THE LOST STATUE OF ATHENE PARTHENOS

Object of the Week | Carly Hall

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Recently I’ve been thinking about the objects that are no longer accessible to us, and whether or not this has impacted how we understand the stories and meanings which surround specific objects. One object, in particular, I’ve been thinking about is the ancient Athene Parthenos statue, which was completed by Pheidias and his assistants in the 5th century BCE. Housed in the Parthenon, the colossal figure of Athene disappeared from the historical record during the 5th century CE; historians believe that the cult statue was transported to Constantinople to be destroyed as a symbol of pagan idolatry.

Fortunately, we do have written records and smaller marble copies of the sculpture to help us envision what Athene Parthenos would have looked like. The ancient historian Pausanias gives a description of the goddess crafted in ivory and gold, holding a statue of Nike in one hand and her spear in the other. At her feet is her shield and a snake, and the birth of Pandora is shown in relief on the statue’s pedestal. The 9-11-meter-tall statue was housed in the cella, the inner section of the Parthenon and was said to be situated behind a shallow pool of oil or water, which would have served to compliment the sheer height and grandeur of the statue.

Replica of Athene Parthenos at the Royal Ontario Museum. Source.

Since I love imagery, Pandora's presence on the cult statue is interesting to me, as Athene and Pandora seem to represent very different ideas. Born from the head of Zeus, she is the masculine-feminine; uncorrupted by the flaws of her gender (according to ancient belief), resolved dutifully to strategic war and resourcefulness, technology and craftsmanship, and rational thinking. She was the goddess invoked by kings and heroes seeking swift victories or sound counsel. That a giant statue in her honour was erected is not surprising due to her importance in Greek life. What I do find interesting is that Pandora’s birth is shown at the base of the sculpture.

Pandora is known in Greek myth as the first mortal woman, created by Hephaestus upon Zeus' commission. Pandora's unwitting purpose was to be mankind's punishment for Prometheus stealing fire from the gods. She is primarily known for opening a jar that unleashed all the evils and troubles of the world and is cursed as the bane of man.

Pandora by Pierre Loison (1861). Source.

Pandora represents everything Athene is not, and I can't help but wonder why Pheidias chose to depict her birth instead of an Athenian military victory, or perhaps a scene of Athene's victory over Poseidon in their contest for patronage of Athens. The more I think about it, it seems simple: Athene towers over the base, human instinct Pandora symbolizes. She stands victorious over thoughtless actions (i.e. opening the jar), ensuring the perseverance of justice and rational thinking.

However, I think this just scratches the surface of all the possible symbolisms this scene has, especially in its context of being on the cult statue of Athene Parthenos. Jefferey Hurwit gives a more cynical reading of this imagery: despite all the divine gifts mortals may be given and the resourcefulness and technology Athene embodies, and despite Athene's patronage, mankind will always face evil (if you're a Classic nerd like me and interested in this kind of thing, you should read Hurwit's article on the topic - he goes into more detail in the history and myths of Athene and Pandora). Other possible meanings that may be tangled up in this imagery is that both Athene and Pandora are motherless and miraculously born full-grown, but act upon two opposite agencies: that of Zeus and that of imperfect mortality.

That's what I love about objects. They are repositories of a seemingly infinite amount of facts and stories, and one's experiences will determine which meanings are more significant.

ALL THE THINGS: BBC'S THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD IN 100 OBJECTS

Object of the Week | Carly Hall

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If you had to select 100 objects to depict the history of the world, what would you choose?

BBC Radio 4 and the British Museum decided to tackle this question, producing a 100-part radio series written and hosted by the former Director of the Museum, Neil MacGregor. The 2010 series, titled A History of the World in 100 Objects, was a hit; MacGregor captured the imaginations of millions of listeners as he recounted 2 million years of human history. The project was so successful that the British Museum was awarded the Art Fund Prize in 2011 for hosting the series.

The History of the World in 100 Objects collection. Source.

