Is the art crunch coming?

One of the Guardian's bloggers talks about the end of the art bubble, describing an analogy about how talent in the art world today is as overvalued as subprime loans a year ago. What got me thinking was how the credit crunch may affect the cultural heritage world in much more tangible ways than this somewhat far-flung analogy.

In my previous posts, I've written about how financial incentives can often undermine the good cause of preserving, spreading and creating cultural heritage. One need not look far to encounter examples of culture being turned into caricatures because of a heavy financial bias. But like it or not, museums need money to function and today this is becoming more apparent than ever before, not only in the private sphere but in public museums as well - governments are cutting off funding, endowments are shrinking and people are less willing to donate. This will change things - for instance donors will feel more compelled to impose their will on the museums, since the museums are more inclined to accept donations - but this may well be the least significant change. Some museums will probably have to close up, others will have to reduce the opening times and so on.

The logical questions follow: If you are forced to reduce your budget, will you decrease opening times or spend less on restoration? Will you increase emphasis on "blockbuster" exhibitions or stay with the hardline no-nonsense educational approach? If these fundamental questions could be ignored, if not by all, then at least by some museums five years ago, then today they may become life-or-death issues. And quite possibly, upholding the ideals of the museologists may then no longer be a viable option.

Of course, one may debate that this is not such a bad thing after all. In the end, even if some museums eventually bite the dust, the economic situation will force many museums to actually deal with such fundamental questions that they may have ignored otherwise. In the end, people start thinking more. And that can never be a bad thing.

The fabergé egg went well with her wife's dress, apparently

The past few days have brought up many questions about the obligations art owners have to the general public. The Independent reports on Russian oligarchs (or as the contrived-pun-friendly publication prefers to call them, oligarts) buying together entire collections of historical artworks and the Guardian argues that the Queen's collection of classic art is being misused by rarely exhibiting it to the public.

In the case of museums, it is pretty obvious that one of their main objectives is to display the heritage they collect. In the case of private collectors that question is a bit more ambiguous. One could argue that as private citizens they have complete right to do whatever they want with the loot that they legally acquire - display them, if they are so inclined, or chop them into pieces and use 'em as firewood, though the economic advantages of such a behavior are somewhat questionable. However, having spent the last month or so discussing how the value of cultural heritage is produced through the meaning it has for a certain group of people, one must ponder whether that value is entirely lost when the ownership of a certain piece of patrimony is transferred from a public to a private owner.

The more I think about it, the more I want to answer no to that question. On purely economic terms: If a wealthy businessman (let's call him Abramovich) buys a five-millon-dollar painting, he becomes the owner of a five-million dollar investment, one that could potentially make him a significant profit in the future. The reason why that painting can sell at such high a price, is essentially because the public considers it a unique piece of cultural heritage. It's value is determined directly by the amount of signifance different communities place in it, and it seems only logical that by creating this monetary value, that public would also become entitled to reaping the benefits.

Of course, the reality is not as idealistic as that. If Abramovich really wants to reap profits, he will shed the painting from view for twenty years, causing its price to skyrocket when he finally decides to bring the piece back to the market. Or he buys a work of a relatively unknown artist, hoping that once (s)he attains fame, he can sell the painting for a ludicrously higher price. It's how the art world has worked since the 19th century.

Fortunately, the public interest that creates the incentive for buying also creates the incentive for displaying. Often the social capital accumulated by displaying the pictures in a museum/gallery with a nice plaque saying "gift of R. Abramovich" underneath outweighs the potential financial profit and satisfaction of an excentric desire achieved by removing the artwork from the public's eyes. Hell, judging by the Van Pelt library, you don't even need to buy artwork, you can simply attach a plaque under a urinal with the words "the relief you are enjoying was made possible by X" on it. It has a vaguely duchampian feel to it, but apparently it works. Similarly, most of the Russian oligarts buying up the cornerstones of Western Art do not store them in their own private mansion in Sochi, but rather in public art galleries in center city Moscow. I hope that Royal family of Britain will recognize the potential of the social capital they would accumulate by sharing their ridiculously high-profile art collection with the ignoble lot, and put that Massacre of the Innocents on permanent display, along with, you know, some of the other 7000 paintings that they own.

