It looks as if all too often the intricate relationship between a 'relic' and the surrounding history that is imbuing it with meaning is not understood by the very people who's job it is to recognize such things. The continued story of the Elgin marbles looks like an example of that. In this post at Elginism, the author discusses the potential of returning the Marbles to Greece for the 2012 London Olympics. I noted with interest that although the majority of Britons support the return of the marbles, the Museum still opposes it on the grounds (since "the Greeks have nowhere to store them in" argument is no longer valid) that it would create a precedent and more artifacts would start flowing out of museums.
The post summarizes well why that argument does not hold water, and as such it seems more and more likely that the Museum simply does not want to let go of marbles. While it's true that the British Museum would lose some of it's prestige along with the marbles, it is questionable how much of a positive impact the marbles are making for the museum in the first place. After all, if most britons, upon seeing the marbles do not think "priceless Greek antiquities" but instead "the Museum should give it back", they may be still draw a crowd to the Museum, but not for the reasons the Museum would want them to.
Clearly, the story of the marbles does not stop with their removal from Athens by lord Elgin, and I'm left wondering, if already the story of the Museum's refusal to return them is starting to overshadow their prominence as important antiquities. Considering that the museum should think whether it even wants to hold on to a piece of heritage that makes most visitors think about the injustice of the museum and not the artistic merit of the object. It seems that returning them would benefit both the Marbles themselves (because at Athens, they could once again be viewed in context with the Parthenon and not be overshadowed by their fate in the past few hundred years) as well as the British Museum (since they would replace negative publicity associated with the Marbles with positive publicity associated with their return). So my hopes are high that Museum will realize that as well and work out a deal by 2012.
[edit from 10/31] In light of the last class discussion, hopefully this rewording of my argument will help to elucidate the point. Whatever power the Marbles have accumulated over time from being identified with the Parthenon, the foundations of Western Civilization, high aesthetic principles and whatnot, may become overshadowed by the power of being associated with the Greece-Britain debacle. If the British Museum is not very careful in dealing with this situation, then it's own image in the collective consciousness of the Brits, the cogniscenti and pretty much eveyone who matters to the Museum, may start tarnishing.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
Le Monde reports on the International Red Cross returning an archive of 80 000 items pertaining to the Spanish Civil War to the Republic of Spain, to help them research and preserve the memory of this significant event. In addition to being a significant endeavor on it's own right, this news items reminds me of an important detail in cultural heritage studies that is often overlooked to the detriment of the heritage: Museums and universities aren't the only ones making cultural heritage.
It is quite easy to get stuck in the familiar grounds of museums, public humanities and cultural studies, when talking about cultural heritage. Even discussions about the illegal relocation of objects is often talked about in a way that involves only private individuals, museums and the state as a mediator between them (through the process of legislation). The truth of the matter is that many organizations, some of which have no direct relation to issues of cultural heritage, can become involved in the debate, some willing, some unwilling.
The Red Cross is one example of such an organization, whose prime objective is not to deal with the preservation of cultural heritage issues, but who has been placed in a situation where it needs to deal with it. Another organization is the US Military. Larry Rothfield, of the Punching Bag, reports on the repercussions of military inaction in Iraq leading to the looting of the Iraq National Museums and destruction of a significant amount of the world's cultural heritage. The truth of the matter seems to be, that a lot of the destruction was caused not by malicious intent, but simply by wild ignorance of cultural heritage issues by the people planning the war. Hence the addition to the military field manual on Stability of Operations regarding the protection of cultural heritage.
These examples should serve as warning as to how dangerous it is to close certain subjects in an ivory tower and pretend that they are not related to "real world" issues. Cultural heritage, perhaps by it's reference to the past and the world "culture" in it, is often designated as a secondary concern by people dealing with "more important stuff", such as the economy or governance. However, such neglect can easily come around and bite you in the butt, as the world-wide debate regarding the protection of the Iraq museum has shown. However, such understanding has to begin with recognizing cultural heritage as a primary concern, not a tangentially related subset of a more important concern. For instance, the military need not protect cultural heritage, because it is vital to the stability of the region (though true), it needs to protect heritage, because it heritage is a important part of humanity. Similarly, while New York City's assessment of the economic profitability of Eliasson's "Waterfalls" may provide insight into the cost-benefit analysis of public humanities, it needs to be recognized at the same time, that an economic analysis can never be the sole assessment to the success of a piece of public cultural heritage.