I’ve listened to the series in the past, and I too was enthralled by MacGregor’s storytelling and by the history of the objects. I was caught up in the symbolisms and the deeper, greater meanings and implications of the objects. But I’ve always wondered about the selection process in choosing the objects. The list is divided into 20 groups, each group covering a few hundred years of human experience. These groups are then composed of 5 objects intended to demonstrate important themes of each group (i.e., the Mass Production, Mass Persuasion [1780-1914 CE] group is made up of a ship’s chronometer from HMS Beagle, an early Victorian tea set, Hokusai’s ‘The Great Wave,’ a Sudanese slit drum, and a suffragette defaced penny). All objects were chosen exclusively from the British Museum’s collection; however, the online collection allowed international institutions and individuals to submit objects they felt deserved a place in world history. Some examples include Sputnik 1, 1979 Honda Civic, the condom, and a JFK/Johnson election campaign badge.

Now if you’re anything like me, you’re probably thinking: how can someone possible condense 2 million years of human experience into 100 objects? We have created a limitless inventory of objects for countless reasons and purposes, and it seems like an impossibly daunting task to choose a handful of things to describe our collective experience. Moreover, analysing The History of the World in 100 Objects requires us to consider the person/organization creating the list. Admittedly, I do not know BBC Radio's and the British Museum's intentions in creating this broadcast series. However, it seems to me that selecting popular objects exclusively from the Museum's collection (such a Parthenon Sculpture, a Hoa Hakananai'a Easter Island Statue, the Sutton Hoo helmet, the Lewis Chessmen) is a way to remind audiences of the Museum's power and seniority as a globally renown institution. On the flip side, it is a way to present objects to the public on a grander scale; the radio series, book, and online collection is internationally available free of charge.

While the website has a space for audiences and museums to submit their own objects, it would have been beneficial for the British Museum to partner with other institutions and cultural leaders. Doing so would have allowed the list to better reflect human history, not only by being inclusive to other collections, but also by reflecting culturally diverse voices. I'm not saying that the list is not culturally diverse. There are objects from many other counties and regions outside of Europe, such as North and South American indigenous communities, Africa, China, India, Iran Japan, Oceania and Russia. However, I cannot say for certain whether or not BBC and the British Museum collaborated with living source communities for this project.

I suppose that's the problem with trying to narrate human history using only 100 objects from just one institution; you risk overlooking objects that hold great importance to specific individuals or cultures. However, in keeping with the scope of the original list, the following is a brief list of objects from the British Museum that I think could have made the list:

A wampum belt, possible produced by Delaware or Iroquois peoples of North America. Wampum belts are significant forms of communication. They are records of history, transcending and challenging Western perceptions of legal documentation, especially pertaining to treaties between indigenous communities and European settlers.

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Hans Burkhardt’s 1948 lithograph, “After the Bomb.” an apocalyptic scene expressing the horrors of war and the terrifying possibility of nuclear holocaust. The invention of nuclear energy and weapons has impacted humans socially and politically, with fatal, long-lasting repercussions as seen in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and Chernobyl.

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Paa Joe's eagle-shaped coffin, created in 2000. Humans have always placed importance on the funeral celebrations/arrangements for their deceased. The Ga-speaking people of Ghana began creating these artistic coffins in the 1950s, introducing a new tradition of figurative coffins inspired by the eagle-shaped palanquins historically used by community leaders. The creation of new machinery, carpentry workshops, and the emergence of middle classes propelled this style of coffin to national and international popularity.

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Ilka Gedo's self portrait. Ilka was a Holocaust survivor, and completed a series of self-portraits in 1944 while she was in the Budapest ghetto. Honestly, I was surprised when I saw that the original list excluded an object associated with World War II or the Holocaust. I don't know what draws me to this self-portrait, but I find something beautifully defiant and resilient in creating art amidst the horrors of war.