Pushkin, Dostoyevski and the other great Russian heroes.

The discussion about what constitutes cultural heritage is complicated by the darker streaks of our past. A recent contest in Russia to determine the greatest national figure in Russian history turned up Joseph Stalin in the impressive 12th place. He stood proudly next to poets and writers (such as Pushkin, Dostoyevsky) as well as other leaders closer to his own caliber (Ivan the Terrible, Lenin, general Alexander Suvorov).

It is hard to argue that Stalin does not constitute a part of Russias cultural heritage. If we define cultural heritage as something of importance to a certain group or community, as we have done in class so far, then certainly, Stalin fits the category. What is both troubling and telling, is the fact that Stalin is not only viewed as an important historical figure, but as a positive historical figure by many, particularly in the younger generation.

The troubling aspect of this fact, I think need not be explained. But this perception of one of history's greatest mass murderers also shows, how history and heritage, though both begin with an h, may produce quite different understandings.

Stalin's case in Russia, is of course an extreme example, but similar cases can be found on the other side of the Atlantic as well. Take, for instance the case of the Monticello manor, home of Thomas Jefferson, which has for decades been presented without any regard to the detail (quite evident in the fact Monticello was, after all, a plantation) that the great American president was also a great American slave-owner.

In short, there is a tendency to over-emphasize the virtues of nationally important figures and downplay the vices. This is, of course, stating the obvious, but it is also an aspect where museums, universities and legislators are in a position to change things. One topic that has come up time and again in classroom discusion and in our readings, is that in the end, curators are the ones who give us the story. This is a case not unlike the British pre-fab controversy, where the specialists are expected not to mirror popular opinion, but to exhibit foresight and a sense the bigger picture.

It seems that Russian concept of the bigger picture involves writing history textbooks, in which Stalin is legitimized as a national hero. Go figure.

Not quite the age of Metusaleh.

"National Patrimony" and "Cultural Heritage" usually makes one think of things several hundred (or thousand, if you ask the archeologists) years old. After all, how can you inherit something that may be younger than you are. In addition, in the short history of nations and national patrimony, there has been literally so much stuff from pre-modern times that needed saving that newer patrimony was often thrown to the wayside.

For that reason, it is particularly pleasing to see, that the British will be granting Grade II status to a postwar prefabricated housing project in south-east London. This has caused a lot of confusion in the British public, not only because the government is preserving something with age still in the double-digits, but because many people don't even consider them worth preserving. The prefab housing projects are, quite simply, ugly.

Of course, the job of cultural heritage preservers is to think beyond 'ugly'. It is because of their uglyness, that the prefab housing projects, authored often by visionary city planners like Le Corbusier or Berthold Lubetkin, have been torn down over the past few decades and replaced with more modern version of the middle-class suburbian ideal. The downside is that unless regulatory action is taken, an entire period of history will soon be forever lost in everything but pictures.

Of course, one may claim, that if anything, then erasing such ugly and ineffective buildings from history may well be in the best interests of society. Certainly the classical liberal types will argue that if market forces decide to tear down the prefabs, then they should be torn down. Unfortunately, market forces, as usually is the case, do not take into account the social and historical impact the prefab estates have had on people's minds, and the loss for human culture that their destruction causes, may only become apparent after the fact.


This has happened in many places across Eastern Europe,where Communist Architecture was often left in disarray after the collapse of the Soviet Union. The result is, that for instance in Estonia, only 9 buildings constructed in the 1960-s in the entire country have been declared cultural heritage and the rest have either been torn down or are on their way to demolition, very often accompanied by intense public resistance. The most famous example of this is probably the demolition of the Sakala Center in Tallinn in 2006 - a pinnacle of 1980-s soviet architecture, that prompted widespread public protests and a grassroots campaign towards the preservation of what is left of Soviet architecture in Tallinn. Unfortunately, with little results, since the laws and development plans for the city take a long time to change, and meanwhile, buildings are being torn down left and right.

