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Posts Tagged ‘museums’

Portrait of Augustus in Boston

The MFA Augustus, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, inv. no. 99.344, H. L. Pierce Fund. Photograph © 2015 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

I’ve been working on this project since I was a graduate student! Other research distractions (like finishing my dissertation in 2005), teaching work, and delays in laboratory tests on this piece slowed down the final publication of the article. Finding the right venue for publication was also difficult. I sent it to a major archaeology journal, who said the project was too art historical. When I sent it to a major art history journal, they said it was too archaeological! I’m so glad this project found a home at the Journal of the History of Collections. The editors were very helpful and patient with me; the work on their side went very quickly, yet meticulously. This is the second article I’ve published in an Oxford University Press journal and both experiences have been excellent.

I wish I could have found a way to quote the late, great Miranda Marvin in the article. When I was first working on this project, I made my way from Kenmore Square out to Wellesley, meeting her for the first time, to talk about this head, to see if she had that “blink” reaction to it, that it could be fake. I brought with me the slick MFA headshots of Augustus, which I laid out on her desk. She glanced at them, then slid them back across the table to me and said very seriously “Anything with a nose is suspect.”

Indeed the state of preservation was a major element in my making a case for this piece not being ancient. The article also tackles the provenance of the piece, its style, and technical aspects. And although laboratory tests were carried out on the head by the Museum of Fine Arts, they proved inconclusive.

Read the article here at the Journal of the History of Collections. It will be in the print version of the journal soon.

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I came across this editorial in The Art Newspaper by way of Derek Fincham’s blog.

In the editorial, Anna Somers Cocks argues 1) repatriated artifacts have a murky and uncomfortable place once they are ‘home,’ given they do not have explicit archaeological provenance and 2) that these artifacts could benefit their country’s (in this case Italy’s) art and museum economy by being sold off. Cocks’ suggestion solves a two-fold problem in archaeology-rich countries: little adequate space for safe, proper housing and displaying of returned artifacts, and little budget for interpreting them through effective museum exhibits and qualified personnel. Cuts to arts budgets in countries like Italy and Greece have had (predictably) pervasive detrimental results in the safety of objects in museum collections, not to mention the inaccessibility of such collections to the public when slim budgets force museums to restrict their hours. (Perhaps a good project for a graduate student studying art law or museum studies would be to measure correlation between, say, the implementation of Greece’s austerity budget and instances of theft or vandalism at museums and archaeological sites.)

Cocks argues proceeds from sale of ‘orphan antiquities’ (my term, not hers) could help provide for the construction of new museums and the shoring-up of existing ones. Most archaeologists or art historians working on the classical Mediterranean have seen the shocking state of many museums’ storerooms: objects stacked floor to ceiling in conditions not always healthy for conservation; beautiful and important objects off view because there is not enough personnel to move, conserve, and properly display them; collections inaccessible to scholars, much less tourists. (And in all fairness, there are museums in similar condition in the United States; I was told by the Registrar at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston that only 2-3% of their collection is on display at any point in time.) So an injection of cash–from the proceeds of auctions of orphan antiquities–to museums in Italy an elsewhere could encourage the improvement of facilities, the accessibility of the objects to the public, and could be a job-creating mechanism (curators, conservators, on down to ticket-takers and janitors).

Cocks’ suggestion of selling off orphan antiquities is not really a new one. When I was in graduate school at the turn of the millennium, I took a course in archaeology and law. Our professor argued–in scholarly circles as well as before Congress–that one way to limit the illicit trade in antiquities was to create a massive licit trade in them. Flood the market with orphan antiquities (or even ones from legitimate excavations which for whatever reason were difficult to house or display) and the price of all antiquities goes down. With far less profit to be had from the sale of looted objects, the looting of archaeological sites would dwindle. The cachet of owning artifacts, moreover, would decline as such pieces would not be considered so much of a luxury if more people could own them. I’m not an economist by far, but the argument seems fairly sound. Just look at the frustration of Mexican drug cartels over the legalization of marijuana in Colorado, Washington, and elsewhere.

So the sale of repatriated antiquities (or even of ‘duplicates’ like ancient coins or rather run-of-the-mill pottery) benefits museums in Italy and other archaeology-rich countries and it also may drastically curtail archaeological looting. Such sales could also bring antiquity to a broader audience. If prices are driven down by the flooding of the market, it won’t be only very wealthy museums or very wealthy individuals who can own such pieces. Even smaller, regional museums could have a visually impressive piece or a teaching collection. Or both!

Having worked as both a field archaeologist and a museum professional (as well as an academic specializing in classical art and archaeology), I do not usually take a rigid position on repatriation. Obviously I believe bringing an end to looting is an essential goal, toward which I wish more archaeologists would work. Returning pieces to countries of origin delivers some financial sting to the collectors and dealers who would trade in stolen objects. Yet repatriation is a means of dealing with the after-effects of such looting and the illicit market, and it is not a terribly creative idea. I do believe repatriation bolsters national pride and a sense of cultural identity, but only among a minority of (in this case) Italians, and is a temporary effect. In the case of the Lydian Hoard/Karun Treasure, repatriation might have been one of the worst things to befall this collection of artifacts, as they are displayed in a rather ratty provincial museum off the tourist track, almost completely uninterpreted by personnel or signage, and were the subject of a second theft.

If there is a ‘cure’ for looting, it is the elevation of cultural value over economic value. A looted object is a lovely page of prose; an object with archaeological context is an entire novel. When historical objects are displayed in collections which present historical and cultural context as well as the aesthetic or material value, the public can learn the importance of preserving archaeological sites and protecting them from looting. Certainly such lessons might be temporarily lost on a public suffering from political and economic crisis (hey, Egypt).

