The world is full of beautifully made purpose-built museums rich in cultural value – so where is Scotland’s?

“I try to get abroad every year,” said Scottish architect Sir Alan Reiach in The Scotsman on April 14 1956, “just to see what is being done, and to get angry about how little is being done here.”

He was speaking about his plans for a new, three-tiered gallery of modern art in Edinburgh.

Forty-two years later, in November 1998, I found myself in the recently opened Bornholms Kunstmuseum in Denmark. It was a special occasion – my mother, the artist Lys Hansen, whose grandfather came from the island of Bornholm, was holding a major retrospective in this state-of-the-art building.

Designed by architects Johan Fogh and Per Følner, after an international competition, the museum unfolded across stepped levels – uncannily like Reiach’s unrealised vision. But here, a sacred spring, Helligdomskilde, had been woven into the fabric of the architecture. Water rose in the entrance foyer and flowed through the museum in a polished granite channel. Its quiet presence felt natural, even necessary – a simple idea rendered profound, inviting reflection on the spiritual as well as the aesthetic.

The stunning landscape and sea light are folded into the architecture itself, with vast floor-to- ceiling windows inviting natural illumination into key spaces. The interior combines a range of textures and materials – pine end-grain parquet underfoot, and walls of the cement-washed brick so typical of Danish design. The colour palette – deep red, vivid blue, sunny yellow, dark green – lends warmth and vitality.

This is a building made to uplift, to frame its collection of Bornholmer art and craft, and to host cutting-edge international exhibitions. Though the island of Bornholm is no larger than Arran, it lies at the heart of the southern Baltic, equidistant from Poland, Germany, Sweden and Denmark. Known as Solskinsøen, the Sunshine Island, it draws a steady stream of well-heeled visitors to its golden beaches and postcard-perfect villages.

While good design is a fact of life in Denmark, this building stands out. There was vocal opposition to its construction – gripes about expense and how the money could be better used elsewhere.

Those with long memories will recall a similar furore surrounding Enric Miralles’s Scottish Parliament building. Writer Angus Reid described Miralles’s vision as “epic, affecting and romantic. Every step seems driven by sensibility, as though rational decisions about the shape of a building require limitless reserves of intuition. As though, for all the specialised know-how, architecture belongs to the imagination. And when you walk the interiors, it is a thrill and a challenge to hold this fusion of asymmetrical shapes and spaces in the mind.”

Let us remember that it is partly due to the vision of the late Donald Dewar that we owe this architectural marvel.

In Bornholm, detractors were forced to eat humble pie when it became obvious that the museum was fast becoming a popular destination, attracting a new, culture-hungry audience to the island. Locals are rightly proud of their museum; many wrote letters of apology, retracting their initial opposition.

The Bornholm approach is repeated across continental Europe and beyond, as seen in Oslo’s Astrup Fearnley Museum, the Guggenheim in Bilbao, and Kiasma in Helsinki.

Kiasma, Finland’s national museum of contemporary art, was designed by American architect Steven Holl and completed in 1998, again, after an international competition. Its fluid, light-filled structure – based on the Greek chiasma, meaning crossing – unfolds over five floors in a dynamic spatial interplay that reflects the evolving nature of contemporary art.

When I stood in Bornholms Kunstmuseum, with its luminous interiors and thoughtful mix of architecture, landscape, and meaning, I could not help but ask: Why has Scotland, a nation of immense creative output and cultural ambition, never realised such a vision for itself?

Despite a deep and enduring commitment to art, craft, and design – despite the legacy of Charles Rennie Mackintosh, the influence of the Scottish Colourists, and the international reach of contemporary artists – there is still no purpose-built national Kunstmuseum. No institution that integrates place, material, and idea, as Bornholm’s does; no architectural expression of the value we claim to place on our visual culture.

This absence is more than a missed opportunity – it is a catastrophic failure of politico-cultural confidence.

What makes the Scots so reticent, so timid about proclaiming these important, vital talents, and telling their story to the world?

Firstly, a little historical context. This idea is not new. Various versions have been proposed over the past century. Simon Groom, director of the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art (SNGMA), notes that such ambitions go back as far as the 19th century.

“SNGMA’s premises at Inverleith House and, now, Belford Road were meant to be temporary measures,” he says.

Groom reminds me that Stanley Cursiter, who served as director of the National Galleries of Scotland, “really championed to have a national gallery for modern art, which wouldn’t be so necessarily tied to the National Galleries, but would be its own model”.

Before then, he adds, “there’d been a compromise in trying to show contemporary art, or modern art, as distinct from historic art”.

In 1944, Reiach co-authored the influential book Building Scotland, advocating for a sensitive approach to postwar reconstruction. He drew inspiration from native Scottish architecture and contemporary European designs, particularly Nordic and Scandinavian architecture – Gunnar Asplund, Alvar Aalto – which emphasised simplicity, functionality, and natural light.

Reiach proposed various sites across the capital, including York Buildings and the RSA/National Galleries site in Princes Street Gardens, for a modern museum telling Scotland’s story through its fine and applied arts.

