Showing posts with label Tate Modern. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tate Modern. Show all posts

18 February 2020

YOU MUST BE THIS OLD TO VISIT: CHILDREN IN GALLERIES & MUSEUMS

GLAM Guide | Madison Carmichael

Every once in a while, I’m struck by how I behave in museums. I walk silently, with my arms tucked tight behind my back – as though if I don’t contain myself, a rogue arm might lash out and damage something precious and priceless. I visit museums and galleries with my colleagues here at the faculty, and I notice them doing it too: ghosting through galleries without a sound, hands trapped against their sides, arms firmly crossed. 

I don’t remember how, or when, or where I was taught that this is how one comports oneself in a museum. In all likelihood it was at some point in my late childhood. And so I wonder if this is the threshold for adulthood in the museum world: adults know the rules and rigidly adhere to them, whereas children do not.

The Tate Modern. (Source)
Does this then mean that children shouldn’t visit museums and galleries? Folks in the GLAM sector have been tossing this question around since 2014, when two children climbed up onto a Donald Judd sculpture at the Tate Modern.  In the press, this event has been listed alongside incidents at museums that resulted in toppled statues, defeathered animal specimens, and ripped paintings, illuminating the potential dangers posed to collections on display. But more significantly, the incident at the Tate Modern – tweeted out to the world by the outraged New York gallery owner who witnessed it – instigated a heated debate that demanded, with unforgiving language, whether children should be banned from museums.
Donald Judd's "Untitled," 1980: the sculpture in question. (Source)
The very notion seems antithetical to ongoing efforts to open up the GLAM sector to wider audiences, and it operates in direct opposition to what researchers have been advocating for the past few decades: that museums ought to increase the attention paid to our younger audiences. In an article for the BBC, Michelle Warwicker rather critically stated that “art galleries are no longer places of reverent observation and hushed whispers.” The Metropolitan Museum of Art and (interestingly) the Tate Modern offer child-friendly exhibits and activities. Leigh-Anne Stradeski, Chief Executive at Eureka! The National Children’s Museum, concurs. She argues that the increase in child and family-friendly content is driven by changing public expectations regarding the role of museums in our lives as well as the more practical concern of attracting new audiences in the face of funding issues. In her opinion, “it can only be a good thing that museums have become more accessible to children, families, and other diverse audiences.” 

Not everyone agrees.

The first children's museum was opened in 1899, in Brookyn. Children's museums have flourished since as an alternative for parents and kids. Eureka! opened in the UK, in 1985, and it was modeled off its American counterparts. (Source)
There is a loud, oft-repeated assertion that children don’t “get” art. British artist Jake Chapman went one step further and declared that assuming that a child could understand complex works was both “arrogance” and “insult.” In his view, to insinuate that a child could understand art was to imply that “it’s as moronic as a child.” 

As I said, there seems to be a threshold for adulthood in the museum. Behaviour certainly informs that particular convention, but so too does how we interact with art. But unlike many of us grown-ups, children possess no uneasy need to “get” art. Where we are uncertain, they are open-minded and spontaneous in how they respond to and interpret works. They simply need a little more support to do so. Katrina Weier explains that children as ably pick favourites among artworks and relate them to their own experiences as any adult would. In 2004 – a decade before the incident at the Tate Modern and Chapman’s remarks – the Ipswich Art Gallery (formerly the Global Arts Link) led a program wherein children led a tour for a familiar adult. They discussed their favourite objects with varying degrees of detail, gave descriptions, and explained why they liked the objects.


What Weier’s study reveals is that children possess a capacity to talk about art. They become engaged interpreters when they feel that they can access the art in their own way and in their own words. And isn’t that how adults too are encouraged to “get” art?

We’re often told that art galleries in particular are places for looking, for doing so quietly. Children in the museum loudly disrupt the ritual of museum-going to which we are accustomed, and I think that this may be what we intimidated and unsure adults need. Warwicker notes that adults “may just have to learn to share exhibition space with these unpredictable little visitors” with some resignation, but even she admits that their natural curiosity can be infectious. And when we witness how willing they are to engage without fear of being wrong, they give us permission to do the same.

Museums of art tend to intimidate adult visitors. What if we embraced the unrestrained curiosity of children? (Source) 
As for the risks of children running in museums and galleries, it’s worth noting that most accidental damage to collections is caused by adults, not children. In the case of the Judd sculpture at the Tate Modern, however, I think Stradeski says it best: 

“If a child sees a climbing frame where an adult sees a priceless piece of art it's a matter of perspective - and if that poses a problem, the onus is on the professionals to facilitate the child's interpretation and experience of the sculpture." (Stradeski

Kids are kids. They aren’t little adults, so we shouldn’t expect them to be. But in our capacity as museum staff, educators, parents, etcetera, it’s up to us to facilitate how a child engages in the museum space. The answer to the challenge of children cannot be to close our doors on them. If we work to understand and support children’s visits, engaging the adults who accompany them, we not only provide them with a shared, meaningful experience; in a way, we ensure the future of the GLAM sector writ large. 