So, in my view, to summarize, selling orphan antiquities on a licit market:

  • Discourages the illicit trade in antiquities by depressing prices
  • Discourages archaeological looting as there is less profit to be had along the entire supply chain
  • Shores up museums in source countries, inspiring the public to place more value on archaeological context and to in turn discourage looting (OK, maybe this puts too much faith in the power of accessible and engaging collections to really change hearts and minds.)
  • Disseminates antiquities into more hands–not just the rich, but smaller collections which can further this message of protecting archaeological context in order to protect history

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I had the pleasure last week of hearing Robert Edsel of the Monuments Men Foundation speak last week in Winston-Salem, NC. It was a packed house at the Stevens Center, despite the rather high ticket price. I was pleased to see so many people turn out for an event about art and history, even if the crowd was less than diverse (mostly 60+, almost entirely Caucasian). I was also pleased that Mr. Edsel asked all WWII vets stand and be recognized for their service; a heartwarming moment.

Having read The Rape of Europa, seen the documentary, seen the somewhat fictionalized and Hollywood-ized version of the Monuments Men, and read other sources on what I call broadly the Rape of Europa Phenomenon (the systematic looting of private and public collections of art by the Nazis during WWII and the subsequent attempts to return those pieces), I did not expect to learn many new facts and figures from Mr. Edsel’s presentation. But I looked forward to an engaging evening and was not disappointed. I did learn some new things–including that an acquaintance of my mother’s, Mr. Frank Albright, was a Monuments Man.

I came to the event armed with my own questions about the Rape of Europa Phenomenon and the contemporary problems in Iraq, Syria, and other sites of Arab Spring revolutions. How would Mr. Edsel explain our terribly short memory regarding the vulnerability of art and other genres of cultural heritage? Is that lesson just one of the many we as a species refuse to learn from each terrible war?

Indeed even before I had the chance to ask my question regarding connections between WWII and today’s destruction and looting of art, Mr. Edsel brought up Iraq and Syria in his presentation. As did George Clooney, star of the Monuments Men movie, in a video clip from an interview. Clooney denounces the fact that it only took us 60 years to forget that art as a valuable commodity–valuable with respect to ideology, economics, and emotions–is vulnerable in war and should be protected. So while the lessons of that past seem to have been somewhat lost in today’s armed conflicts, at least among looters and some fighters, the intellectual community is still engaged with this problem and outraged at the violence against art we continue to see in places like Syria.

But after Mr. Edsel’s presentation, I still had a question about preventing further violence against art and cultural heritage during wartime. We in the archaeological community, seeing sabers rattling in 2002 and 2003 over possible armed conflict in Iraq, sent emails to members of Congress, made phone calls, signed petitions. These pleas for protection of museums, monuments, and archaeological sites, largely fell on deaf ears. The rest is history. The museum was looted, archaeological sites were ignored or actively damaged by members of coalition forces, historical evidence was lost forever. I asked Mr. Edsel: What more could we have done? What can we do now to protect these monuments today? How can we get the general public involved in a fight that has been largely in the hands of academics? Mr. Edsel reminded me (and the rest of the audience) there are now members of the US armed forces trained to protect cultural heritage. He also urged academics to not simply talk to one another, using our highbrow jargon, but to reach out to the public in an accessible way. Our phone calls and petitions could then be signed by more than a handful of professors; we would be joined by average citizens who also think art and architecture and archaeology are worth saving.

As I continue to think on these issues, however, I wonder if it was a fair question to ask, or rather if it is fair to compare the Rape of Europa Phenomenon with Iraq and Syria. The former was a systematic, well-organized operation with military and political support. The orders to loot museums and private collections came from the very top of Nazi hierarchy. Current destruction of sites in Syria seems sometimes accidental as collateral damage, sometimes ideologically motivated. The looting of the Baghdad Museum, however, was at the hands of opportunistic individuals motivated by financial gain or perhaps anger at the falling Saddam regime, which had so frequently propagandized ties to the cultural heritage of Mesopotamia. The Coalition’s colossal failure to protect the museum notwithstanding, the vandalism and thefts there were not carried out under local military orders.

This is a question that has troubled me for now over a decade: Why would the Iraqis themselves destroy their own history? It’s a question even good scholars like Lawrence Rothfield, with all due respect, have failed to sufficiently address. Again, Coalition forces ignored or were ignorant of the lessons of the Rape of Europa Phenomenon. Yet the Iraqi looters themselves seemed to not understand the consequences of their violence against their own history, early human history. Some of my favorite images of the happier phases of the Arab Spring revolutions are that of Egyptians forming a human chain around the Egyptian Museum in Cairo (even if questions about it have been raised) and the modern Library of Alexandria, testament to the understanding of the vulnerability of art and culture during conflict. The civilian safeguarding of Egyptian monuments (even if other Egyptians have been engaged in illegal excavation and theft) is also symbolic of an indigenous sense of protection and ownership of their history, especially poignant as that history had been in the hands of others for so many years. If the Egyptians had learned the lessons of the Baghdad Museum, why had the Iraqis not learned from the depredations of WWII? If these concepts were not appreciated through direct study of the Rape of Europa Phenomenon (which would be understandable), then why not through a broader understanding of the vulnerability of cultural heritage during wartime, because of art and artifacts’ combined ideological and commercial values?

I am without the resources to answer these last questions. I hope some commenters can offer their suggestions.

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