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I encourage you to take a look at the The History of the World in 100 Objects and the British Museum's online collection and decide for yourself if you think they've missed something. In the meantime, I will leave you with a question: what object do you think is fundamentally essential to The History of the World in 100 Objects?

WANTED: MORE INTANGIBLE CULTURAL HERITAGE

Collections Corner | Carly Hall

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I’ve been reflecting on what really excites me about museums. As a Classicist, I’ve always been interested in the art and architecture of past civilizations; but mostly I was drawn to the stories and artistic processes. With my first year as an MMSt student ending, one thing has become clear: I want a future in intangible cultural heritage. I might even go so far as to place intangible cultural heritage above material culture; without the ability to pass down knowledge (language, ideologies, technical skills, etc.), I wouldn't be able to type out this blog post. 

Source.

What interests me most about intangible cultural heritage is its vitality. We create using past experiences, knowledges and techniques, and transmit these to the next generation. When cultural beliefs or technologies change, we establish new processes of expression and convey them to our descendants/successors. Since intangible cultural heritage can be understood as living heritage, it raises issues on how institutions can display this ever-changing heritage while maintaining past cultural knowledges. An obvious risk of presenting intangible heritage in institutions is that it can render such cultural knowledge as static. To say that museums have a bad habit of fixing cultures in the past is an understatement. So, how do we include intangible heritage in our collections without placing cultures or cultural practices in the past?

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This is where the Intangible Cultural Heritage and Museums Project (IMP) comes in. Established in 2017, this initiative considers different approaches, interactions and practices of intangible cultural heritage in museums. To achieve this, IMP focuses on interdisciplinary learning, developing professional skills, and creating international networking opportunities to discuss best practices. IMP believes intangible heritage is integral to the tangible collections we encounter in museums; therefore, institutions have a responsibility to protect cultural knowledges and educate publics on the intangibility of our museum objects. Currently, IMP is developing a toolbox to inspire and inform museums on how to protect intangible heritage, using cases from various museums in Belgium, the Netherlands, Switzerland, Italy, and France. In each case, curators and exhibition planners collaborate with source communities, and using both tangible and intangible cultural heritage to create a more complete understanding of cultural practices.

Projects like IMP have the potential to completely change the way publics perceive and interact with collections. Historically, museums have bestowed vast importance on the objects themselves. However, all objects possess an inherently intangible element. It is one thing to view a woven basket behind glass; but to experience the process of making the basket, the various styles, techniques, patterns of weaving (and understanding the importance of the act itself), is something totally different. Expanding our collections to include intangible cultural heritage will allow us to fill the gaps between cultural practices and material culture.

TOUCHABLE PAINTINGS: MAKING ART ACCESSIBLE TO ALL

Collections Corner | Carly Hall

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Art is, obviously, a visual experience. Unfortunately, this excludes persons who are blind or visually-impaired from engaging with many of our art collections. Museums and art galleries have taken steps to be more accessible and inclusive by including audio aids for visitors and special access to their collection, inviting those who are blind or with poor vision to touch objects and sculptures. However, experiencing a painting is a completely different issue. One may be able to feel textures created by brush strokes or read/listen to a description of the piece, but “seeing” the work through touch is largely impossible.

I came across the Unseen Art Project for the first time on social media. According to the first article I read, Unseen Art sought to create tactile copies of famous artwork using 3-D printing. Spear headed by Marc Dillion, this project would open multiple doors for increased accessibility of art collections for the public. Particularly, the project targeted those who are blind and visually-impaired, a community which inspired Dillion to embark on this venture. Dillon’s ambition was that 3-D artists could upload famous works to a software platform which will be accessible to anyone wishing to download and print a 3-D version. Oh, and did I mention that the software and downloadable model would be free?

