Community: bloggers@brooklynmuseum

Once permanent installations are set into place, the opportunities for placing previously unseen works on view are rather rare—even with a collection as deep (with over 6000 objects) and well-regarded as Brooklyn’s collection of African art (ranked among the most important holdings of art from the African continent in North America). The chief opportunities come from outward loans of objects on display in the permanent galleries, allowing an equally intriguing work from storage a “guest spot” in the open casework, or through textile rotations. (Look for more on the latter in another posting.) Thus, it was with considerable pleasure that I, along with our crack Art Handling, Conservation and Design teams, was able recently to return our Kuosi Society Elephant Mask, by an unknown artist working in the Bamileke style, to view from an extended hiatus in storage.

The circumstances for the Elephant Mask’s return were a bit unusual. As you may have noticed, it currently has pride of place in our shop, gracing the cover of the newly published catalog of the African collection, African Art: A Century at the Brooklyn Museum.

The mask was one among a series of candidate objects, of the roughly 130 in the book, for the cover slot on the catalog (more on this process another day, as well). Once it was selected, our Chief Curator and I met and decided that it needed to be returned to view in the permanent galleries.

The Elephant Mask had last been on view in 2001, when the current version of the “Arts of the Africa” galleries was last completely reinstalled. After a brief sojourn on the 1st floor, it was returned to storage the following year, out of conservation concerns (the cloth background, from which it is primarily constructed, is best preserved with limited long-time light exposure). Unfortunately, the casework and mount in which it was displayed were not retained.

While a new case was being constructed, our Conservation team set about re-examining the work, first determining if it was stable enough for display—and, if so, for how long. Once convinced that it could be returned, our mount-maker began the task of studying the construction of the mask, in order to best design a metal mount that would both bear the weight of the entire composition and, in particular, support the large, round projecting ears, which are only loosely sewn on to the edge of the mask’s face.

The result was cleverly simple—a post that runs from the bottom of the case (largely obscured by the trunk) into a round, foam support behind the face, with two half-circles extending from the central core, running along the edge of the face and the back and bottom of the ears.

(When you examine the object closely next time in the galleries, note how the mount was painted with specks of color, to mimic the beaded patterns on which it is overlaid.)

Consultation with our Chief Designer determined that the mask could be inserted into the existing installations with minimal disruption. A late 19th century funerary headdress, or tugunga, in the neighboring Bamum or Tikar styles was re-oriented in the gallery, from the current location of the Elephant Mask onto an axis in direct line of sight with the (former) Hall of the Americas.

After a few, small paint touch-ups on the walls, the Elephant Mask was ready for its return last month.

The mask itself is among the boldest and most colorful examples of Bamileke beadwork that I know - a genre that ranges from certain types of clothing and items of personal adornment, to the decoration of large, ceremonial or political objects, like stools. Moreover, the mask remains in stunningly good condition (most such masks would have been discarded - or sold - only after they had become worn, no longer suitable for continued use). The artist has, very cannily, used a combination of complimentary shades of blue beads, against an indigo-blue cloth background, in contrast with a smaller number of red, white and ochre beads to add visual interest to the radiating circular and wedge motifs covering most of the surface. The mask, as a persona of political enforcement within the Kuosi Society, was used by the Bamileke fon, or king, in periodic displays reinforcing his own authority. (For the full gallery label, visit the object in our online collections). Better still, come examine it in person, and re-discover the depth and variety of Brooklyn’s world-class African collection.

Terence Koh’s Untitled, a stack of thirty-three glass cases, is a striking presence in the Contemporary galleries.  Almost every case contains an artifact that’s been painted white. Some of these date back to the artist’s childhood while others are from friends and lovers, or flea markets. The sculpture is like a shrine that preserves meaningful relics from various chapters of Koh’s life. Unlike many artists, he embraces the effects of entropy and decay on his work, such as mold, or glass shattered in transit.

Terence Koh (born China, 1977). Untitled (Vitrines), 2006. Mixed media, variable. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Peres Projects, Inc., 2008.34.

The piece is part of a larger body of monochrome work in which Koh explores the meanings of white in different cultures, ranging from purity to mourning. With its investigation of temporality and allusions to eventual death, the Brooklyn Museum’s glass stack provides an introspective counterpoint to Koh’s flamboyant public persona. (See his website) Sex and death are themes that run obsessively throughout all aspects of his work.

As part of Performa 09, Koh will be at the Brooklyn Museum on November 7^th for Target First Saturday to perform Saaqiou. At 9:30 p.m., he will be performing and DJing in the Rubin Pavillion, incorporating the Rodin sculptures.

