which you see him trying to reckon with, and you’re reading about the great minds of the time trying to reckon with the consequences of this thing that they’ve unleashed on the world. But that initial notion, that fact that I learned of that they couldn’t, using theory alone, completely eliminate the possibility of global destruction based on triggering the first atomic test, I just wanted to be in that room. I wanted to take the audience into that room for the moment where they would push that button.
GROSS: So much work went into making the first atom bomb, and so many theoretical physicists were involved, all the calculations, and then you have the reality of it exploding. So the bomb worked. All their work paid off. It was a success. And in the film, all the scientists are gathered and they’re applauding. That’s before it was actually used for real. Knowing what you know now, how did it feel to watch their enthusiasm, their applause, to film that?
NOLAN: It felt very exciting. I felt lost in the excitement of it. And that was really the idea. I mean, at the heart of the film, there’s a pivot, and it’s really the pivot between the successful Trinity test and then the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the actual use of the weapon. And so, for me, the focus of the film, it needed to be this build towards the most incredible excitement and tension around that test, whether or not they could pull off this extraordinary feat that they had been drawn into trying to accomplish, based on this desperate race against the Nazis, to be the first power to harness control or power of atomic weapons. And, you know, the Germans had split the atom. The Nazis had the best physicists or some of the best physicists in the world at their disposal, and they were trying as hard as they could to make the first atomic bomb. And so Oppenheimer and his fellow scientists, who were called upon by their country, they had no choice.
And there’s this moment, of course, where they’re pushing for years, spending billions of dollars. They’ve built this whole community out in the middle of nowhere devoted to this one thing of making this chain reaction happen, making this atomic blast work. And it all boils down to that moment of the Trinity test. And they pull it off, and there’s such joy and excitement around that. And I wanted the audience to be caught up in that. I wanted to be caught up in that. But then, you know, you come to film the scenes where we’re looking from Oppenheimer’s point of view. We’re experiencing the news of the bombings coming through, unbelievably awful and changed the world forever. Whether we like it or not, we live in Oppenheimer’s world, and we always will.
GROSS: What’s your approach to biopics? Like, what liberties to take and what to be faithful to?
NOLAN: Well, in a funny sort of way, my approach is to not even acknowledge biopic as a genre. In other words, if something works, like “Lawrence For Arabia,” for example, you don’t think of it as a biopic. You think of it as a great adventure story, even though obviously it’s telling the story of somebody’s life – or “Citizen Kane” or, you know, of these great films – I mean, obviously, there’s fiction.
But for me, I had the benefit of this extraordinary book, “American Prometheus,” that was written – you know, Martin Sherwin, who first started writing it, he spent 25 years researching Oppenheimer’s story and speaking to everybody who knew him and, you know, all the rest. So by the time he and Kai Bird finished, they put the book out, it won the Pulitzer Prize, you know, I had this extraordinary sort of Bible to work from. And so for me, it was really a process of saying – OK, what’s the exciting story that develops, the cinematic story that develops from a reading of it, from several readings of it? – and then started to develop a structure for how I might be able to put the audience into Oppenheimer’s head.
GROSS: When you’re not working, do you live in your head a lot? And does your head become a kind of dark place (laughter) where negative thoughts consume you?
NOLAN: (Laughter) No. I mean, I certainly live in my head a lot. It’s how I work. You know, I think “Oppenheimer,” of all the films I’ve worked on, it’s the one that I actually find the most disturbing and the most under my skin. And I was quite glad to be finished making it, to be quite frank, and it’s because I try to approach it from his point of view and try to find genuine positivity in his story, in his relationships, in the things that he was able to achieve and the ways in which he was able to defend himself. Otherwise, his friends would stand up for him and all the rest.
But there is no getting around the undeniable darkness of his situation, his story and how it has affected the world. And, you know, movies are a sort of collective dream. There’s a sense in which “Oppenheimer” is a collective nightmare. And there’s something about telling that and getting it out in the world that stops it being, you know, my own personal thing. That helps.
GROSS: Well, let me reintroduce you here. If you’re just joining us, my guest is Christopher Nolan, and he wrote and directed the new film “Oppenheimer.” He also made the films “Dunkirk,” “Tenet,” the Batman trilogy, “Inception,” “Insomnia” and “Memento.” We’ll be right back after a short break. This is FRESH AIR.