It is quite easy to get stuck in the familiar grounds of museums, public humanities and cultural studies, when talking about cultural heritage. Even discussions about the illegal relocation of objects is often talked about in a way that involves only private individuals, museums and the state as a mediator between them (through the process of legislation). The truth of the matter is that many organizations, some of which have no direct relation to issues of cultural heritage, can become involved in the debate, some willing, some unwilling.
The Red Cross is one example of such an organization, whose prime objective is not to deal with the preservation of cultural heritage issues, but who has been placed in a situation where it needs to deal with it. Another organization is the US Military. Larry Rothfield, of the Punching Bag, reports on the repercussions of military inaction in Iraq leading to the looting of the Iraq National Museums and destruction of a significant amount of the world's cultural heritage. The truth of the matter seems to be, that a lot of the destruction was caused not by malicious intent, but simply by wild ignorance of cultural heritage issues by the people planning the war. Hence the addition to the military field manual on Stability of Operations regarding the protection of cultural heritage.
These examples should serve as warning as to how dangerous it is to close certain subjects in an ivory tower and pretend that they are not related to "real world" issues. Cultural heritage, perhaps by it's reference to the past and the world "culture" in it, is often designated as a secondary concern by people dealing with "more important stuff", such as the economy or governance. However, such neglect can easily come around and bite you in the butt, as the world-wide debate regarding the protection of the Iraq museum has shown. However, such understanding has to begin with recognizing cultural heritage as a primary concern, not a tangentially related subset of a more important concern. For instance, the military need not protect cultural heritage, because it is vital to the stability of the region (though true), it needs to protect heritage, because it heritage is a important part of humanity. Similarly, while New York City's assessment of the economic profitability of Eliasson's "Waterfalls" may provide insight into the cost-benefit analysis of public humanities, it needs to be recognized at the same time, that an economic analysis can never be the sole assessment to the success of a piece of public cultural heritage.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Just look at the pretty pictures.
A reviewer for the Independent has a problem. The Byzantium exposition in the Royal Academy shows a lot of flashy relics, but little substance on the side. According to him, the exhibition wows the senses, but the opportunity to "address our difficulties about the subject matter" is lost. Granted, he's pretty vague there in actually laying out what he means by that, and the Royal Academy is a bit far for the time being, do just drop by and have a look, but on a hunch, I would say that the author is pointing out an item of debate, quite common in today's museums.
To what extent should art exhibits have interpretive texts explaining their context to us? At first, the answer seems obvious: it's all about context, right? In the end, we do not understand the objects in museums, unless we know the context in which they were used and produced, if we don't know what preceded and followed them. As Lowenthal points out in "The Past is a Foreign Country", relics revitalize history and re-make into memory. This is why museums are so effective tools of education. Why would we not want as much context as possible?
Well, the issue gets a little murkier in the case of art museums. A case could be made, that what art museums really are interested in, is not conveying the history of the movements, the context of the paintings and the story of their production, but the timeless aesthetic qualities that transcend history and memory and make themselves apparent without any background knowledge, without any context. In simpler terms: it's the 'wow-factor'. The art museums could say: if you want context, take an art history class, we are interested in conveying the full range of the aesthetic experience.
This is why art galleries and even art museums presenting artworks hundreds of years old, are almost invariably presented in ubiquitious white spaces. Rarely are 16th century portraits hung on replicas of 16th century mansions, complete with quills, candles, beds and dinner trays (though there are exceptions to that). The idea is to draw attention to the art, not to dilute it with clutter. The information the art can give us of the past, is often secondary to the emotion it evokes in the viewer there and then.
Of course, this is but one interpretation, and others (whom I happen to agree with), would say that the intent of the artwork is lost, if one can not appreciate the context in which it was made. Most of Renaissance art requires an intricate knowledge of both the Bible and of the Antique, something quite well understood by the people appreciating art back in the 16th century, but somewhat more obscure for today's generations. While it is possible to appreciate the mastery of the composition, the emotions conveyed through the characters, many of yesteryear's paintings would ultimately remain incomprehensible, or at least greatly diminished without the contextualizing texts and audio material.
And one final point: By being keepers of heritage, museums have a certain responsibility to provide the context, even if they do not consider it their mission. By being in posession of a unique piece of cultural heritage and by committing to educating the public, a museum takes on the responsibility of presenting the contextual information in an easily accessible way, because no one else can do it. One can write art history books, or produce documentary films, or write fiction, but the bottom line is, that the museum will be the only one in posession of the actual object, and thus has the monopoly on the history-turning-memory process that Lowenthal describes in his book. Thus the museum is not entitled to simply cutting out the history.
