Don't even get me started on the price of admission, or the fact that, what, they have like 15 actual Van Gogh paintings in there?
But that was the least of my concerns as I soon realized that the inner, super-cynical, snobilist (a neologism essentially combining snobbery and nihilism) was welling up inside me.
Oh, it wasn't that I have anything against Vincent and his lovely art or that I even know that much about him and therefore harbour some sense of righteous belonging over my fellow gallery goers. Nay, my anger was saved for the acrid stench of hypocrisy that threatened to degrade the very substrates of the master's work.
Crammed in like sheep they were - by the dozens - bermuda shorted, khaki pant wearing real-art-a-phobes all traveling 1000 miles to pay a ransom to see a few paintings by a guy they woulda shat on in his life time.
Yes, these were the very village idiots who would have harassed poor old Van Gogh as he desperately sought to justify his existence as an artist. Right beside me, pointing his stale fetid breath in my direction, was a guy who most likely would have picked a fight with Vincent because he was a "weirdo".
But nooooooo. Here they all were like deluded religious pilgrims making a trek to see a fabricated holy relic. Doe eyed and breaking just a tiny sweat trying to figure out what it is they are supposed to be feeling as they stand among the works of such a famous artist.
They wouldn't have paid a shilling for the piece that they are now bragging about to their easily impressed friend that recently "sold for 23 million".
In fact, there might as well be a run-down little studio right next door to the museum where a contemporary Van Gogh type is slaving away whilst hoping to get a couple hundred euros for the paintings displayed in the dusty front window.
But the art-droids pass right on by and Q up to pay 14 bleeding euros just to lock-step on by the now-triple-sterlized Van Gogh paintings.
Behold the art tourist - forever doomed to wait 100+ years to make a fatboy's out of breath dash to catch up to culture.
Instead, go to the COBRA Museum at the far south of Amsterdam! Or better yet, a crappy little gallery where the artist is alive and breathing!
The COBRA artist's WIKI page.
No doubt a fun bunch.
I love these drawings so much I can barely stand it.