(SOUNDBITE OF LUDWIG GORANSSON’S “CAN YOU HEAR THE MUSIC”)
GROSS: This is FRESH AIR. Let’s get back to my interview with Christopher Nolan. He wrote and directed the new film “Oppenheimer,” about the man who was called the father of the atom bomb. He also made the films “Dunkirk,” “Tenet,” the Batman trilogy, “Inception,” “Insomnia” and “Memento.”
So I want to ask you about dreams. You know, you edit some of your films out of chronological sequence, and I think dreams are that way, too. Like, dreams often don’t make any sense at all. You have to kind of look for the meaning within them and interpret them. But they don’t make chronological sense, you just kind of hop from one scene to another that may or may not be related. Do you think that your dream life has influenced your editing life at all?
NOLAN: (Laughter).
GROSS: And one of your – I mean, “Inception” is literally about dreams. It’s about, like, stealing dreams and implanting information in someone’s mind through dreams, like, tapping into other people’s dreams.
NOLAN: Well, it’s also about what you just described, it’s about the time scale of dreams. You know, “Inception” is very much about how you can have a much longer – a feeling of a much longer period of your life in a very short space of time in a dream. So, yeah, that film in particular really drilled down on my relationship with my dream life and the relationship between dreams and reality. But I think cinema in general for me is very influenced by its relationship with dreams. There is a very real sense in which movies are sort of shared dream worlds or shared kind of dream consciousness. They have an interesting effect on the brain.
You know, when you see a film, it’s often quite – it’s quite interesting to talk to people who’ve seen a film about the time span of the film they saw, not the literal time they were sitting there in the cinema, but what time slice it represents of the characters’ lives, for example. And that’s a very complicated aspect of how movies get into our brains and how we look at them and how we sort of judge them.
GROSS: So in “Inception,” your movie about dreams, Leonardo DiCaprio says, we never remember the beginning of a dream. Is that true? I mean, it’s a question I’ve never asked myself.
NOLAN: (Laughter).
GROSS: I don’t know if I remember the beginning of my dreams because I’m lucky if I remember my dreams, and when I do, it’s usually I remember the mood. I remember a few frames of the dream.
NOLAN: (Laughter).
GROSS: I don’t really remember the chronology very well and I have no idea where it started. So what made you think of that?
NOLAN: I wrote “Inception,” you know, very much from my own impression of the way I dream and sort of dream rules, and I sort of trusted that there’d be enough people in the audience that roughly corresponded with the way that I dream that it wouldn’t be, you know, overly controversial. I remember many years ago seeing a film, I think it was – it must be – I think it was George Burns, I think it was “Oh, God!” There’s a moment where somebody says, well, you know – they say, am I dreaming? And they say, well, is it in color, you know? They say, yeah, and it’s like, OK, well, you know it’s not a dream because you only dream in black-and-white. And I remember as a kid thinking, well, I don’t dream in black-and-white. That’s weird.
But this is the danger. You know, when you write about memory – you know, when I was doing “Memento,” for example – you know, it is a very personal thing and everybody’s brain is a little different. The way we process the world is a little different. I know that I, as an audience member, I respond to a consistent rule set, if you like. So as long as the film is telling me up front that, OK, this is how we see the world, this is the world of the film you’re watching, as long as they’re sort of true to that in the telling of the story, then I’m OK with it.
GROSS: You know, that whole question of, like, oh, we only dream in black-and-white, people used to ask each other that – do you dream in black-and-white or in color? And do you think that was because our only understanding in that time of what imagery looked like in representation outside of paintings was film and TV, which were in black-and-white?
NOLAN: I think that’s…
GROSS: And photographs.
NOLAN: Yeah. No, I think you’ve hit the nail on the head, actually. And I think it relates to the earlier answer of the relationship between, you know, our view of dreams and our view of motion pictures.
GROSS: Yeah.
NOLAN: The way in which you remember movies is very similar to the way in which you remember dreams. And every now and again, you see a film that taps that in a way. You know, I think “Memento,” for a lot of people, sort of bled off the page, if you like, or off the strip of film running through the projector and built a bigger world in people’s minds. I think the films of David Lynch have always done that incredibly well over the years. They have a dream logic that quite often use – I remember seeing “Lost Highway,” for example, and not really understanding the film at all. And then a couple of weeks later, remembering the film the way I would remember one of my own dreams, and that suddenly felt like a sort of remarkable feat that Lynch had achieved in terms of mapping a dream into the space of a motion picture, and vice versa.
