Date Night

One day while reading some dense, theoretical Museum Studies text by an author who had pretty staunch, old-fashioned views, I was reminded of another theorist who had expressed similarly ardent principles. My idiosyncratic, wandering brain imagined them having a conversation with each other, nodding enthusiastically in agreement, patting each other on the back and eventually high-fiving over their intellectual commonalities. This progressed into a scene reminiscent of a romantic comedy where the two main characters share a revelation: that they are made for each other!-- only in this case, it's based on say, a shared conviction that museums should avoid blockbuster exhibitions.  For this post, I've decided to share the top 3 Museum Studies theorist couples who were "made for each other" based on their theoretical stances. I've selected a quote from each that illustrates the reasoning behind their pairings.

The first couple: Danielle Rice and Charles W. Haxthausen. Haxthausen has put together an entire book on the separation of art history in museum and academic settings. In the introduction, he writes,

"On the one side is the perception that university-based art history has ceased to be interested in the aesthetic dimensions of the art object; if there is a love of art to be found there, it has become a love that dares not speak its name, at least not in the halls of academe. On the other hand is the view that museums have become part of the entertainment industry, that the social, economic and political conditions of museum work, the unrelenting quest for money and audiences, make serious, critical scholarship an impossibility."

 Similarly, in Rice's article, "Museums: Theory Practice and Illusion," Rice states,

"...Although the past two decades have seen a substantial increase in museological theory, the relationship between theory and practice is irrelevant to most theorists who see museums primarily as ideological symbols of the power relationships in today's culture. On the other hand, while it is not entirely ignorant of theory, most museum practice is too deeply rooted in the politics of competing interests to respond to the structural issues discussed in theoretical literature." 

It sounds like these two have a lot to talk about.

Our next power couple is Hilton Kramer and Lynne Munson. These two are both pretty old-fashioned in their writings and evoke tones that could at times be classified as crotchety. Kramer writes,

"We did not look to the art museum for news, but on the contrary, for what remained vital and enduring after it had ceased to be news. Nowadays, however, we expect of our museums that they will be dynamic rather than stable, that they will no longer be guided by fixed standards or revered traditions, but just the reverse-- that they will shed convention, defy precedent, and shatter established values often and eagerly as the most incendiary avant-gardism of yesteryear."

And Lynne Munson postulates,

"In recent years art museums have begun to resemble other kinds of institutions. Some have blurred their mission with that of trendy galleries, showing work fresh from the artists' studio before history has had a chance to determine its significance. Many museums are beginning to mimic entertainment arenas, converting much of their exhibition space into slick halls designed to excite the masses with blockbuster shows that promote artists like movie stars."

Perhaps these two will snuggle up to each other at Dumbarton Oaks or the National Gallery.

Last but not least, here are your Museum Studies king and queen, John Cotton Dana and Carol Duncan. Both of these notable theorists explored the museum experience with special attention on building structure.
Dana, a pioneer in the field, asserts,

"A building of steel and concrete in a modern American city is not made an appropriate home of the fine art by placing on its front the facade of one or the facades of half a dozen Greek temples or of 15th century Italian palaces. It is impossible to believe that the best Greek architects, if they were the masters in good taste we suppose them to have been, would have continued to make their buildings look as though they were built of columns of stone, with huge girders and crossbeams of the same material, long after they had learned to use steel and concrete in construction."

And Duncan posits,

"Art museums have always been compared to older ceremonial monuments such as palaces or temples. Indeed, from the eighteenth through the mid-twentieth centuries, they were deliberately designed to resemble them. One might object that this borrowing from the architectural past can have only metaphoric meaning and should not be taken for more, since ours is a secular society and museums are secular inventions. If museum facades have imitated temples or palaces, is it not simply that modern taste has tried to emulate the formal balance and dignity of those structures, or that it has wished to associate the power of bygone faiths with the present cult of art?"

Hmm, curated couples. This could go somewhere.

Yellow Kasota Limestone Means We're Sorry

This semester, a particular museum has served as the focus of not only two projects and a paper of mine, but also as the subject of my fascination with how certain previously (and maybe still, currently) underserved cultures are now represented in a post-postmodern, globalized, multicultural, politically correct, and supposedly enlightened society. You've probably guessed that I'm referring to the National Museum of the American Indian.

I should start by saying that this museum is unique because of its approach. Tribespeople were consulted in the creation of the museum and they were involved in making choices about the content and methods of information dissemination.  It's obvious that the Smithsonian made a concerted effort to be as inclusive and sensitive as possible in this effort to celebrate and acknowledge this historically marginalized group. Somewhere along the line, though, there had to be a creative decision made to focus more on contemporary Native Americans, rather than on the 12,000 years of their history. I'm not sure if the Smithsonian purposely did that as to avoid reporting on some messy parts of American history, but anyway...

I personally am a fan of the museum (but then again, the idea of a museum reaching out to hundreds of "ordinary" people to serve as curatorial representatives is a tiny bit threatening to my career aspirations, so maybe I shouldn't be so celebratory). For one, I think the building itself is really interesting and beautiful. I admire the fact that it it distinguishes itself in a city full of stoic federal monoliths. I appreciate the notion that it offers a kind of patchwork experience. Multiple voices, interpretations, etc. might leave you feeling dizzy, but oh well.  Especially because of the abundant programming, it's the kind of place that operates more like a community center. It belongs to the people who are represented.