It seems that sometimes we take heritage for granted, particularly if it dates from our own time and has surrounded us for decades without anyone pointing a sign with the sign "National Patrimony" to it. Similarly, 17th century Parisians were just as likely to take the Louvre for granted and the residents of Pompeij never thought that their city would one day become a symbol of Ancient Roman culture. Today, we cannot count on enlightened monarchs or unexpected volcano eruptions to preserve the heritage for us, so in that sense, the initiative of the British ministry of culture to preserve the prefabs is highly appropriate and something that will be appreciated by generations a hundred years down the line, even if not quite as much by ours.

When 'nation' is used as an expletive.

James Cuno's "Who Owns Antiquities?" makes a strong case for "encyclopedic" or "universal" museums, which display the world's heritage in a single place from Ancient Greece to the postmodern world. In other words, he is a cosmopolitan, who considers the utterly "nationalistic" goals of local governments in retaining control over artifacts found on their territory to be ultimately counterproductive and wrong. He would rather see 'man kind' take responsibility for their collective heritage and store it museums conveniently located in major metropolitan centers, so that as many people and as diverse a people as possible could see it.

Shame that it's all a bright shiny fantasy then.

Although using liberally the heavy artillery of nationalism studies - the works of Edward Said and Benedict Anderson, to prove that nationalism is ugly, useless, violent and harmful, he fails to pay enough attention to the fact that despite all that, nationalism matters. Yes, nationalism, in all likelihood is a product of modernity, yes, it is often the source of violent conflicts and the death of both people and heritage, but it is also not, no matter how much Cuno would like it to be, simply both a construct and an ideal of the ruling elite.

Nationalism, patriotism, phrase it however to want, is an idea that appeals to people, the amount of debate and activism around issues of national patrimony should be a testament to that. From the 12 million visitors of the French Patrimony Days to the heated public debate around the Estonian Monument of Liberty, patrimony is something that gets people's heart racing.

"So what?" Cuno would say; Anderson, Said, Hobsbawm et al. still prove that present day nationalism has anything to do with artifacts that are two thousand years old. And he would be right. Nevertheless, museums in the 21st century are not ivory towers, but very much a part of the society they were created in, and a dialogue with nationalism, or patrimony (to use a less hostile term) is something museums cannot ignore, lest they lose the interest, support and reverence of the people. The communities of nations may be imagined, but that does not mean you can simply imagine them away.

Why not look at the other side of the coin? If Encyclopedic museums give us a peek into the global heritage of the entire human kind, then local, national museums provide the opportunity to study, in addition to valuable pieces of cultural heritage, the way people construct national identity. Considering how big a role it plays in the life of contemporary man, it is certainly something worth studying.

And finally: Why is the cosmopolitan community that Cuno imagines that all of human heritage belongs to any less imagined than the national heritage he so despises? Is it not just another classic case of the self vs. the other?

Can't spell freedom without 'huge imposing monument'.

If the decision of the European Commission to give almost 6 million Euros to a project for cultural exchange is an example of good public funding for the development of cultural heritage, then the decision of the Estonian government to allocate over 100 million kroons (approx. 10 million dollars) to the construction of a phallic monument of liberty at a time of economic recession, is a textbook example of wasting taxpayer's money on a very questionable definition of patrimony.

The Monument of Liberty is an old idea, dating back to the 1920-s and is supposed to commemorate the Estonian victory in the War of Independence (1918-1919). In principle this would fit well into the framework of cultural heritage if not for the inadequate execution of the plan over the past year.

