Most of us know where the great paintings can be found, right? The Louvre in Paris, the Prado in Madrid, the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, the National Gallery in Washington, D.C., the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City and the Barnes Foundation in Merion, Pa., all contain some of the greats and then some. But a collection of classics finding residence in Merion, Pa. — what’s wrong with this picture, you ask?

The answer is absolutely nothing, except for a slight but crucial adjustment — location. The Barnes’ collection, the world’s finest collection of French Impressionist, Post-Impressionist and early Modern paintings, has just reopened in a 93,000 square-foot building on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway in downtown Philadelphia. (Not to be undersold, the Parkway is also home to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, one of the nation’s largest art museums, and the Rodin Museum.)

Opened to the public as of May 19th of this year, the collection established by Dr. Albert C. Barnes in 1922 offers viewings from an inventory that includes 181 Renoirs, 69 Cézannes, and 59 Matisses for starters. And don’t overlook important works by other familiars, such as Picasso (46), Soutine (21), Rousseau (18), Modigliani (16), Degas (11) and bringing up the rear, Van Gogh (7), Seurat (6), and Manet and Monet, each a paltry four canvases.

Such an inventory would be enough to convince more than a few of us to book the next plane, train, or bus to the City of Brotherly Love, but there’s more. Dr. Barnes was an intrepid collector, and American masters such as Charles Demuth, Horace Pippin, Maurice Prendergast, and William Glackens — the latter a close lifelong friend — are on display, along with a surprising number of old master paintings, exquisite examples of African sculpture and Native American ceramics, jewelry, and textiles as well as decorative furnishings, particularly the Pennsylvania Dutch blanket chests that consistently delight the eye. Dr. Barnes’ meticulous method of wall arrangements, such as wrought-iron hinges, soup ladles, door handles, and whatnots that dot the interstices between the dense panoply of paintings is faithfully rendered in the new location.

For those visitors familiar with the Foundation’s mansion and arboretum in the suburbs of Philadelphia, the idea of moving such an arcane collection under the existent Indenture of Trust that stipulated “all paintings shall remain in exactly the places they are at the time of the death of the Donor and his said wife,” seemed inconceivable at best. Leaving the Merion mansion’s maze of rooms with their southern exposure, stepping out on the portico to wander over the landscaped grounds — eyes resting on the serenity of a lily pond when the interior’s panoply of treasures became too much — wasn’t that enough? As the rooms and their contents were frozen in time, why even consider such a feat as moving?

The Barnes Foundation Philadelphia

Severe financial stress is reason enough to reevaluate a foundation’s raison d’etre. The board was also limited by attendance constraints and worse, a limitation on public hours imposed by zoning restrictions. Years of litigation followed. Major donors were simply fed up with Merion and in 2002 the Trustees requested the Court’s permission to make the move to Center City Philadelphia. Ten years later, hordes of new visitors to this staggering collection are proving it was the right decision. According to New York Times art critic Roberta Smith, the membership has jumped from 400 in 2009 to a walloping 20,000.

Still, passing through the imposing admission gates and facing the sterile monolithic structure with its limestone and bronze fins, designed by Tod Williams Billie Tsien Architects, one feels a trepidation, as if one’s about to enter an ageless mausoleum — a pantheon for Dr. Barnes and his departed friends — instead of a happy hunting ground for art. A 40-foot high, newly-installed stainless steel sculpture by Ellsworth Kelly, just inside the entry grounds, only adds to this initial impression. Thankfully, the sober space-aged exterior is lightened by landscape artist Laurie Olin’s elegant reflective pool and the vertical forms of the red maples that line the path leading to the building’s entrance.

Timed-entrance tickets allow the early-arrivals the luxury of resting in the expansive front lobby or perusing the glass-topped vitrines in the adjacent room, showcasing examples of Dr. Barnes’ voluminous correspondence to artists and associates. There’s an embarrassment of riches in this room alone. Just to mention two examples: Almost as an afterthought, an impressive cubistic sculpture by Jacques Lipchitz and some colorful pottery by Jean Renoir stand randomly placed for idle study.

The real shock for the return visitor is when one finally enters the main room of the collection. It’s all there. The scale, proportion, and configuration are the same. The stately windows inspire the visitor’s view outward to the same southern exposure, with sloping pines calling out for a modern-day Cézanne’s interpretation. As the eye travels upward, Matisse’s same dancers from The Dance fill the overhead panels. The mustard-colored burlap walls and simple wood moldings of each adjacent gallery reiterate to a “T” the original site. Within this 12,000 square foot gallery, it’s all as it was. As my traveling companion (and a previous Merion visitor) admitted, “It’s not possible. I have to pinch myself to believe it’s real.”

It would seem that Dr. Barnes’ relationship with Matisse and his works was a rosy one. In 1930, Matisse, en route to Tahiti, stopped by to see his son Pierre’s art gallery in Manhattan and was persuaded to visit Merion and finally meet the celebrated collector. “Matisse was welcomed with open arms by Dr. Barnes in full flower and at his vitriolic best,” wrote Richard Carreno in the Broad Street Review. “A commission for The Dance followed, and though he allowed the installation to be installed, he cattily remarked that he didn’t like it.”

The only alteration in Matisse’s works is the placement of a Fauvist painting that would surely meet with his approval. Le Bonheur de vivre (The Joy of Life), which had previously been placed in a stairwell landing, is now in a larger alcove on the second floor balcony.

Up until very recently, the Foundation, according to Dr. Barnes’ wishes, would not allow color reproductions of the paintings to be circulated. With the ban lifted, the genius evident in Matisse’s color palette can be lifted from its historical perspective to be seen with fresh eyes.

The most decided improvement is a new lighting system which mixes natural and artificial illumination for even lighting throughout. In keeping with the Foundation’s environmental mission, which includes continuing horticultural education at the Arboretum in Merion, a complex filtering system allows 85 percent of daylight to penetrate the rooms. (As I visited on a day with patchy sun and clouds in the forecast, I was aware of subtle changes in the overhead lamps that never detracted from the power of the images.)

There are other amenities, of course, including a café, an auditorium, an interior garden court and a 5,000-square-foot exhibition gallery, which hopefully, will auger new possibilities for parsing out highlights of the collection in innovative ways.

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