GROSS: Seen on an IMAX, and a lot of people will not have the opportunity of seeing it that way. But I think some people are puzzled, like, why shoot a movie that’s largely people talking to each other and people thinking and people being anguished over the possibilities of the bomb? Why shoot that in IMAX, which is usually reserved for films that have incredible landscapes or that have incredible, fantastical cinematography?
NOLAN: Well, I’ve used IMAX for years, and going into “Oppenheimer,” talking to Hoyte, my DP, we knew that it would give us, with its high resolution, its sort of extraordinary analog color, sharpness, all of these things, the big screens that you projected on, we knew it would give us the landscapes of New Mexico, that it would give us the Trinity test, which we felt had to be a showstopper. But we actually got really excited about the idea of the human face, you know, how can it help us jump into Oppenheimer’s head? The story is told subjectively. I even wrote the script in the first person. You know, I this, I that. We were looking for the visual equivalent of that. And so taking those high resolution IMAX cameras and, you know, really just trying to be there for the intimate moments of the story in a way that we felt we hadn’t really seen people do before with that format, that was, you know, a source of particular excitement for us.
GROSS: Does it pain you to think that probably a lot of people will end up watching “Oppenheimer” on their phones or on little tablets?
NOLAN: No, not at all. I actually, you know, I’m one of the first generations of filmmakers who grew up with home video. So, you know, my family got its first VHS player when I was about 11 years old. And so I’ve sort of come of age in a world of film where more people are always going to see your film in the home, that’s always been the case. But the thing about the way film distribution works is if you make a film for the biggest possible screen and you put it out there in the biggest possible way, firstly, the technical quality of the image carries through to all the subsequent versions of the film that you then master.
GROSS: I’m interested in your relationship to technology. I mean, you’re using state-of-the-art technology, you know, 70 millimeter for IMAX. At the same time, I’ve read that you don’t have real, like, tech cellphone. I think you have, like, a flip phone, maybe. And I think there’s other, like, tech things like email, maybe, that you don’t use. And so it strikes me as kind of strange that you’d use such, like, state-of-the-art, you know, cinematography, but, you know, reject things like a cellphone. At the same time, I know that there’s – like, CGI. You don’t like to use CGI ’cause it looks fake to you. So, like, where do you draw the line with technology?
NOLAN: Technology is whatever the tools are available to us. So I shoot my films on celluloid film, preferably IMAX celluloid film, because it’s the best analogy for the way the eye sees the world, so it gives you the highest possible quality. For me, it’s about using the best tool for the job. So, for example, you know, sometimes I get asked whether I still, you know, edit on film. And I’ve never edited on a film. I’ve always edited it on the computer ’cause it’s the only practical way to do it. But then when we finish the creative process of editing, we cut the film up, we cut the negative up, we glue it together, we print from there, and that’s the finishing process. So for me, you know, the approach to technology is always about how can it help you? How can it help you do something better?
And I’ve always liked not having a smartphone in my pocket because it just sort of means when you get those pockets of time, you know, when you turn up early for a meeting, you’re waiting for somebody or whatever, you spend a bit more time thinking and just, you know, I suppose using your imagination, in a way. And for me, with the amount of work that I try to do and figuring out what the next project is or advancing different things in my mind, having those pockets of time is actually pretty valuable. I’ve also got a terribly addictive personality, and I think if I had a smartphone, I’d spend the whole time, you know, just on it and, you know, absorbed in it the way I see a lot of people absorbed in it. So it’s something I never started doing. And now it feels a bit of a superpower that I don’t have one. So I’m going to try and maintain my allegiance to the dumb phone or the flip phone.
GROSS: Thank you so much for coming back to our show.
NOLAN: Sure. Thank you for having me.
MOSLEY: Christopher Nolan wrote and directed the film “Oppenheimer,” which is nominated for 13 Oscars and a Grammy for the score. The Grammys take place on Sunday. After we take a short break, my interview with Mark Ronson, the co-executive producer of the “Barbie” score and soundtrack. I’m Tonya Mosley, and this is FRESH AIR.