This assumes that individuals have access to a 3-D printer, which can be expensive. However, institutions could take full advantage of this software and create exhibitions of tactile paintings. Certainly, these exhibitions would appeal to everyone, especially those of us who long to reach out and touch things on display. In a 2016 interview with TechCrunch, Dillon stressed that these 3-D paintings could not include every single detail from the 2-D work: “there needs to be some depth of touch, and there needs to be some limitation to detail – a perspective on the art, or an impression of the art, for people to really understand it. If you took any typical painting…and you made the whole thing – every bit of detail in there – then people aren’t really going to get a lot out of it.” The first painting Unseen Art intended to make downloadable is Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. Here is how Da Vinci’s most famous work would look in 3-D.

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The wrench in this whole project is that Unseen Art has seemed to have lost traction. After briefly researching the company, I discovered the crowdfunding campaign on Indiegogo is now closed (without meeting it’s flexible goal of $30,000.00), and the website domain has either expired (http://www.unseen-art.org), or doesn’t seem to exist at all (http://unseenart.org).

Perhaps I'm just late to the Unseen Art party. I'd like to think that the company joined another organization devoted to creating accessible museum and gallery experiences. Despite the possible end to Unseen Art, some institutions like the Museum of Madrid, have already begun temporarily displaying touchable replicas of famous artworks, using 3-D printing techniques to create a raised relief effect.

Goya, The Parasol. Source.

I hope Unseen Art will be able to continue their mission of accessibility to artwork, and that more institutions will incorporate these touchable paintings into their permanent collections. Personally, I like Dillon's vision for touchable paintings better, as it provides a truly 3-D experience/interpretation of a painting. I also agree with Dillon: works of art should be accessible to anyone. Clearly, establishing touchable paintings in our permanent collections is just one way institutions can create and enhance the experience of all museum and gallery visitors. 

IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, SAVE ME FIRST

Collections Corner | Carly Hall

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In my spare time, I have been re-watching season 9 of The Walking Dead. It’s the only television show I will make a conscious effort to follow. I love the social and psychological elements of the show; how can you restore your faith in humanity and rebuild civilization when the world is burning?

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If you’ve been keeping up with the show, you know that in season 9, episode 1, our friends from Alexandria, The Kingdom, and Hilltop made a trip to a museum to gather supplies, including and historic agricultural tools. We are also introduced to Luke in season 9, who is the first individual to argue for the importance of the arts in a post-apocalyptic world (Luke had also been carting around a small collection of musical instruments). You may have also let out a little whimper when Michonne destroyed a Stradivarius violin (thought to be one of the most beautiful and sweetest sounding violins in the world).

When the only thing worth thinking about is survival, do history and the arts really matter? I’m inclined to say no. If I had to choose between escaping a zombie hoard or saving Van Gogh's Starry Night, I would opt for escape without hesitation. While the perils of The Walking Dead are mostly unrealistic, the museum scene and Luke’s speech on the societal importance of the arts raise an important question: in case of emergencies, what objects do we save and why?

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Many museums will have their own policies on what to do in the event of an emergency or natural disaster. Obviously, the rule of thumb is to save yourself and colleagues – no object is worth a human life. Collections managers may have a list of prioritized objects to save in dire situations, though choosing which objects are worth saving seems close to impossible. Some professionals may choose to prioritize saving the written ledger of acquired objects. This is a practical choice; ledgers are usually smaller and lighter compared to sculptures or fossils, and are a form of museum history.

But what about saving art and objects? We have ascribed value to scores of objects, so how do museum professionals choose what objects need to survive and what objects we can live without? Would you save newer pieces and leave older ones? Some policies may prioritize objects according to rarity and importance to the collection, or whether an object is on loan from another institution. Some institutions may determine an object’s or artwork’s priority based on its current physical state, sustainability, and longevity.

Ultimately, we follow the policies set forth by our institution. I would be lying, however, if I said that I would not be torn over choosing one object over the other. The items in our collections shape who we were, who we are, and who we might become. On the bright side, they are also inextricably tied to our intangible culture – and maybe that is enough. So long as we pass down our stories and histories, those objects we lose to catastrophes or time will never actually be lost.