First, instead of being a bottom-up project, guaranteeing it popular support and unifying the people, which any piece of cultural heritage should ostensibly aspire to, the monument was commissioned by the Estonian Government, the final design approved by a jury with a majority of politicians and seen through with remarkable persistence, despite protests from the international community (the cross on top of the monument resembles a German Iron Cross), the Estonian artistic community (who have declared it "literal" and "naive"), the fact that it's being built on a nature protection area, that the chairman leading the construction is facing corruption charges, the monument will not be completed in time, and so on.

The result is, that according to a recent poll, over 40% of the country's population opposes the construction of the monument. Instead of a unifying piece of cultural heritage, the statue has become a symbol of division.

The difference in conduct between the Commission case and this one could not be more obvious. If the Commission's allocation of nearly 6 million Euros meant giving funding to a bottom-up initiative, with minimal governmental input, except for financial oversight (a necessity in any sort public spending), the Monument of Liberty project is very clearly a political project first, with all of the major decisions being made on the highest level, with almost complete disregard for the opinions of interest groups and the general populace. Of course, politicizing cultural heritage is nothing new, in fact, it is quite common in non-democratic governments who recognize well the influence patrimony can have over people. From the appropriation of monumental architecture by the likes of Albert Speer and Marcello Piacentini to the ridiculous fantasy projects of the Soviet Union, grand structures designed to unite the people under a "cultural heritage" umbrella are both common and almost exclusively unsuccessful.

There is little hope for Estonia - in all likelyhood, the freedom-touting phallus will grace the mounds of Harju hill next year, but hopefully a lesson about the public funding of cultural heritage objects will be learned from this - a liberal approach to public funding will result in better art and actual cultural heritage.

Talking pot-shards for some...

"A dialogue between cultures" is a term that gets tossed around a lot, be it in the Museums, Policy and Cultural Heritage class or my two previous blog posts. The Versailles and the National Gallery are trying to establish a dialogue between ancient and contemporary culture through exhibitions that put contemporary art in a space surrounded (and usually reserved for) traditional, it's-cool-because-it's-old type art.

Another project tackles the same issue at a much wider scale: The European Comission allocated 5.3 million Euros (that's roughly 8 million dollars) over the course of five years to "Prospero", a project of cultural exchange under which six (or possibly eight) theatres throughout Europe will circulate actors, directors and plays to increase cultural diversity and spread heritage throughout the continent. They will also organize colloquia, lecture series and other educational events. This seems to be "a dialogue between cultures" at it's purest.

Many of the questions that apply for cultural dialogue on a temporal scale can be asked about the same on a spatial scale. Who chooses the "heritage" that is shared? Who is the audience? And why on earth should taxpayers all over the continent support this effort with many millions of Euros?

If anything, then this undertaking shows how public funding can be used in a meaningful way to support cultural diversity. The project was initiated by the National Theatre of Bretagne and developed in conjunction with five other theatres, with two more prospectives hoping to join. The bottom-up approach ensures a relatively apolitical approach to the concept of cultural heritage, whereas federal funding reduces the dependence on commercial interests and increases the artistic liberties the authors can afford to take. Both of these elements contribute to the "authenticity" of the cultural heritage that is passed on to different cultures.

Another issue that was brought up in class today, is how much of the cultural output is shaped by the institutions dedicated to preserving that culture, in other words: the exhibitions in the museums are ultimately created by the curators, not by the people. It is far too easy to get stuck in the usual lines of elite theories and Hobsbawmian "invented traditions", according to which a lot of our customs and heritage is created by the ruling elite for the protection of its power. However, audiatur et altera pars - let's hear the other side! Institutionalizing culture is nothing new, even in non-tangible culture there has always been a sense of centralization - ever since Homer there have been people whose job is to pass on the wisdom of the ancestors, always leaving a personal mark on the heritage in the process. The idea that culture can be passed on objectively quite simply contradicts the very idea of culture. As long as we recognize that institutional bias that any exhibition, collection and museum will always have and remain critical and willing to debate about it, everything is in order.

