What would a Weimar collection look like, if it existed? A collection whose works thematize, record, and reflect Weimar itself, with its irregularities, potholes, hidden depths and skewed perspectives, with its places, people, myths and stereotypes?
It doesn't exist; it's imaginary, an "Invisible Collection," to use Stefan Zweig's phrase, even though his novella ends with the words: "And I had to think again of that old, true saying—I believe Goethe said it—'Collectors are happy people.'" It's incredible that Weimar can't afford itself this happiness. Although there is a wealth of works from recent decades that could paint an insightful, sensual, and at times disarming picture of this worldly yet narrow-minded place.