2 October 2017

UNPACKING THE MUSE AND EMBRACING THE BAGGAGE

SHE'S MY MUSE

BY: KATHLEEN LEW

Let’s start from the ground up.

Inheriting this column to write about museums publicly from a feminist perspective is exhilarating and terrifying. I’m unbelievably excited about “She’s My Muse,” as a museum goer, grad student, art-lover, feminist, Taurus—but I wanted to get to the bottom of what it really means to be a muse. Throughout my time at Musings, I aim to explore not only what “muse” means for me, but for women (all that category can possibly encompass + more), for intersectional feminists, and for museums.

Source.

Throwing it back to the very beginning, the Muses were the nine Greek goddesses who headed the arts. The ancient Greeks built shrines to the Muses to inspire transformations of thought and creativity. Guess what? These shrines were called museums. Lois Silverman writes about these mouseions in her book, The Social Work of Museums. She describes them as community spaces that fostered social change and honoured both conversation and reflection. Despite these women being mythical, and the museums themselves likely male-dominated, the idea of the word "museum" being attached to powerful female figures is a mighty nice thought.

The word "muse" later came to represent someone’s creative spirit, or a real person that an artist found inspiring. Muses as objects of inspiration brought real women into the art world, despite artists’ continuous attempts to keep them on the canvas. For the Romantic genius, muses provided comfort and creativity while they separated themselves from the rest of the world, tormented by the burden of their talent (*sigh*). 

Sir John Everett Millais, Ophelia, 1851-2, Tate Britain, Model: Elizabeth Siddal. Source.

An extremely compelling art historical example of this is the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood in 19th century England. The brotherhood had a group of muses that they welcomed into their social circle for artistic and sexual relationships. They would paint these women as figures from literature and from the past, positioning them as passive (aka sickly, dying, or silent). 

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Beata Beatrix, 1870, Tate Britain, Model: Elizabeth Siddal. Source.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal had a particularly dramatic tale. Rossetti painted Siddal as Beatrice, a figure from poetry who died from a drug overdose. Mid-painting, Siddal mirrored her image and tragically died from an overdose as well. This panicked Rossetti into believing it was his fault, ultimately feeding his poetic fantasy. Rossetti destroyed every photograph of Siddal except his own drawings of her, claiming ownership over her image. He buried his poems with her body, only to dig them up 7 years later. 

Elizabeth Siddal, Self Portrait, 1853-1854 Private Collection. Source.

What is more interesting than Rossetti’s quest to own both Siddal’s image and body, is the pursuit of information about these muses as living women and artists. Unsurprisingly, muses were women who did not spend their lives dying in paintings. To separate Siddal from her myth, feminist historians have studied how Lizzie was an artist in her own right. She was the only woman to exhibit with the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, and she utilized the social circle to improve her artistic skills. Her self-portrait is a stark contrast to Rossetti’s Beata Beatrix, depicting a mature and anxious woman with an active gaze. 

 Pablo Picasso, The Weeping Woman, 1937, Tate Modern, Model: Dora Maar. Source.
Diego Rivera, Dancer Resting, 1939, Museo Dolores Olmedo, model: Maudelle Bass Weston. Source.

Everyone is familiar with these women. Their images are ever present on the walls of museums, but their names and stories are often forgotten. Picasso’s Weeping Woman is Dora Maar, a photographer who was watching the violence of the Spanish civil war unfold. Manet’s Olympia is Victorine Meurent, a model and performer. Diego Rivera’s Dancer Resting is Maudelle Bass Weston, a prominent African American dancer and cultural figure in Los Angeles. These are only a few of the muses that live on the walls of museums.
The above tweet documents the National Museum of Women in the Arts' #FreshTalk4Change, where Allison Gass speaks to Judy Chicago about amplifying women’s voices through art. This past September's event was a museum muse that stuck with me (even just watching it unfold online), as women joined together to meditate on feminist work and discuss change. Source.

So, what does it mean to search for museum muses today?

It means finding the lives behind the paintings on museum walls, and telling their stories. It means asserting agency as muses and as women for our own creative endeavors. In the context of this column (and life hopefully), it means re-claiming the muse as inspiration. The muse is more than an object of male creativity. It is a group of inspiring women artists and professionals who make socially conscious work, and push for change in the museum world.

I want “She’s My Muse” to be a space that is open, creative, intersectional, challenging, and loving.  Hopefully along the way we will find some great gifs, see some cool art, learn from each other, and work to make room for others.

With that, let's find some museum muses.

References:

Becker, Edwin, Julian Treuherz, and Liz Prettejohn. 2003. Dante Gabriel Rossetti. New York: Thames & Hudson

Bradley, Laurel. 1992. “Elizabeth Siddal: Draw into the Pre-Raphaelite Circle.” Art Institute of Chicago Museum Studies 18(2): 136-145, 187. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4101558.

Silverman, Lois. 2010. The Social Work of Museums. London: Routledge.