And in the end, if all you want from a museum is the art and not the history, then no-one is obliging you to read.
PS. this post may have been influenced more by the appalling lack of context in the Latvian National Art museum, than the Royal Academy show, but if I understand the reviewer correctly, then the latter seems to be suffering from a similar problem.
To what extent should art exhibits have interpretive texts explaining their context to us? At first, the answer seems obvious: it's all about context, right? In the end, we do not understand the objects in museums, unless we know the context in which they were used and produced, if we don't know what preceded and followed them. As Lowenthal points out in "The Past is a Foreign Country", relics revitalize history and re-make into memory. This is why museums are so effective tools of education. Why would we not want as much context as possible?
Well, the issue gets a little murkier in the case of art museums. A case could be made, that what art museums really are interested in, is not conveying the history of the movements, the context of the paintings and the story of their production, but the timeless aesthetic qualities that transcend history and memory and make themselves apparent without any background knowledge, without any context. In simpler terms: it's the 'wow-factor'. The art museums could say: if you want context, take an art history class, we are interested in conveying the full range of the aesthetic experience.
This is why art galleries and even art museums presenting artworks hundreds of years old, are almost invariably presented in ubiquitious white spaces. Rarely are 16th century portraits hung on replicas of 16th century mansions, complete with quills, candles, beds and dinner trays (though there are exceptions to that). The idea is to draw attention to the art, not to dilute it with clutter. The information the art can give us of the past, is often secondary to the emotion it evokes in the viewer there and then.
Of course, this is but one interpretation, and others (whom I happen to agree with), would say that the intent of the artwork is lost, if one can not appreciate the context in which it was made. Most of Renaissance art requires an intricate knowledge of both the Bible and of the Antique, something quite well understood by the people appreciating art back in the 16th century, but somewhat more obscure for today's generations. While it is possible to appreciate the mastery of the composition, the emotions conveyed through the characters, many of yesteryear's paintings would ultimately remain incomprehensible, or at least greatly diminished without the contextualizing texts and audio material.
And one final point: By being keepers of heritage, museums have a certain responsibility to provide the context, even if they do not consider it their mission. By being in posession of a unique piece of cultural heritage and by committing to educating the public, a museum takes on the responsibility of presenting the contextual information in an easily accessible way, because no one else can do it. One can write art history books, or produce documentary films, or write fiction, but the bottom line is, that the museum will be the only one in posession of the actual object, and thus has the monopoly on the history-turning-memory process that Lowenthal describes in his book. Thus the museum is not entitled to simply cutting out the history.
And in the end, if all you want from a museum is the art and not the history, then no-one is obliging you to read.
PS. this post may have been influenced more by the appalling lack of context in the Latvian National Art museum, than the Royal Academy show, but if I understand the reviewer correctly, then the latter seems to be suffering from a similar problem.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
So where is culture going anyway?
Economic crisis is great for culture! No wait, it's horrible! No, painting is the new gold! While the punditocracy is all over generalizing ideological statements about the economy, the world of culture seems to leave them scratching heads. No one is entirely clear how the general public will look at heritage when looking in their wallet makes them more and more worried. Some even ask: why care, when the world is ending?
There seems to be little doubt that as far as auctions go, people are buying like they used to and many fear that museum donations will dry up as former donors have more pressing issues at hand (coughlehmanbrotherscough). When it comes to the people on the street though, I find myself thinking more like John Harris of the Guardian. It is true, that when times get rough, then culture is the first to lose funding and the last to regain it. But while the scope and vision of heritage production may have to be contracted, the will and interest to both create and consume may, in fact, increase.
As John Harris points out, lean times often lead to creativity - great changes have always precipitated great art, from the great paintings and groundbreaking philosophy of the Great French Revolution to the sardonic comedy films and depressingly realistic literature of the 1930-s. And revolutionary times, remain the topic of future artists long after their passing, Hollywood, for instance has still not gotten over the World War II fad.
But there is room for heritage as well, because finally, as the New York Times article notes: "[Art] doesn't change, no matter what the economy." Heritage provides the anchor during cataclysmic times that ties people to their roots and provides them with the opportunity to say: "If this old vase could survive 3000 years of floods, earthquakes, wars, massacres, famine and plague, then a fluctuation in the stock market is not so bad." In a situation like this, it becomes apparent how cultural heritage is not only our link to the past, but also something that ties the past to the present and puts the present in context of the past, in a way more tangible than any op-ed in the New York Times.