The short conclusion to this wordy point would be: We should not worry too much about the dangers that government funding and institutional initiative poses to cultural heritage, and rather celebrate the fact that they even exist. Ideally, cultural institutions and public oversight are more likely (and sometimes legally bound) to recognize the threats that impartial representation poses to cultural heritage than others agents (for instance for-profit companies or private collectors). So hurray for the European Commission funding of this exciting initiative and I look forward to visiting Tampere in 2010 to see what the theatres have come up with.

National Gallery enters the 20th century

The Versailles' controversy relates to a larger debate, exemplified in the Harold Skramstad article "An Agenda for Museums in the 21-st Century". He outlines, that the contemporary museum "needs to take as its mission nothing less than to engage actively in the design and delivery of experiences that have the power to inspire and change the way people see the world and the possibility of their own lives," and in focus on three values: Authority, connectedness and trustworthiness.

Granted, Skramstad talks primarily about the American museum, but there is no reason why this model could not be applied to European museums as well. However, this transition is not as straightforward as it first appears, as the three terms Skramstad mentions are elusive even to the simplest of minds, so it is not surprising that the definitions of curators and of the public may diverge quite a bit.

In Versailles' case, one could argue that Koons' exhibitions serves as a medium to bring the otherwise distant 18th century closer to the 21st century audience, by creating a dialogue between the contemporary and the baroque. The educational value of the exhibit is also clearly evident. On the other hand, the exhibition may erode the authority and trustworthiness the palace has within the French public, that has been accumulated in part due to exactly the conservativeness and authentic (if such a word can ever be used, then it certainly applies to the Versailles) preservation of 18th century art and architecture. The question here is: where should one draw the line and stop the modernizing? Is there something the Versailles can offer by putting on more interactive and educational exhibitions that would outweigh the potential loss of authority when people start feeling that the museum is 'going commercial'

Another similar dilemma is facing London's National Gallery, where an exhibition detailing sex trade in Amsterdam is going to be installed in the near future. The leaders of the museum are claiming that the contract with Tate Modern, according to which the Gallery's permanent collection would end at 1900 may be "renegotiated".

Once again, the museum director's arguments are well motivated: many topics in the distant past relate to hot issues in contemporary society and it would be a shame to leave those connections unexplored due to an arbitrary limitation in museum policy. But once again, as the article's confrontative title reveals, not all are happy with this change of direction that has the potential to erode decades worth of reputation and authority that the National Gallery has accumulated by focusing on pre-1900 art. If in the case of American museums, these questions are often bounded by economics - if the current public does not come along with this change of direction, is there an alternative audience large enough to support it? - then in the case of publicly funded museums such as the National Gallery or the Versailles the people, be they in the majority or not, have the right to ask: on what grounds are such decisions made? Will this draw attention away from the old collections?

On the other hand, museums with well-established conservative authority are often among the best museums in the world and if they always rejected innovation on the grounds of preserving their image, either very little would ever get done in the art world, or their places would be taken by institutions more willing to modernize. For that reason, I applaud the courage of the Versailles and the National Gallery to step outside their recognized boundaries and try something new.

Palace of the Sun King, now with giant lobsters

A storm in a teapot for some, a sign of progress and institutional recognition of contemporary art for other, a controversial decision for all, the French public is debating the value of Jeff Koons’ new exhibition, held in a small township on the outskirts of Paris that goes by the name of Versailles and is perhaps better known for being home to the lavish display of absolute monarchy in the form of the eponymous palace.

Until late December, the gigantic structure displays not only the fabulous architecture of Louis le Vau and Jules Hardouin-Mansart, the murals of Charles LeBrun and the legacy of the Sun King, but also a selection of kitsch sculptures by the contemporary American artist Jeff Koons. Featuring timeless classics such as a metallic balloon dog and a gigantic lobster, the exhibition has stirred up controversy in both French and international media with some calling the exhibition a successful mix of contemporary and classic art, others blaming it for ruining the “single most important piece of French national patrimony”.