GREEK (NUDE) GODS, AND THE IDEALIZED FORM

Collections Corner | Carly Hall

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One of my favourite spaces at the Royal Ontario Museum is the Gallery of Greece. I never get bored of walking through the marble statues, or watching figures chase each other in the scenes depicted on red-figure and black-figure pottery. The Gallery features approximately 1500 artifacts, showcasing the artistry of the Archaic (700-500 BCE), Classical (500-323 BCE), and early Hellenistic (323-31 BCE) periods. However, for this week’s article, I want to focus on one object in the collection: the Torso of Aphrodite.

Torso of Aphrodite. Photo courtesy of Carly Hall.

This sculpture of Aphrodite is a Roman copy of a Greek type during the late 2nd century BCE. The original sculpture, attributed to Praxiteles, was highly popular in the late Hellenistic and Roman periods. Due to its popularity, numerous copies were made, with some variations on the theme. In this example, dated to the 1st – 3rd century CE in Rome, the goddess was depicted adjusting her hair.

Aphrodite is an interesting Goddess. There are two myths associated with her conception. According to Homer, Aphrodite was the daughter of Zeus and the Titaness Dione. Hesiod gives a different account of her birth. When Kronos severed his father Uranus’ genitals off the coast of Cythera, Aphrodite was born from the foam. Despite the different genesis stories of Aphrodite, the Greeks and Romans believed the goddess to be the pinnacle of femininity, and an example of divine beauty which was unattainable for mere mortals (except maybe Helen of Sparta/Troy). As I was looking at this sculpture, I overheard a conversation about the inherently damaging idealism and sexualization of the sculpture, and in the art world in general.

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A part of me can certainly get behind this. Depending on one’s social standing, ancient women faced a multitude of injustices, and certainly did not enjoy the social liberties women have now. And the emergence of female nudity over the centuries has sparked contemporary discussions on patriarchal sexism and the male gaze in Western art. In fact, Praxiteles was one of the first Greek sculptors to present female nudity, and his bold innovations changed the course of the aesthetics of beauty. However, I think to fully understand the Torso of Aphrodite (and the Greek nude in general), we need to understand the context of Greek and Hellenistic sculpture.

To say Aphrodite represents idealism and sexuality is absolutely correct, by simple virtue of the goddess’ very nature. The Greek Pantheon represents the pinnacle of absolute beauty, because they are all immortal. They have no mortal equal, and their beauty was said to be so devastatingly glorious it could blind mortals who dared to look upon them. As the goddess of love, and feminine beauty (among other things), it makes sense that the goddess is depicted as an idealized nude. Typically, Greek deities are recognizable by their conventional attributes; for example, Poseidon has his trident, and Artemis has her bow and arrows—maybe even a deer or hunting dog by her feet. Aphrodite has her unmatched beauty, and many sculptors capture this through a deified presentation of the female form, be it fully or partially nude. The Venus de Milo, for example, depicts a partially clothed Aphrodite, with an elongated and athletic physique.

Venus de Milo. Source.

One of the things I learned about the Ancient Greeks during my Classics undergrad was that they were obsessed with the idea of beauty, both aesthetically and philosophically. It wasn’t only the female form the ancients were captivated with; many male gods and heroes are also shown in the nude. Take the Artemision Zeus or Poseidon for example. Here the god is shown in all his idealized glory. The statue captures the moment of throwing a lightning bolt or trident, muscles braced to demonstrate the favourable aesthetics of an athletic form (notice a similarity in the torso of the Venus de Milo?).

Artemision Zeus or Poseidon. Source.

In a philosophical sense, ancient sculptors would have depicted gods/goddess and heroes as idealized nudes to demonstrate their celestial, superlative nature. It was in praise not only of their divinity, but also for the potential greatness of the human form. Personally, when I see a nude sculpture of a Greek/Roman deity, I think about the divinity and representation of that god/goddess. I think about where the sculpture would have been housed, whether it be a villa owned by a member of the aristocracy, or a temple dedicated to a specific deity. The way I view Torso of Aphrodite is totally different from how I perceive Rodin’s study of a nude female figure. Perhaps I’m being a little idealist myself, distancing female nudity in Ancient Greece and Rome from nudity in the overarching art world.