As Lowenthal says: "yesterday's relics enlarge today's landscapes". Heritage, which has the timestamp of history on it, is the only thing that can make history beyond the date of our birth real to us. If, at times of great distress in present, relics can provide us with a tangible feeling of the great distresses of the past, then they may serve indeed as great comfort. Which is something many of us could use at this point.
There seems to be little doubt that as far as auctions go, people are buying like they used to and many fear that museum donations will dry up as former donors have more pressing issues at hand (coughlehmanbrotherscough). When it comes to the people on the street though, I find myself thinking more like John Harris of the Guardian. It is true, that when times get rough, then culture is the first to lose funding and the last to regain it. But while the scope and vision of heritage production may have to be contracted, the will and interest to both create and consume may, in fact, increase.
As John Harris points out, lean times often lead to creativity - great changes have always precipitated great art, from the great paintings and groundbreaking philosophy of the Great French Revolution to the sardonic comedy films and depressingly realistic literature of the 1930-s. And revolutionary times, remain the topic of future artists long after their passing, Hollywood, for instance has still not gotten over the World War II fad.
But there is room for heritage as well, because finally, as the New York Times article notes: "[Art] doesn't change, no matter what the economy." Heritage provides the anchor during cataclysmic times that ties people to their roots and provides them with the opportunity to say: "If this old vase could survive 3000 years of floods, earthquakes, wars, massacres, famine and plague, then a fluctuation in the stock market is not so bad." In a situation like this, it becomes apparent how cultural heritage is not only our link to the past, but also something that ties the past to the present and puts the present in context of the past, in a way more tangible than any op-ed in the New York Times.
As Lowenthal says: "yesterday's relics enlarge today's landscapes". Heritage, which has the timestamp of history on it, is the only thing that can make history beyond the date of our birth real to us. If, at times of great distress in present, relics can provide us with a tangible feeling of the great distresses of the past, then they may serve indeed as great comfort. Which is something many of us could use at this point.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Ramblings about authenticity cont-d.
The case of the Reina-Sophia museum, while interesting in its own right, contains a much broader discussion topic about attitudes towards 'authentic' cultural heritage. If we consider Serra's rebuilt sculpture to be the 'authentic' one, how then should we approach buildings that were destroyed in wars and rebuilt thereafter? Entire cities were rebuilt after World War II, in places ranging from Warsaw to St. Malo, and tourists flock there every day with only a few aware that many or even most of the buildings they look at as 'authentic' are actually post-war reconstructions.
And if they knew, would it even matter? Almost every old building has been restored or renovated many times over the centuries. The Tallinn Town Hall (see picture) is hailed as the "only surviving gothic style Town Hall in Northern Europe", but over the 700 years of its existence, it has burnt down, been renovated, the spire of the Hall has been reconstructed twice (once after being struck by lightning, once after being struck by a Soviet bomb), the weather wane has been replace three times and the two dragon-head drains were added a good few hundred years after the original construction.
So if the Tallinn Town Hall is still 'authentic', the Changdeokung palace in Korea is still 'authentic' (though having been burnt to the ground more than once), why would the Richard Serra sculpture be anything other than authentic? Or the restored Bamiyan Buddhas (assuming they ever finish the reconstruction).
It seems to me that even in cases of tangible cultural artifacts, the intangible aspect associated with them is what gives the objects properties of cultural heritage. Benjamin calls it 'aura', Lowenthal explains it as the binding history and memory into a physical object. If that's how we evaluate cultural heritage, then the physical equivalence of an artifact to what it was at the time of its original construction is of negligible importance. In fact, part of what gives the artifact its value are the changes it contains and the history it reflects. If we could somehow teleport the original Bamiyan Buddhas from the time of their construction in the 6th century to present day, they would not be as 'authentic' as the (hopefully) restored versions, since they would not reflect the 15 centuries of human history in the way the restored versions would. For the same reason we can consider the Berlin Reichstage (see picture) as 'authentic' cultural heritage though it only bears a passing resemblance to the original.It's the aura, not the atoms, stupid.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Of French Journalism, Spanish museums, American art and Jewish Marxism.