This latter statement of course raises a far more universal question. Museums in the United States are mostly buildings constructed for that very purpose, even if often in the style of the palaces of old Europe (as in the case of the Met or the PMA). Museums in Europe are very often themselves an integral part of cultural heritage – the Louvre in Paris, the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, the Palace of Kadriorg in Tallinn - all are important landmarks in the cultural history of their respective countries in addition to being repositories of classic art. And if cultural heritage should be preserved as much within the context of the time and the society to which it belongs, then their use as museums of art from Polykleitos to Pollock is certainly a topic worthy of discussion.

There is no doubt that the image of such "museums with a history" has changed significantly over time. Most consider the Louvre an art museum first and the historical residence of French kings until Louis XIV second, if at all. However, this may not be a bad thing - the history of the palace has certainly been well recorded within the museum's exposition and the Louvre's prestige as the world's foremost art museum has, if anything, then added to the value of this particular piece of French patrimony.

The Versailles' is a somewhat different case, as the focus there has always been on the palace itself. In fact, Koons' exhibition is the second temporary exhibition to be held at the Versailles, the first being an overview of 18th century furniture - not quite the contrast a giant lobster in the Sun King's bedroom creates. For many Koons' exhibition represents not only a significant distraction in the display of true French Patrimony, but also a significant step towards a more liberal and perhaps more careless attitude towards cultural heritage.

In my mind, the conservative view is both an oversimplification of the issue as well as an underestimation of the average museum-goers' intelligence. Heritage sites, such as the Versailles need not only to preserve the national patrimony, but also present it to the general public. Along with that come the necessities of promotion and fund-raising, in other words, museums need to interact with contemporary society as much as they have to preserve the past. Koons' exhibition certainly has brought the Versailles' back to the front-pages of national newspapers, will probably generate significant revenue and most importantly, as Jean Clair, a member of the French academy very thoughtfully points out, creates a discussion about the values held in the post-modern society through the very fact of being displayed in the Versailles. Koons does not detract from appreciating the patrimony gathered in the Versailles, quite the opposite, he adds to it, by constructing a dialogue between the the society of Sun King and our own.

Walking out for free

In January 2008, the French president Nicholas Sarkozy, known for his love of culture, if only by the fact that he married a gorgeous fashion-model cum singer, started a nation-wide experiment in which 18 museums in France offered free admission for 6 months and others, including the Louvre offered it to visitors under 26 once a week.

As a tourist, a francophile and an art lover, I could but rejoice at the philanthropic effort of the French president, which reportedly cost somewhere between 150 and 200 million Euros. The French, in a feat of historical consistency, were more skeptical.

While the advocates of the free admission pointed out similar practices in Britain, others feared that instead of diversifying the body of museum visitors – clearly the goal of the experiment – free admission would only benefit tourists, travel companies and regular museum visitors, without actually adding anything to the mix.

When the experiment concluded three months ago, the final tally was on the skeptics side: The number of visitors went up by 53%, including a whopping 153% in the palace of Jacques-Coeur in Bourges, but the increase was almost entirely on the account of regular visitors.

Demographics aside, an additional consideration that the articles do not note, is the changed experience one has in a museum that is visited by 153% more people than before. Granted, if the visitor number is low to begin with, the doubling that will not make the halls crowded nor the air unbreathable. However, museums like the Louvre, the Hermitage or the MoMA, already packed even with double-digit entry fees, feel like WalMart on a Monday evening when they have their free nights. In their case, entry fees help to filter out the interested tourists and the art-lovers from random wanderers.

Also note, that the loss in revenues for museums and higher government spending means that museums get to spend less on improving their collections and acquiring new items. Which is the priority then?

I’m not making a case here against free admission, this New York Times article presents pretty well how big a problem over commercialisation poses to the cultural heritage world. Furthermore, the British report that their decision to go free on most of their major museums has been met with great success. The French, on the other hand, have demonstrated that every experiment needs not only a hypothesis but also intensive research, without that, free admission may remain just another populist political gimmick.