I sort of think of the museum as a gift, a bouquet of yellow roses from the American government, a metaphorical "our bad" gesture. The feeling that the museum is a sort of consolation does make me feel sort of awkward there, even though my ancestors didn't come to America until semi-recently, after most of the damage had been done. Of course we should be sensitive to other cultures and forthcoming about history, even the messy parts, but it is awkward to carry white guilt with you throughout. I think that's probably inescapable, though.

I grew up with a generation that was pounded with lessons about multiculturalism, awareness, and acceptance. I used to watch a popular cartoon called Captain Planet, and there was a team of teenage environmental activists with special powers who were led by an eco-conscious superhero. What I remember most distinctly about this show is that the team of "Planeteers" was very diverse. This is the kind of thing that was pushed on us-- on TV, in textbooks, etc. As a result (or at least in general), my generation seems to have a pretty good level of sensitivity toward culture/race/gender/orientation. So maybe that's why I'm so positive about the mishmash and reluctant to criticize the museum.  I'm excited by the level of ownership given to/taken by contemporary Native Americans at this institution. A non-European/American approach to non-European/American subject matter? Awesome.

On the other hand, I can understand some of the criticism that it's not scholarly enough, not linear enough and overly homogenizing. A January article in the New York Times about the challenges of establishing the National Museum of African American History and Culture refers to the NMAI as a chance to learn from past mistakes, calling it "incoherent and clinging to romantic cliche." I'm always a fan of scholarship, and maybe in some ways, more professional-grade curatorial guidance would've been nice, but from what I can tell the NMAI is not the only museum venturing away from tradition. From what I can gather as a museum field newcomer, and I could be completely wrong here, the revisionist histories we as museum people have been embracing turns out to have had some residual effects, like a set of new ideas about how stuff should be exhibited in museums in order to maximize appeal and foster the most relevance and relatability possible.

This, of course, leaves us with questions about the role of museums. I think we could make the blanket statement that museums exist to serve their audiences, but what about their "people?" The museum has been criticized for having a Native American point of view-- is it acceptable for the NMAI to be ethnocentric because of the years of misrepresentation and underrepresentation that we (America) are now trying to awkwardly take back and apologize for?

Inside Out

As all the people who read this blog know, I'm currently working on an exhibition project which is focused on what is known as "outsider art." Some important issues have reared their heads regarding this heading, both in class and in my independent research. I've decided that there is a key decision I have to make in order to move on with this project: Do I want this exhibition to be focused on a particular aspect of the content of the artwork (i.e. "fantasy worlds"), in which the artists' emotional, psychological and social states are not the primary focus, or do I want to highlight these kinds of presumably influential factors? If I chose the latter, I'll have to take on the term "outsider art" and delve into some pretty intense existential questions, including one that was raised recently in The Economist : "How important is intent in art?"

The Economist article focused on "The Museum of Everything" in London,  established and curated by James Brett. There are a couple of revenant elements to this story. One is that the museum is in the basement of Selfridge's, a British department store and hotel. Interesting, in light of the issue of consumerism that runs rampant in this blog. Secondly, the museum takes on "outsider art," but Brett doesn't use the term, which, as I mentioned earlier, relates to the issue I'm dealing with at the moment.

It's actually kind of a strange coincidence that my mom sent me this article-- it discusses a retrospective of the work of Judith Scott, one of the artists I've been considering in my own exhibition project. Judith Scott was deaf, mute and was born with Down syndrome. The columnist, E.H., asserts that it's important to know these things about Scott to fully appreciate her work. I personally was more interested in learning about the adult art center where Scott worked and her discovery of fiber as a medium than her disabilities. And what was especially remarkable to me is the idea of a person like Scott, cut off from the world because of being deaf and mute, using art as a means of communication.

So, how do you you group/label "outsider artists" in a way thats inclusive rather than exclusive? "Outsider art" groups artists based on the fact that they are marginalized and outcasted, existing on the fringes of society. But is that in relation to other, more recognized artists, or to everyone? Judith Scott wasn't an outsider at the art center where she worked. In fact, she was probably the most popular artist working there. And what happens once works by artists like Henry Darger are purchased and displayed by museums like the Smithsonian American Art Museum? Is he still an outsider?

It's interesting to me that there is not a universal standard in classifying art. I grew surrounded by family members whose interests lie in math and science, so I'm intrigued when I discover something about my field that defies a specific, rigid structure of rules, classification, and order. I suppose ideally, art is grouped thematically. Cubism, for example, classifies art that captures a specific aesthetic. But art can also be grouped geographically, politically, and as is the case with "outsider art," according to the circumstances of its creators.

The idea that artwork as a whole is abstract, incongruent, difficult to categorize, and forever subject to interpretation and reinterpretation is romantic, but it makes organizing an imaginary show and a real paper pretty difficult.

I'm back to the question posed by the Economist. If it's not fair to group outsider artists by their social or mental position, by their reclusiveness, by their lack of formal training, how about their intent? How important is the fact that these artists (who often do not refer to themselves as such) created this stuff for the sake of creating it? Yeah, so Henry Darger's stuff is in the Smithsonian now. I'm pretty sure that's not what he foresaw happening. He never tried to "make it" as an artist. But I'm also not sure if that makes his art more important or interesting. 

Sigh.