Pretty much every paradox that came up in our class discussion of authenticity in heritage is contained within this article in Le Monde that lays out the story of a 30-ton steel construction by the father of all 30-ton steel constructions, Richard Serra. Created in the 1970-s for a Spanish museum, the steel construction was eventually given to an art stockpiling firm, because the museum did not have the finances to maintain it and was out of public view until the commissioning museum of Reina-Sophia wanted to reinstall it.
But, gasp, surprise, shriek, the installation had disappeared.
The solution: have Richard Serra himself build a carbon copy of the work and install that one.
Cue deep philosophical dilemma(tm).
Is the sculpture currently on display at the Reina-Sophia the copy or the original? It is made by the same artist, he did not get paid anything beyond the cost of construction, there is even a precedent (sculptures of Auguste Rodin's works made of casts that the artist produced are considered originals) so technically there is no reason not to call it the original.
Except of course, it's not the same installation.
This case shows how the term 'authenticity' is indeed a very fluid one. We call the sculptures made of Rodin's casts originals, but for some reason we have doubts about Equal-Parallel/Guernica-Bengasi. Another example is photography, where originals, no matter how they are defined, are in the end already copies of the original negatives. For instance, this webpage defines an "original photograph" as one that was developed at the year of its taking, though there is no real reason to set that line at two years, five years, or twenty five years - after all, what does it matter when a negative is transferred to a positive, the result is still as much a copy in 1970 as it was in 1930.
So where do we draw a line between an original and a copy? Walter Benjamin would answer, that before the age of mechanical reproduction, it was based on the "aura" - the duration and history associated with an object. Today, "To an ever greater degree the work of art reproduced becomes the work of art designed for reproducibility. From a photographic negative, for example, one can make any number of prints; to ask for the “authentic” print makes no sense. But the instant the criterion of authenticity ceases to be applicable to artistic production, the total function of art is reversed. Instead of being based on ritual, it begins to be based on another practice – politics."
However, he is wrong, because people still ask for "authentic" prints of photos and authentic mechanical reproductions of 30-ton steel slabs. While I would dismiss Benjamin's Marxist dream of a world where all art is based on politics, his idea of the "aura" warrants consideration. To take the idea a bit further - it would seem that through ritual, authority and persuasion, the "aura" of an original can be transferred to an object that is essentially a copy, but in a relation so close to the original that the reality can for all intents and purposes be dismissed. For that reason, people have no trouble recognizing sculptures made of Rodin's casts as originals and for that reason I would also consider Serra's Equal-Parallel/Guernica-Bengasi 2.0 an original.
Though I admit, Le Monde's journalist poses a difficult question: what if the original shows up?
[edit from 10/25]
I am tempted to answer to that: 20 years down the road, it will hardly matter. The history constructed around the object is complex and intriguing enough that through either public opinion or a consensus of art historians, both objects will be declared "originals", which they for all intents and purposes, are. It seems to me, that amount of suspension of disbelief is low enough here, for people to accept both objects as 'true', should the other one ever reappear. Certainly, if they could do it with Rodin's casts...
But, gasp, surprise, shriek, the installation had disappeared.
The solution: have Richard Serra himself build a carbon copy of the work and install that one.
Cue deep philosophical dilemma(tm).
Is the sculpture currently on display at the Reina-Sophia the copy or the original? It is made by the same artist, he did not get paid anything beyond the cost of construction, there is even a precedent (sculptures of Auguste Rodin's works made of casts that the artist produced are considered originals) so technically there is no reason not to call it the original.
Except of course, it's not the same installation.
This case shows how the term 'authenticity' is indeed a very fluid one. We call the sculptures made of Rodin's casts originals, but for some reason we have doubts about Equal-Parallel/Guernica-Bengasi. Another example is photography, where originals, no matter how they are defined, are in the end already copies of the original negatives. For instance, this webpage defines an "original photograph" as one that was developed at the year of its taking, though there is no real reason to set that line at two years, five years, or twenty five years - after all, what does it matter when a negative is transferred to a positive, the result is still as much a copy in 1970 as it was in 1930.
So where do we draw a line between an original and a copy? Walter Benjamin would answer, that before the age of mechanical reproduction, it was based on the "aura" - the duration and history associated with an object. Today, "To an ever greater degree the work of art reproduced becomes the work of art designed for reproducibility. From a photographic negative, for example, one can make any number of prints; to ask for the “authentic” print makes no sense. But the instant the criterion of authenticity ceases to be applicable to artistic production, the total function of art is reversed. Instead of being based on ritual, it begins to be based on another practice – politics."