What do you think about artistic nudity?

INSATIABLE CURIOSITY: SIR WILLIAM VAN HORNE'S JAPANESE CERAMIC COLLECTION

Collections Corner | Carly Hall

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During the fall reading week, I had the opportunity to attend an amazing panel hosted by the Gardiner Museum called “Power and Possession: The Ethics of Collecting” (to read my summary of this panel, click here). Fueling this panel was the Gardiner’s special exhibition Obsession: Sir William Van Horne’s Japanese Ceramics. This collection showcases the distinctive beauty of Japanese ceramics, as well as the obsession of one of the most significant collectors in Canadian history: Sir William Van Horne (1843-1915).

Before the collection is even made visible, the audience is exposed to multiple wall panels which provide a brief history of Sir William Van Horne and some context to his collection. After making your way through this corridor of information, you turn a corner and are exposed to the ceramic collection.

Obsession: Sir William Van Horne's Japanese Ceramics. Photo courtesy of Carly Hall.

Now, I’m a sucker for objects with small elaborate details, so when I rounded the corner, this was my reaction:

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The collection itself is impressive. Working together with the Montreal Museum of Fine Art, the Royal Ontario Museum and private collectors, the Gardiner has – for the first time – successfully gathered what remains of Sir Williams Van Horne’s original 1200 piece Japanese ceramic collection. Comprised of over 350 Japanese ceramics from the Edo (1603-1868) and Meiji period (1868-1912), Van Horne’s personal watercolour paintings, notes, catalogues and letters, the collection stands as an example of how incredibly complex collections and their collectors can be.

Photo courtesy of Carly Hall.

Photo courtesy of Carly Hall.

Sir William Van Horne was a perfect example of a colonial collector. Once the West had established trade with Japan in 1854, there was a fascination for collecting Japanese art and artifacts. As an industrialist with a passion for collecting and creating works of art, Van Horne became obsessed with Japanese domestic ware. He preferred objects made for household or ceremonial use as opposed to objects manufactured for export (such utilitarian ceramics he considered to be more culturally authentic).

The purpose of Van Horne’s collection was not based on aesthetics. It was the extensive research, the meticulous identification and classification of objects, and educational discoveries that roused Van Horne’s obsession. This is made quite evident as you examine sections of his notebooks and larger watercolours, revealing the collector’s passion and appreciation for individual objects.

Photo courtesy of Carly Hall.

Photo courtesy of Carly Hall.

Photo courtesy of Carly Hall.

While aesthetics may not have been the fuel for collection, it certainly plays a part in the exhibition. Depending on your line of perception, the effects of the lighting on the glass produce an incredible mirror effect on the objects. It’s almost kaleidoscopic.

Photo courtesy of Carly Hall.

Van Horne also seemed to be drawn to neutral, earthy coloured ceramics; however, his collection does contain beautifully vibrant objects.

Photo courtesy of Carly Hall.

Photo courtesy of Carly Hall.

Photo courtesy of Carly Hall.

Photo courtesy of Carly Hall.

As I mentioned, Van Horne was an industrialist; a real business tycoon who is most notably known as the man who fulfilled Sir John A. MacDonald’s vision of a transcontinental railway. The consequences of colonizing Western Canada are briefly addressed in one of the introductory wall panels as you first enter the gallery. However, it is difficult to remember this as you make your way through the collection. If you were put off by so much text at the beginning of the exhibition and had no background knowledge of Van Horne, the collection would seem unproblematic. What I found interesting is that Van Horne never visited Japan himself; he relied on art dealers from Japan and the United States to amass his collection, and to shape his knowledge on Japanese domestic ceramics.

Van Horne family with Japanese art dealer.  Photo courtesy of Carly Hall.