(SOUNDBITE OF LUDWIG GORANSSON’S “OPPENHEIMER”)
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Lifestyle
Sunday Puzzle: P-A-R-T-Y words and names
On-air challenge
Today I’ve brought a game of ‘Categories’ based on the word “party.” For each category I give, you tell me something in it starting with each of the letters, P-A-R-T-Y. For example, if the category were “Four-Letter Boys’ Names” you might say Paul, Adam, Ross, Tony, and Yuri. Any answer that works is OK, and you can give answers in any order.
1. Colors
2. Major League Baseball Teams
3. Foreign Rivers
4. Foods for a Thanksgiving Meal
Last week’s challenge
I was at a library. On the shelf was a volume whose spine said “OUT TO SEA.” When I opened the volume, I found the contents has nothing to do with sailing or the sea in any sense. It wasn’t a book of fiction either. What was in the volume?
Challenge answer
It was a volume of an encyclopedia with entries from OUT- to SEA-.
Winner
Mark Karp of Marlboro Township, N.J.
This week’s challenge
This week’s challenge comes from Joseph Young, of St. Cloud, Minn. Think of a two-syllable word in four letters. Add two letters in front and one letter behind to make a one-syllable word in seven letters. What words are these?
If you know the answer to the challenge, submit it below by Wednesday, December 31 at 3 p.m. ET. Listeners whose answers are selected win a chance to play the on-air puzzle.
Lifestyle
L.A. Affairs: We were just newlyweds when an emergency room visit tested our vows
“I’m his wife,” I said to the on-call doctor, asserting my place in the cramped exam room. It was a label I’d only recently acquired. A year ago, it had seemed silly to obtain government proof of what we’d known to be true for six years: We were life partners. Now I was so grateful we signed that piece of paper.
Earlier that morning, I’d driven my husband to an ER in Torrance for what we’d assumed was a nasty flu or its annoying bacterial equivalent. We’d imagined a round of industrial-grade antibiotics, and then heading home in time for our 3-year-old’s usual bath-time routine.
But the doctor’s face was serious. Machines beeped and whirred as my husband laid on the hospital bed. Whatever supernatural power colloquially known as a “gut feeling” flat-lined in my stomach.
“It’s leukemia,” she said, putting a clinical end to what had been our honeymoon period.
Only six months earlier, a female Elvis impersonator had declared us husband and wife. A burlesque dancer pressed her cleavage into both of our faces as our friends cheered and threw dollar bills. A wedding in Vegas was my idea.
After two years of dating Marty, a cute roller hockey player with an unwavering moral compass, I knew I wanted to have a child with him. It was marriage, not commitment, that unnerved me. I wanted romance, freedom and to do things my way. The word “wife” induced an allergic reaction.
As Marty and I became parents and navigated adulthood together, my resistance to matrimony started to feel like an outdated quirk. The emotional equivalent of a person still rocking a septum piercing long after they stopped listening to punk music.
Marty had shown me, over and over, what it was to be a teammate. He’d rubbed my back through hours of labor, made late-night runs for infant Tylenol and was never afraid to cry at the sad parts of movies or take the occasional harsh piece of feedback about his communication style. And like all good teams, we kicked ass together. So why was I still resisting something that meant so much to him? To our family?
One random Saturday, at the Hawthorne In-N-Out Burger, after Marty ordered fries as a treat for our son, I finally said, “Screw it. Let’s get married.”
The wedding day was raucous and covered in glitter. We both wore white. Our son’s jacket had a roaring tiger stitched onto the back and was layered over his toddler-size tuxedo T-shirt. Loved ones from all over the country flew to meet us in a tiny pink chapel. A neon heart buzzed over our heads as we vowed to “love each other in sickness and in health, till death do us part.”
I couldn’t have imagined then that the next chapel I’d be in would be the hospital prayer room. Or that I would have begged a God I struggle to believe in to please spare Marty’s life.
Unlike our decision to marry, acute leukemia came on suddenly. Over the course of a few weeks, Marty’s bone marrow had flooded his blood with malignant cells. Treatment was urgent. He was taken by ambulance from the ER to the City of Hope hospital in Duarte, a part of Los Angeles County we’d never had a reason to visit before.
