The artistically arched corridors and serene spaces of the Santa Monica Art Museum lie just a few steps from the bustling crowds of the Third Street Promenade. A Day with David Bowie is one of three exhibitions currently housed within the museum, alongside First Responders – The Wildfires of Los Angeles and a National Geographic collection. The exhibition showcases a remarkable series of photographs by Christine de Grancy, a ceramicist and graphic artist born in Brno. Her photos document David Bowie‘s deeply personal visit to the Art Brut Center Gugging in Austria on September 8, 1994. — Our correspondent Virág Vida visited the show and filed this on-site report.
Bowie‘s 1994 visit to the institution was a private pilgrimage, closed to the press and the public. It was a visionary artist‘s encounter with those who create from raw emotion and psychological depth, for Gugging, located near Vienna, has a painful past. During World War II, it was part of the Nazi euthanasia program that targeted people living with mental illness. In the decades that followed, the site underwent a radical transformation: Austrian psychiatrist Dr. Leo Navratil encouraged his patients to create art—not as therapy, but as genuine artistic expression.
The black-and-white images of Bowie captured here are not staged studio shots or polished event photos. They are far more intimate—portraying Bowie as a visitor, an observer, immersed in the works of those living with mental illness—the so-called “outsider artists” who defy convention. The result is a moving visual journal of a single day, a single man, and a singular place where creativity, trauma, and healing converge. Over time, artists such as Johann Hauser, Oswald Tschirtner, and August Walla would gain international acclaim. Their work became part of the Art Brut movement—art that is spontaneous, deeply personal, and far removed from formal aesthetic systems.
Christine de Grancy tragically passed away on March 21, 2025, just as preparations for this exhibition were underway. Her death adds another emotional layer to these photographs—one that echoes the very themes that preoccupied Bowie throughout his life – mortality, complexity, and the blurred line between creativity and madness.
As I walked among the photographs, I felt as though I were truly spending an entire day with Bowie—silently, invisibly observing him from the background. Every gesture, every glance, every subtle movement in these images seemed loaded with meaning. It felt like that moment when you begin to take an interest in someone and start watching them more closely, hoping to discover the secrets of their mysterious personality.
The most memorable image of the exhibition for me is a close-up portrait. Bowie sits in the grass in the garden at Gugging, smoking a cigarette, his head resting on the same hand. His gaze drifts into the distance, lost in thought. The background is blurred; a ray of sunlight slices through the frame, creating a mystical effect as if a ghost were standing beside him. That ray of light is a perfect example of the golden ratio in composition—subtle yet powerful, it elevates the image to a transcendent level.
It is this intimacy, this closeness, that makes the exhibition truly special. For those unfamiliar with Bowie‘s artistic legacy and complex personality, these photographs offer an unusual closeness—as if we are being granted a glimpse into a private, honest moment. The experience feels more like recalling a memory than attending a conventional exhibition.
For Bowie, who had always been fascinated by the complexities of the mind, Gugging was not just an artistic venue—it was a revelation. He arrived with Brian Eno, André Heller, and Christine de Grancy, but returned the next day alone, so deeply moved was he by what he had seen. As he later said: “They create because their work is themselves.” The visit sparked a new wave of creativity in Bowie‘s life, culminating in the 1995 album 1. Outside. This record weaves together fragmented narratives, visual art, music, and storytelling—delving into ritual, madness, identity, and the nature of creation.
As we look at de Grancy‘s photographs, it‘s easy to imagine ideas taking root in Bowie‘s mind—quiet moments, sudden flashes of realization in his eyes as he walks through the rooms where art speaks in raw, instinctive form. These photos were not refined works created for exhibition; they are raw images, straight from the camera to the gallery walls—and that is precisely what makes them authentic. They are direct messages from complex minds—at once unsettling, uplifting, and frighteningly honest.
De Grancy‘s photographs don‘t portray an icon, but a man—quietly observing, immersed, perhaps recognizing something of himself in the world of outsider art. The bond between the photographer and her subject—two people drawn to art that springs from the depths of the soul—is silent but powerful. This exhibition doesn‘t just show us Bowie—it lets us get close enough to truly see and feel him.