Through the generosity of Beth Rudin DeWoody, the Museum recently acquired a multiple component installation piece made by the artist Vadis Turner, which will be included as part of the Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art. The installation titled Reception addresses women’s worth as represented in dowries provided at the time of marriage. The sculpture consists of a twin bed piled high with objects in this woman’s dowry, including dishes, candelabra, jewelry, textiles, and stacks of bibles. All of this is surrounded by fabric wedding cakes, chocolate coins, ribbons, fabric flowers, garter belts, paper rose petals made from tampon boxes and plastic brides and grooms mounted on top of fabric cupcakes.

Due to the numerous components—61 fabric flowers alone—and complexity of how the components interrelate, the artist came in to assist with the initial installation of this object. The object is on view in a specially selected room within 21: Selections of Contemporary Art from the Brooklyn Museum on the 4th floor.

The install took a day and a half, but the cataloging and accession numbering of all the components took several weeks. When objects are acquired by the Museum for the permanent collection, a baseline condition report and cataloging of the parts are made. This follows the current standard of best practices, establishing a record which will aid the museum in preservation and proper interpretation of the art work in years to come. Besides the bed, the viewer will note two other major elements in the room; a sex swing and a working chandelier made from tampons. The effect is one of a riotous explosion which seems a little off kilter. In speaking with the artist as she set up the installation, she wants the whole feeling of the piece to be decadent but a little tired; kind of like a melting wedding cake.

Museums are full of small-scale changes of exhibition that are worth seeing but easily missed because they don’t get any publicity. Sometimes it’s as simple as replacing one of our usual displays with a rarely-seen object because the better-known piece is being loaned to another institution. Other times it’s a matter of repainting a wall so the objects displayed there look completely different. I think many of us are guilty of believing that we don’t need to visit the permanent collection galleries of our local museums because we’ve already seen them, but in truth most of those galleries are in constant flux. It’s worth revisiting even the most familiar collection because you never know what new discoveries you might make.

Xie Shichen (Chinese, 1487 - c. 1567), Landscape. Fan, now mounted flat: ink on gold dusted paper. Overall: 7 1/2 x 19 1/2 in. (19.1 x 49.5 cm). The Brooklyn Museum: Gift of H. Christopher Luce, 1993.193.

A great example of a big change that takes place in Brooklyn’s permanent collection galleries without even a whisper of P.R. is the Museum’s annual rotation of Asian paintings. Every January we change out all the paintings in the Asian galleries, usually selecting the new group to represent a single theme that runs through several different cultures. It amounts to a mini-exhibition, but one that appears interspersed with the rest of the Asian objects on permanent view.

This year the theme of the rotation is landscape. We put up 19 paintings in January and they look absolutely gorgeous.

Great tomes can and have been written about the significance of landscape in East Asian art and culture. I’m not going to try to cover it all here. Suffice it to say that the landscape painting tradition has its roots in the belief that time spent in a natural setting is therapeutic and enlightening, offering benefits and lessons that no amount of culture or scholarship could. This is an idea that lots of Westerners share, but the Western world came to it much later. (Think about how “new” Thoreau’s Walden seemed in its time.) Chinese, Japanese, and Korean landscape paintings are mostly not the antique equivalent of Sierra Club calendar photos, however, because most of their artists weren’t recording the actual appearance of mountains and shorelines. Most of the paintings were created indoors, and first-hand knowledge of the wilderness was not always a prerequisite for a successful painting.

Like much great art, East Asian landscape painting is a means of communicating many levels of meaning in a reasonably compact way. The viewer of a landscape painting can approach it from several directions at once:

Noro Kaiseki (Japanese, 1747-1828), Landscape. Hanging scroll: ink and light color on silk. Image only: 50 x 19 1/2 in. (127 x 49.5 cm). Brooklyn Museum: Gift of Dr. Richard and Ruth Dickes, 84.134.1

- First, one must make sense of the scene. This isn’t always easy, since often much is obscured by bands of clouds or general haziness. Twisting rock forms that “should” read as far-away peaks often seem to be impossibly top heavy, leaning in from above with no discernable base. In figuring out the spatial progression of the scene (or lack thereof), one starts realizing that this isn’t a real place. This isn’t a window onto a landscape but rather a landscape used as a window onto other concerns.

- After one is oriented, one can try to place oneself in the scene, to imagine what it would be like to be there. Artists often provide winding footpaths and little pavilions so the viewer can wander around and settle into parts of the landscape. Having entered it, one can discern the moisture in the air, the loose rubble under foot, the vast distance that lies between shores or mountain peaks. For all the abstraction of a landscape, it should still offer the viewer a familiar feel or experience.