However, he is wrong, because people still ask for "authentic" prints of photos and authentic mechanical reproductions of 30-ton steel slabs. While I would dismiss Benjamin's Marxist dream of a world where all art is based on politics, his idea of the "aura" warrants consideration. To take the idea a bit further - it would seem that through ritual, authority and persuasion, the "aura" of an original can be transferred to an object that is essentially a copy, but in a relation so close to the original that the reality can for all intents and purposes be dismissed. For that reason, people have no trouble recognizing sculptures made of Rodin's casts as originals and for that reason I would also consider Serra's Equal-Parallel/Guernica-Bengasi 2.0 an original.
Though I admit, Le Monde's journalist poses a difficult question: what if the original shows up?
[edit from 10/25]
I am tempted to answer to that: 20 years down the road, it will hardly matter. The history constructed around the object is complex and intriguing enough that through either public opinion or a consensus of art historians, both objects will be declared "originals", which they for all intents and purposes, are. It seems to me, that amount of suspension of disbelief is low enough here, for people to accept both objects as 'true', should the other one ever reappear. Certainly, if they could do it with Rodin's casts...
Monday, October 6, 2008
There's always a bigger fish
CultureGrrl provides an interesting counterexample to the widely accepted notion of museums being at the end of the art acquisition food chain. The Corcoran Gallery in Washington is deaccessioning 10 of it's holdings for an estimated $4-6 million dollars. This got me interested in how museums deal with the issue of deaccessioning, and after some research, I came up with Code of Ethics for Museums that establishes some pretty tough guidelines for deaccessioning. The comments made by culturegrrl and the Art Law Blog lead me to believe that in general, deaccessioning is a policy that is treated with utmost respect in the States as well as abroad.
To that end, I am left wondering, whether this may not be exxagerated a bit beyond proportion. Keeping in mind some past discussions regarding the future of the museum and mr. Skramstrad's fabulous article, I do not see, in principle, the horrors that deaccessioning works causes to a museum. If indeed, works are being sold to principally other museums whose capacity to care for the works are at least on par with those of the selling museum, the profits are used to better direct the focus of the selling museum and the work itself is exposed to a wider variety of people, then it should by all means be done. In the end, it does not matter in which museum's collection a certain work exists, as long as it exists in a collection.
Of course a looser policy towards deaccessioning opens up a new can of worms. There is the question of non-profits using works acquired through donations or by public money (be it tax deduction or straight-out government funding) to essentially make profits, not to mention the erosion of public trust that the Art Law Blog so concisely points out. On the other, it seems, at least as evidenced by the Code of Ethics and the little information available on the Corcoran case that museums are quite aware of these pitfalls and are taking that well into account when choosing to go down that route.
And finally, I am intrigued by the fact that the most recent exhibition of one of the works being deaccessioned by Corcoran was in 1990, that is 29 years ago. The works being sold may end up in less prominent museums, but they may also end up on display. Everything else being equal, I would much rather see the Cole being sold by Corcoran on display in a small museum somewhere in middle America than in storage in Washington as the gallery stands faithful to its collection.
But what if the works are bought by private individuals? What if the works end up being completely removed from the public sphere and end up collecting dust in the basement of a rockefeller-wannabe for decades? A devil's advocate's answer would be: how is this different from collecting dust in the basement of a museum for decades?
This of course relates back to many of the topics we've discussed in class. First, public money has been used by the museum in purchasing the object, so the public should have a say in whether or not that object can be deaccessioned to a private owner. This is probably why the museum is seen usually as the last item in the cultural heritage food chain. Even if the museum strictly adheres to the policy of using the revenue only for augmenting the collection, there are many strings attached. What if the deaccessioned works were a gift? How does that portray the museum in the eyes of would-be donors? How does decreasing the collection of a museum, even if temporarily, to an auction house, no less, jibe with the professed goals of most museums - that is education and preservation? If the museum does not know where the works are going to, how can they be sure that they are well preserved.
In short, if it's tightly regulated, then it's rightly so. In the case of the Corcoran though, more information is needed before passing judgement.
To that end, I am left wondering, whether this may not be exxagerated a bit beyond proportion. Keeping in mind some past discussions regarding the future of the museum and mr. Skramstrad's fabulous article, I do not see, in principle, the horrors that deaccessioning works causes to a museum. If indeed, works are being sold to principally other museums whose capacity to care for the works are at least on par with those of the selling museum, the profits are used to better direct the focus of the selling museum and the work itself is exposed to a wider variety of people, then it should by all means be done. In the end, it does not matter in which museum's collection a certain work exists, as long as it exists in a collection.