Putting aside all the potential issues of the collector and means of acquisitions, the collection itself is lovely. There is a sense of Van Horne’s genuine passion and curiosity for the ceramics. I strongly recommend this exhibition to anyone who likes to take the time to look at and object or artwork individually, study its details, and compare it with other pieces. And, of course, for all you avid ceramics lovers out there.

The Gardiner Museum will be hosting Obsession: Sir William Van Horne’s Japanese Ceramics until January 20, 2019.

LET'S TALK ABOUT "POWER AND POSSESSION: THE ETHICS OF COLLECTING"

Collections Corner | Carly Hall

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What do you do when you want to procrastinate productively during reading week? Go to a museum talk!

Entrance to the Gardiner Museum, Toronto, Ontario. Photo courtesy of Carly Hall.

On Wednesday November 7th, the Gardiner Museum hosted a brilliant panel titled "Power and Possession: The Ethics of Collecting." Moderated by Sean O’Neill, the panel was comprised of individuals with different experience in museums: Dr. Mark Engstrom (Deputy Director of Collections & Research at the ROM), Candice Hopkins (Senior Curator of the Toronto Biennial of Art and co-curator of the SITE Santa Fe biennial, member of Carcross/Tagish First Nation), and Adrian Stimson (interdisciplinary artist exhibited nationally and internationally, Siksika Blackfoot Nation). The panel coincided with the Gardiner’s special exhibition Obsession: Sir William Van Horne’s Japanese Ceramics; however, the discussion was geared toward how museums practice ethical collecting, using Sir William Van Horne’s collection featured in Obsession as the starting point for conversation. In this post, I will summarize the panelists' opinions on two themes: narratives and practice, and repatriation.

Before a real discussion on the exhibition and ethics of collecting could begin, moderator Sean O’Neill provided some context on Sir William Van Horne. Born in America, Van Horne moved to Winnipeg in 1881 to help with the building of the Canadian Pacific Railroad. The construction of the CP Railway was done primarily by Chinese labourers, who received less pay and lived in poorer conditions than White labourers working on the railway. In 1889, he move to Montreal, settling in a mansion located on the Golden Square Mile. During Van Horne’s residency, 70% of the Canadian economy was controlled by the small group of men living in this neighbourhood. O’Neill also highlighted that as the President of the Canadian Pacific Railroad (appointed in 1888) and overseer of its expansion into Western Canada, Van Horne was complicit in the displacement and cultural genocide of Indigenous and Metis communities.

Portrait of Sir William Van Horne. Source.

Narratives and Practice

When it came to identifying the primary issue of Obsession, all panelists agreed that the problem was Sir William Van Horne himself. The exhibition lacks an uncritical analysis and contextualizing of Van Horne as 19th century industrialist, which lead to O’Neill’s first question for the panel: “What is our obligation to contextualize exhibitions?”

Candice Hopkins began by stating that museum professionals are faced with a “deeply unethical field,” for which “there is no playbook.” Therefore, institutions must attempt to establish and negotiate authority and advocacy for artists and communities, and strive to provide transparency in their collection practices. An example of this would be providing greater availability of an object's provenance to the public.

Dr. Engstrom agreed that there is an obligation for contextualization and the consultation of communities being represented in exhibitions. The responsibility to reach out to the community lies with the curatorial team; it’s “not enough to have the singular authoritative voice of the curator.” Regarding the ROM’s Indigenous collection, the risk of dubiously acquired objects has led curators to attempt to clarify all gaps in the provenance of any given object, and make these records publicly available in the archives.

Repatriation

Adrian Stimson was the first to state the obvious: Canada does not have a working repatriation legislation. Instead, communities must rely on advocacy and activism if they want an object to be returned. Stimson recalled the efforts of his own community to repatriate Blackfoot materials; 4000 letters were sent to 4000 museums around the world, and only 400 museums responded that they were in possession of Blackfoot material culture. The act of repatriating materials is more complex than simply returning an object. As Stimson noted, materials need to be properly housed to prevent damage; unfortunately, not all Indigenous groups have the monetary power to build the storage complexes necessary to house repatriated objects.