Traditionally the 50th wedding anniversary is celebrated with gold, the 25th with silver and the first with paper. But we couldn’t even afford to look paper-far-ahead anymore. Instead, we celebrated that the specific genetic modifiers of Marty’s cancer were treatable, the good chemo days and his being able to walk to the hospital lobby to see our son for the first time in weeks.
Leukemia has taught me things such as: how to inject antifungal medication into the open PICC (peripherally inserted central catheter) line in Marty’s veins, how to explain to our son that “Papa will be sleeping with the doctors for a long while so they can help him feel better” and that to do the hibbity-dibbity with a person going through chemo, you must wear a condom. But mostly my husband’s sickness has taught me about healthy love.
When we had a child together, we’d committed to being in each other’s lives forever. But marriage was different. We’d already made a promise to our son, but when we got married, we made one to each other and ourselves. We had gone all in.
Since his diagnosis two months ago, there have been so many ways we’ve shown love for each other. People assume that I would do all the caregiving, but it’s more than that. Yes, I’ve washed my husband’s feet when he couldn’t bend down, been the only parent at preschool dropoff and pickup, and advocated on Marty’s behalf to his health insurance with only a few choice expletives.
But my husband has also taken care of me. Even when he was nauseous, sweating and fatigued, Marty showed up. He made me laugh with macabre jokes about how the only way for us to watch anything other than “PAW Patrol” on TV together was for him to get hospitalized. He insisted that I make time to rest and bring him the car owner’s manual, so he could figure out why the check engine light had come on.
We’d promised in front of our closest friends and Elvis herself to love each other “for better or worse.” And when the worst arrived sooner than expected, we did more than love. We truly cared for each other as husband and wife.
The author is a writer whose short stories have been nominated for the PEN/Robert J. Dau Short Story Prize for Emerging Writers and Best of the Net. She is working on a novel and lives in Redondo Beach with her husband and son. She’s on Instagram: @RachelReallyChapman.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
Lifestyle
This painting is missing. Do you have it?
The missing 1916 painting Music, by Gabriele Münter. Its whereabouts have been unknown to the public since 1977. Oil on canvas. (Private collection. © 2025 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York/VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn)
The Guggenheim, New York
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The Guggenheim, New York
This is a story about a missing painting, from an artist you may never have heard of. Though she helped shape European modern art, German artist Gabriele Münter’s work was quickly overshadowed in the public’s mind by her 12-year relationship with noted abstract artist Wassily Kandinsky.
She met Kandinsky in Munich in 1902, and with his tutoring, she “mastered color as well as the line,” she told a German public broadcaster in 1957. Together with other artists, they founded an avant-garde arts collective called Der Blaue Reiter (The Blue Rider) in 1911.
Wassily Kandinsky’s Painting With White Border (Bild mit weißem Rand), 1913. Oil on canvas, Guggenheim Museum, New York City.
Allison Chipak/The Guggenheim, New York
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Allison Chipak/The Guggenheim, New York
At the time, most modern artists, like Kandinsky, were moving toward more and more abstract work. Not Münter. In her paintings, people look like people and flowers look like flowers. But her dazzling colors, simplified forms and dramatic scenes are startlingly fresh; her domestic scenes are so immediate that they feel like you’ve interrupted a crucial, private moment.
“Gabriele Münter was so pioneering, so adventurous in her adherence to life,” said Megan Fontanella, curator of modern art and provenance at the Guggenheim Museum in New York City. “She is revitalizing the still life, the landscape, the portrait genres, and presenting them in these really fresh and dynamic ways.”
Yet, perhaps due to her relationship with Kandinsky, her work was rarely collected by important museums after her death in 1962 (she herself said she was seen as “an unnecessary side dish” to him), and so her paintings largely disappeared from the public eye.
Now Münter is having a moment, with exhibitions this year in Madrid and Paris, as well as one currently at the Guggenheim in New York. The New York show is an expansive one and includes American street photography in the late 1890s, alongside over 50 paintings, from her dazzlingly colored European landscapes to portraits capturing the expressive faces of people she knew.
Gabriele Münter’s Self-Portrait in Front of an Easel (Selbstbildnis vor der Staffelei), circa 1908-1909. Oil on canvas. (© 2025 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York/VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn)
Bruce M. White/Princeton University Art Museum/Art Resource, N.Y.