Compromises in presenting Scotland’s various collections have been ongoing. The challenge of storing and displaying the national collections is fraught with complexities – funding, ownership, location, definition, and purpose.

My aim here is to suggest that the national story of Scottish art, craft and design needs a purpose-built museum with the ambition, scale, and panache of the Holyrood Parliament.

The current situation, as many readers will know, is confusing. While the National Galleries of Scotland claim to represent the country, their four premises in Edinburgh make clear their centralised focus.

Groom points to the Artist Rooms project – a collaboration between the NGS and Tate based on Anthony d’Offay’s gift – that tours displays of key figures like Andy Warhol, Louise Bourgeois, and Joseph Beuys to regional galleries that wouldn’t otherwise access such work.

Despite this success, the museum and gallery system remains fragmented. In Edinburgh, the Fruitmarket Gallery presents major contemporary art shows. The building, revamped by Richard Murphy Architects in 1991 and located near Waverley Station, is a success – although further addition and adaptation, in 2021, by Reiach & Hall Architects has had detractors. However, the Fruitmarket serves a particular audience and cannot claim national status.

The City Art Centre, run by Edinburgh Council, houses a Recognised Collection of Scottish Art, including themed shows and work by Peter Howson, William McTaggart, John Duncan Fergusson, Joan Eardley, Eduardo Paolozzi and others. It does a good job locally, but it is not a national gallery.

The NGS’s own premises – National Gallery, Portrait Gallery, Modern One and Two – offer a diverse range of material. The Scottish Wing in the National Gallery houses the national collection of Scottish art. These 12 new spaces, opened in 2023, present 19th- and early 20th-century Scottish art in a modern, light-filled setting accessible from Princes Street Gardens. Many aspects are reminiscent of Reiach’s earlier plans. Though welcome, the project lacks space and has been constrained more by the site than by ambition.

The University of Edinburgh’s Art Collection, of around 8000 works, is strong in Dutch, Flemish, and Scottish portraiture and modern Scottish art, with works by Henry Raeburn, Samuel John Peploe, Anne Redpath, and others. The collection includes 2000 works added in 2012 from Edinburgh College of Art, and supports teaching, research, and exhibitions, including through the Talbot Rice Gallery. However, this venue has access and visibility issues.

Dovecot Studios, based in the former Infirmary Street Baths, is a leading tapestry studio and gallery. Founded in 1912 by the 4th Marquess of Bute, it continues a legacy of textile excellence and now hosts exhibitions, events, and education programmes. It’s an important part of the national story and might play a crucial role in shaping a truly national collection.

Beyond Edinburgh, cities such as Perth, Stirling, Dundee, Aberdeen, Inverness, and Glasgow all maintain their own collections, based on the same patchwork model of city, regional and private ownership.

Dundee Contemporary Arts, originally a bus station, has been successfully expanded by Richard Murphy Architects. The V&A attracts visitors but confines itself to design.

The recently reopened Perth Museum – £27 million, designed by Mecanoo – includes 3500 square metres of exhibition space and has been shortlisted for the 2025 Art Fund Museum of the Year. Its centrepiece is the Stone of Destiny, housed in a bespoke oak pavilion.

Perth, with its stunning riverside location, might well be a candidate for a future national museum.

Aberdeen Art Gallery, following a £34.6 million redevelopment by Hoskins Architects, reopened in 2019. Though regionally significant, it remains a regional institution.

Glasgow boasts an extraordinary network: Zaha Hadid’s Riverside Museum, Kelvingrove, the Burrell Collection, and the Gallery of Modern Art (GoMA).

Julian Spalding, former director of Glasgow Museums and GoMA founder, is known for his outspoken opposition to conceptualism and his emphasis on accessibility. His books The Eclipse Of Art (2003), Con Art (2012), and Art Exposed (2023) reflect this commitment.

Spalding spearheaded the campaign for a National Gallery of Scottish Art, Craft and Design, with Lottery backing. He observed: “Glasgow basically has the ‘national’ collection of the West, and Edinburgh, the ‘national’ collection of the East. Edinburgh’s got hardly any Mackintosh and Glasgow has got hardly any Scottish Colourists, but if you put them together, it’s fantastic …”

A forerunner of this vision was the 1990 exhibition Scotland Creates: 5000 Years of Art and Design at the McLellan Galleries, curated by Barbara and Murray Grigor.

That exhibition was more than a retrospective; it was a statement of cultural confidence. By bringing together art, design, and craft in a purposefully curated space, it demonstrated the potential of a dedicated national institution. Its success only deepens the question: Why does Scotland still lack a purpose-built national Kunstmuseum?

Spalding lobbied hard. His project initially had the ear of Dewar and financier Angus Grossart. But it foundered, in Spalding’s words, due to “opposition from the Edinburgh establishment” and Dewar’s fear that it might awaken “Scottish Nationalism”.

History shows that even when all practical elements are in place, the crucial ingredient – political will – remains decisive. My view is that such a museum will only be realised when Scotland achieves sovereign statehood. But let’s not wait and see. Let’s act to make it happen.