The ROM is certainly no stranger to repatriation requests. According to Dr. Engstrom, there have been an increase in requests to have Indigenous objects repatriated. Dr. Engstrom gave a basic depiction of what repatriation looks like at the ROM: a letter of interest for an object is sent from a community, the request is sent to the Board of Directors, the Board approves, and the object is sent home. “Ultimately, the institution has the say for repatriation,” which means that the ROM decides an object’s cultural patrimony when faced with multiple claims of an object from different communities.

Hopkins suggested that it would be more productive and equitable for a repatriation request to go to an external committee. Dr. Engstrom agreed, and then in a moment of candour he stated perhaps the biggest worry of the Board (and arguably of all museums with deep colonial roots): “If we give one thing away, do we then give away all objects of all cultures?” Cue the awkward silence.

Source.

The night concluded with drinks, amazing one-on-one conversations, and after-hours access to Obsession. Before I left I took one last stroll through the gallery, reflecting on the panel and viewing the exhibition more critically than I had during my first visit. I couldn’t get Dr. Engstrom’s last question out of my head. Institutions should certainly repatriate objects to communities with legitimate claims – but what does this mean for the future of museums and collections? At the moment I honestly can't say, but it's absolutely worth thinking about.

The Gardiner Museum will be hosting Obsession: Sir William Van Horne’s Japanese Ceramics until January 20, 2019.

GRAMPA'S HUNTING TRIPS AND PERSONAL COLLECTIONS

Collections Corner | Carly Hall

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Do you consider yourself to be a collector? When I’ve asked this to people who tend to accumulate a specific kind or genre of object, most of the time their answer is no.

As students of Museum Studies, we know the importance of collections: they safeguard our cultural heritage and human experiences for future generations. This is obvious in museums and galleries, but can this also be applied to the personal collections of seemingly everyday objects? From my own experience, I argue that it certainly can.

My first memories of collecting come from my grandfather, though during the early years of my childhood I had no concept of collecting. Every year in the spring, Grampa would pack up his truck and head up-north to hunt. When he returned in the fall, his truck had transformed into a trove of natural materials. Most memorable were the deer antlers and hooves, rocks, bark, and rabbit’s feet. He would go through each object with me, encouraging me to hold and touch everything he brought back. He’d tell me the story behind his favourite objects, explain the importance of hunting in certain communities, and sometimes show me photographs of his home-away-from-home. While he was away hunting, I would gather leaves, sticks, bits of egg-shells fallen from trees, and rocks so I could share my own stories when he came back.

Unwittingly, I was learning how to collect things and display them in such a way that articulates their importance. With each passing year, I accumulated more and more natural materials, and had to decide which things were worth keeping.

Recently found objects in Mississauga, Ontario. Courtesy of Carly Hall.

I credit my fascination and impulse to collect natural materials to my grandfather. To this day, I continue to add things to my childhood collection—everything carefully selected and organized to establish a connection to the man who returned every fall with stories and treasures.

Personal collections, no matter what they contain, are a way to educate ourselves and others on personal and shared histories. They facilitate story-telling and foster intergenerational relationships. The most obvious example of this function of collections are the volumes of photo-albums families keep and digitize so that their memories are better preserved. Personally, I love when people break out their old photographs and recount the history of their family through first-hand knowledge, or knowledge inherited from previous generations.

Family photographs taken between 1949 - 1956. Courtesy of Wanda Hart.

One of the wonderful aspects of the human species is that we do collect things, either consciously or unconsciously. We assemble objects that outwardly reflect our interests, we keep things that connect us to our ancestral past or certain memories, and we shape our world view via knowledges amassed over our life-time. In this sense, every person is a walking museum, and there’s something pretty fantastic about that.