Of course a looser policy towards deaccessioning opens up a new can of worms. There is the question of non-profits using works acquired through donations or by public money (be it tax deduction or straight-out government funding) to essentially make profits, not to mention the erosion of public trust that the Art Law Blog so concisely points out. On the other, it seems, at least as evidenced by the Code of Ethics and the little information available on the Corcoran case that museums are quite aware of these pitfalls and are taking that well into account when choosing to go down that route.
And finally, I am intrigued by the fact that the most recent exhibition of one of the works being deaccessioned by Corcoran was in 1990, that is 29 years ago. The works being sold may end up in less prominent museums, but they may also end up on display. Everything else being equal, I would much rather see the Cole being sold by Corcoran on display in a small museum somewhere in middle America than in storage in Washington as the gallery stands faithful to its collection.
But what if the works are bought by private individuals? What if the works end up being completely removed from the public sphere and end up collecting dust in the basement of a rockefeller-wannabe for decades? A devil's advocate's answer would be: how is this different from collecting dust in the basement of a museum for decades?
This of course relates back to many of the topics we've discussed in class. First, public money has been used by the museum in purchasing the object, so the public should have a say in whether or not that object can be deaccessioned to a private owner. This is probably why the museum is seen usually as the last item in the cultural heritage food chain. Even if the museum strictly adheres to the policy of using the revenue only for augmenting the collection, there are many strings attached. What if the deaccessioned works were a gift? How does that portray the museum in the eyes of would-be donors? How does decreasing the collection of a museum, even if temporarily, to an auction house, no less, jibe with the professed goals of most museums - that is education and preservation? If the museum does not know where the works are going to, how can they be sure that they are well preserved.
In short, if it's tightly regulated, then it's rightly so. In the case of the Corcoran though, more information is needed before passing judgement.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
You'd think that by 1950 they would have switched to paper...
The Independent reports on the Australian history being rewritten thanks to a series of rock-paintings found in Wellington Range, depicting sea-faring vessels from 15 000 to 50 years ago. This proves, among other things, that Australians have been a sea-faring people from far longer than expected, and that there has been contact between the Australians and the rest of the world well before James Cook.
This creates an interesting contrast between tangible and intangible heritage. The tangible heritage - the hundreds upon hundreds of rock paintings are certain to draw hundreds of thousands of visitor to the Wellington Range to marvel at 15 000 years worth of heritage. I am left wandering though, how much will the intangible heritage change - will people adopt the rewritten Aboriginal history and start thinking of the natives as a highly developed seafaring cultures with many overseas contacts well before James Cook's time? Or will they simply take the rock-paintings of World War II era warships as another proof of the huge gap between Civilized Man and the Noble Savage?
If tangible heritage is a pretty straightforward affair - it's stuff, it's there, there's little you can do about it, then the intangible appears much more complicated, as it is composed of ideas without an inherent truth value attached to them. The American myth of the self-made man is very much a part of the country's cultural heritage, whether or not the evidence supports it; the "800 years of slavery" that the Estonian people supposedly suffered through is a fixed part of the nation's heritage, even if tangible heritage (like written records for instance) prove, that it may not have that bad all of time at all.
So how should one approach that part of intangible heritage that is also wrong? If the heritage were disconnected from the real world and had no impact on native-non-native relations today, I would say, it doesn't matter. One shouldn't care about whether the oral tradition actually makes sense or not - after all, there is quite a bit in native cultures that doesn't make sense (at least to us), what matters is that it is heritage, and thus tells us something about the people who consider it heritage, be it native Americans, Australians or the Western World.
Unfortunately the heritage does make a difference, and attitudes ingrained in collective consciousness very much affect people's attitudes towards indigenous people today. That's why I want to believe that the newly discovered rock paintings will change the traditional imagery of the Australian aborigenes at least somewhat. At the same time, this is also why the "outdated" views on natives, even if the society has rejected them, cannot simply be deleted out of existence in an Orwellian stroke of revisionism, but have to be preserved at least in recording. It serves as a lesson for future generations, but also as an independent object of study - a piece of intangible heritage worthy of preservation as much as any other.
This creates an interesting contrast between tangible and intangible heritage. The tangible heritage - the hundreds upon hundreds of rock paintings are certain to draw hundreds of thousands of visitor to the Wellington Range to marvel at 15 000 years worth of heritage. I am left wandering though, how much will the intangible heritage change - will people adopt the rewritten Aboriginal history and start thinking of the natives as a highly developed seafaring cultures with many overseas contacts well before James Cook's time? Or will they simply take the rock-paintings of World War II era warships as another proof of the huge gap between Civilized Man and the Noble Savage?