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Bruce M. White/Princeton University Art Museum/Art Resource, N.Y.
Yet, when Fontanella was putting “Gabriele Münter: Contours of a World” together, there was one painting she couldn’t find: Music, from 1916.
In it, a violinist is playing in the center of a yellow room, with two people quietly listening. It’s set in a living room — but because it uses her wild colors and flattened figures, it feels vibrant and dramatic, not cozy or saccharine.
Fontanella said this painting is important because it provides a window into Münter’s life after she separated from Kandinsky, who had gone on to marry someone else. She was struggling financially, and she was no longer the promising young person she once was. But Fontanella said the painting shows she had found a new creative circle.
“There’s something really uplifting about that. You know, it speaks to her resilience, her sense of adaptation,” Fontanella said. Instead of showing those years as dark and challenging, it is serene and warm, joyful. “I think that’s really important because especially with a woman artist, it’s so easy to get tripped up in her biography and really see it colored by her romantic relationships when, in fact, the paintings tell a different story.”
Fontanella said she used every tool available to her to find Music. She worked with Münter’s foundation and contacted owners of collections in Europe and the United States, from institutions to private collectors. She read correspondence and catalogs from past exhibitions.
Gabriele Münter’s From the Griesbräu Window (Vom Griesbräu Fenster), 1908. Painting on board. (© 2025 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York/VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn)
Städtische Galerie im Lenbachhaus und Kunstbau München, on permanent loan from the Gabriele Münter and Johannes Eichner Foundation, Munich
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Städtische Galerie im Lenbachhaus und Kunstbau München, on permanent loan from the Gabriele Münter and Johannes Eichner Foundation, Munich
It’s not unusual for art to vanish from public view if it’s not held at an institution. Private collectors often want to keep their holdings quiet. If they don’t sell a particular work at an auction or lend it to a museum, only a very small number of people might know that it still exists and where it is.
Fontanella was able to trace Music to its last known owner — a German collector named Eugen Eisenmann, who had the painting in 1977.
“There was a moment where the collection was starting to be broken apart and dispersed and no longer being held by subsequent relatives or family members,” she said.
Then the trail ended.
Not the end of the story
But just because the painting hasn’t surfaced yet doesn’t mean it never will. Take the story of a piece called There are combustibles in every State, which a spark might set fire to. —Washington, 26 December 1786, depicting Shays’ Rebellion, one of 30 works in the Struggle series by artist Jacob Lawrence. A 2020 traveling exhibition organized by the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Mass., had brought the works together for the first time in 60 years.
Five of the paintings couldn’t be located, and the curators put placeholders where those paintings should have been: black-and-white photographs of the canvases if they existed, blank spaces if they didn’t.
“We didn’t have any image of it. There really was no trace,” said Sylvia Yount, the curator in charge of the American Wing at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She co-curated the Met’s presentation of the exhibition with curator Randall Griffey. “We had decided to leave the missing panels as kind of an absence, to really underline the absence. There was a blank on the wall.”
And, then, the miracle.
A visitor to the exhibition went home, contacted a friend “and said, ‘I think you might have one of these missing panels,’” Yount explained.
The friend did. When Yount, Griffey and art conservator Isabelle Duvernois went to see the painting — which was just across Central Park from the Met in an apartment on the Upper West Side — “we walked in and immediately knew it was right,” Yount said.
Within about two weeks, it was hanging in the exhibition. Incredibly, not long later, a second panel was found. Because that one needed some conservation work and a new frame, it didn’t join the series at the Met, but it did become part of the show later as it traveled across the United States.
That kind of thing “doesn’t happen every day,” Yount said, laughing.
Could it happen again?
But Fontanella hopes that it could happen for Münter’s painting. She included a photograph of it in the catalog so that people would know what to look for.
“What I always hope with stories like this is that the painting will resurface in its own time, you know, when it wants to be discovered,” Fontanella said. “But there’s been so much genuine interest in Gabriele Münter as an artist, as a person, that I feel it’s only just on the horizon that this painting will come to light.”
“Gabriele Münter: Contours of a World” is on view at the Guggenheim in New York through April 2026.
Ciera Crawford edited this story for broadcast and digital. Chloee Weiner mixed the audio.
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