- A knowledgeable viewer might recognize certain features that identify the scene with a specific site (although most paintings represent a fantastic landscape, imagined by the artist) and then remember that that site was mentioned in a celebrated poem. The landscape then brings to mind the emotional content or “lesson” of the poem. The viewer can assess the artist’s presentation of the scene with reference both to the poem and to other paintings that allude to the same verse: does this painting capture the same emotions as the words? Does it add anything to our interpretation of those words? Does it do so differently than other paintings of the same subject?

Kim U-beom (Korean, 19th century), Landscape with Bare Plum Trees. Hanging scroll now mounted flat: ink and light color on paper. 30 5/16 x 13 in. (77 x 33 cm). Brooklyn Museum: Gift of John M. Lyden, 84.197.3.

- Similarly, one might recognize certain features in the landscape that are highly symbolic, for instance gnarled pines (representing longevity) or blossoming plum trees (hope for new beginnings) or bamboo (resilience). This symbolism adds flavor to the overall effect of the painting. Again, some of these elements, singly or in combination, might bring to mind famous passages of literature.

- One might recognize segments of the painting that look like the work of other, well-known artists. If you spend some time looking at Asian painting, you discover that there are literally thousands of ways of applying ink to paper (or silk), and that each way offers different coloristic and textural effects. Certain types of brushwork came to be associated with individual masters and their schools, as did certain compositions and other features. A painting that quotes any of these features becomes a riff on Art History; by referencing earlier paintings it recalls moments in time and well-known artistic personalities. The viewer can weigh the contributions of the painting at hand against those of its predecessors, and the comparison might reveal something new.

Watanabe Shiko (Japanese, 1683-1755), Landscape. Hanging scroll: ink on paper. Image: 13 x 17 1/2 in. (33 x 44.5 cm). Brooklyn Museum: Gift of Mrs. Harold G. Henderson in memory of Professor Harold G. Henderson, 74.201.3.

So a well-made landscape painting speaks to the knowledgeable viewer on many levels: it offers an imaginary journey as well as a wealth of literary and artistic allusions to bigger issues. What’s interesting to many Western viewers, who were raised to expect landscapes to be picturesque, is that most of these paintings were not designed to elicit an “ooh, pretty” response (although many of these paintings are indeed quite pretty). Instead, an awful lot of East Asian landscape painting inspires emotions that even the most avid tree-hugger would tend to avoid in everyday life: feelings of isolation and discomfort, a sense of one’s own mortality and insignificance. So why go there? Because looking at pretty things usually doesn’t teach us as much about ourselves as looking at disturbing things does. And some of the most complex and fascinating experiences can be found in a combination of disturbing and pretty.

In any case, I invite you to come by the Museum any time before January 2010 to admire a fine selection of Asian landscape paintings in the second floor galleries. I have illustrated a few of them here, but they’re much better (and bigger!) in person.

Newly on view on our 4th floor: Italian Post-World War II Design

The Brooklyn Museum has been at the forefront of collecting Italian twentieth century design since the mid 1950s. One pivotal event made consumers in the United States aware of the diversity and accomplishments of modern Italian design and initiated the collecting of this material at the Museum—the exhibition Italy at Work, which traveled to twelve venues between 1950 and 1954. The exhibition was initiated by the Art Institute of Chicago in partnership with two organizations devot­ed to the promulgation of Italian design, Handicraft Development Incorporated in the United States and its corresponding institution in Italy, CADMA. Italy at Work included hundreds of objects by more than 150 artisans and manufacturers and featured furniture, ceramics, glass, textiles, metalwork, jewelry, shoes, knit clothing, and industrial design. The exhibition opened at the Brooklyn Museum, and at its conclusion, when the objects were dispersed among the host institutions, the lion’s share, more than two hun­dred items, came to the Museum.

Carlo Mollino (Italian, 1905-1973). Table, circa 1949. Made by F. Apelli and L. Varesio, Turin. Laminated wood, glass, brass. Gift of the Italian Government, 54.64.321 a-c.

Some of the objects on view here have not been seen since 1954 when Italy at Work closed, such as the mosaic by Gino Severini and the table by Paolo di Poli. In addition, some of the more recently acquired works are having their debut Museum installation here as well, such as the chairs by Alberto Meda, Ettore Sottsass, Jr., and Joe Columbo.

Ettore Sottsass, Jr.  (Italian, b. Austria, 1917-2007). “Casablanca” Cabinet, designed 1981. Manufactured by Memphis. Milan. Wood, plastic laminate. Gift of Furniture of the 20th Century, 83.104.