If tangible heritage is a pretty straightforward affair - it's stuff, it's there, there's little you can do about it, then the intangible appears much more complicated, as it is composed of ideas without an inherent truth value attached to them. The American myth of the self-made man is very much a part of the country's cultural heritage, whether or not the evidence supports it; the "800 years of slavery" that the Estonian people supposedly suffered through is a fixed part of the nation's heritage, even if tangible heritage (like written records for instance) prove, that it may not have that bad all of time at all.
So how should one approach that part of intangible heritage that is also wrong? If the heritage were disconnected from the real world and had no impact on native-non-native relations today, I would say, it doesn't matter. One shouldn't care about whether the oral tradition actually makes sense or not - after all, there is quite a bit in native cultures that doesn't make sense (at least to us), what matters is that it is heritage, and thus tells us something about the people who consider it heritage, be it native Americans, Australians or the Western World.
Unfortunately the heritage does make a difference, and attitudes ingrained in collective consciousness very much affect people's attitudes towards indigenous people today. That's why I want to believe that the newly discovered rock paintings will change the traditional imagery of the Australian aborigenes at least somewhat. At the same time, this is also why the "outdated" views on natives, even if the society has rejected them, cannot simply be deleted out of existence in an Orwellian stroke of revisionism, but have to be preserved at least in recording. It serves as a lesson for future generations, but also as an independent object of study - a piece of intangible heritage worthy of preservation as much as any other.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
They've been unveiling it for the past hundred years, by the way.
A NYTimes article from today has a mildly misleading title. "Archeologists Unveil Majestic Roman Ruins", it says, talking about new discoveries in ancient Ostia, a Roman port town at the mouth of the river Tiber. The irony, of course, is that the four newly uncovered buildings aside, Ostia, as the article itself admits, has not been "unveiled" at all, but has rather been sitting there for the better part of recorded history and has been a site for archeological digs since the early 20th century.
At the same time it is nearly three times the size of Pompeii, features multi-story houses that according to the NYTimes article "rival the primacy of Pompeii" and is located a mere 20 kilometers from Rome. Everything would point to this being the worlds biggest tourist-magnet.
Alas! the NYTimes headline is also right. For many people, myself included, Ostia was literally unveiled by this article. I admit that I had heard nothing of Ostia before coming upon this article, and I take quite an interest in ancient Rome. The Times also hits the nail on head by pointing out that in the end, Pompeii is more famous because of its more dramatic history.
This is a potent claim. A lot of the value we place in cultural heritage is determined not by the "objective value" of the item, but by the stories and myths associated with it. The Mona Lisa's already impressive popularity skyrocketed when it was stolen from the Louvre in 1911 and a lot of the Elgin marbles' claim to fame probably comes less from the uniqueness of the works and more from their contested history.
As such controversies, stories and myths become a part of cultural heritage, then there is nothing wrong with them per se. Not only do they enrich the collective consciousness, but also they probably get more kids to museums than good old-fashioned pot-shards without exciting stories to tell. At the same time, wonderful places like Ostia go unnoticed.
At the same time it is nearly three times the size of Pompeii, features multi-story houses that according to the NYTimes article "rival the primacy of Pompeii" and is located a mere 20 kilometers from Rome. Everything would point to this being the worlds biggest tourist-magnet.
Alas! the NYTimes headline is also right. For many people, myself included, Ostia was literally unveiled by this article. I admit that I had heard nothing of Ostia before coming upon this article, and I take quite an interest in ancient Rome. The Times also hits the nail on head by pointing out that in the end, Pompeii is more famous because of its more dramatic history.
This is a potent claim. A lot of the value we place in cultural heritage is determined not by the "objective value" of the item, but by the stories and myths associated with it. The Mona Lisa's already impressive popularity skyrocketed when it was stolen from the Louvre in 1911 and a lot of the Elgin marbles' claim to fame probably comes less from the uniqueness of the works and more from their contested history.
As such controversies, stories and myths become a part of cultural heritage, then there is nothing wrong with them per se. Not only do they enrich the collective consciousness, but also they probably get more kids to museums than good old-fashioned pot-shards without exciting stories to tell. At the same time, wonderful places like Ostia go unnoticed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)