Object Lessons is a three part installation that explores themes of accessibility, responsibility, visualization and authority. On Sunday, January 10, 2010, an observant visitor to the RISD Museum would have noticed six object removal cards placed across the Museum's permanent collection. With Object Lessons, I present the viewer with drawn facsimiles of the six removal cards, fifteen folders containing object documentation and archival material, and an audio narrative that all together form a surrogate for the art objects themselves. This work contains a densely layered narrative that is accessible to everyone but is only revealed in its entirety for the viewer who engages with the audio, the visual, and the textual.
Object Lessons, 2010.
Three part installation consisting of six framed drawings, set of fifteen file folders, and audio loop on iPod.
Dimensions variable.
Object Lessons: Part I, 2010.
Color pencil and pencil on paper, wood frames.
Framed dimension 8" x 10" each.
Object Lessons: Part I, 2010.
Color pencil and pencil on paper, wood frames.
Framed dimension 8" x 10" each.
Object Lessons: Part I, 45.179, 2010.
Color pencil on paper mounted in wood frame.
Card dimension 2 5/8" x 4 1/8".
Object Lessons: Part I, 21.468, 2010.
Color pencil on paper mounted in wood frame.
Card dimension 2 5/8" x 4 1/8".
Object Lessons: Part II, 2010.
Fifteen file folders with stamped labels containing research documents and object
reports.
Each folder 9" x 12".
Object Lessons: Part II, 2010.
File folder opened to show correspondence and object report.
Object Lessons: Part III, 2010.
Audio, 22 minutes, 38 seconds. Intended to loop.
Full Transcript
Just like any other museum visitor on Sunday, January 10th, 2010, I strolled through the Museums' labyrinthian floors looking at a mere sampling of the Museum's more than 84,000 objects of, according to its website "international significance." Staring into the void once inhabited by a significant object whose absence has been made known through the presence of a removal card, I began to wonder about these objects and the institution that acts as their guardian. Without the insertion of a removal card as a surrogate for the object, we wouldn't know that anything had been removed. But now that we know, what are we missing? Could I, could you, visualize the object without it being present? Now that the Museum had indicated to us that an object had been removed, does the institution, its curators, directors, administrators, have a further obligation to the viewers and to the objects themselves?
With these questions in mind and the removal cards as a point of departure, I left hoping to gain access to the people and systems that govern the museum and its significant collection and hoped to see how these objects and their stories are shepherded through the back corridors of the museum.
I had learned that every object in the museum has an accession number and a record. This record was originally a card in the registrar's card file and now exists within the Museum's extensive database called ARGUS. All 84,000 objects in the collection can be found in ARGUS and many of these objects also have object folders containing the objects paper history--a paper trail, if you will. Accessing these various records using their accession numbers seemed like an obvious place to begin gaining a better understanding of these objects and what they might look like. I contacted Tara Emsley, the Museum registrar and explained my interest in the removal cards and the missing objects. I was quickly corrected that the objects were not "missing" but had been removed and that the museum knew exactly where these objects were. Tara and I had an interesting conversation about the conditions of the museum and I looked forward to meeting with her. Soon after, my excitement was met with a disappointing email informing me that I would not be able to work with the registrar because she was very busy. Understandably so-she used to work with three people under her but due to budget cuts, was now working on her own. On the 13th of January, I thought about how I could re-work my exploration but remained determined to get at the information behind these objects and the institution that guards them. Of the fifteen objects, four are in the Decorative Arts collection, one is in the Department of Asian Art, and the remaining ten are in the Painting and Sculpture collection. Unfortunately, due to budget cuts, staffing issues and other reasons, the curator positions in the Department of Asian Art and the Decorative Arts collection were vacant. I was repeatedly informed that there was no way to access the records in these departments. I emailed the one curator I could, Maureen O'Brien, curator of painting and sculpture, only to get an out of office reply. Not sure where to begin or what to do, I turned to the RISD library to see if I could find any information at all about the objects. At this point, I had already become well aware of the significance of an objects' accession number. According to the Library Guide on researching a museum object,
"Each object owned by the museum is assigned a unique series of numbers by the Museum Registrar.
The first number represents the year of acquisition. Any pre-1986 acquisitions are represented by a two digit number. Beginning in 1986, the acquisition year is identified by four digits.
The second part of the number is the object accession number for the year.
The number 1997.92 tells us this Bill Blass Dress was acquired in 1997 and was the 92nd object accessioned into the museum's collection in 1997."
Using the accession numbers to guide me, I began leafing through the library's collection of Museum publications. Beginning in 1913 with Earl Rowe as General Editor, the Museum published quarterly bulletins containing lists of acquisitions and articles about exhibitions, objects, and museum happenings. The bulletin changed over the years and was published in one form or another until 1996. By looking through the bulletins and museum exhibition catalogs, visual, contextual, and historical information about the objects began to form.
As I began sifting through the material in the library, I received a reply from Maureen O'Brien explaining that the ten paintings on the south wall in the Main Gallery had been removed in the week prior due to vibrations that were being caused by demolition taking place in the adjacent medieval gallery. She also kindly informed me that for a number of reasons, her departmental object files were not available for study by students. She offered to answer any specific questions I had about the paintings. I didn't have any, at least not yet.
Despite not being able to gain access to any of the fifteen object files at the museum I decided to continue looking through the library's trove of publications. I found the first mention of the painting Esther and Mordecai, acquired in 1917, in the October 1921 Bulletin. I discover that it was the first painting to be bought with the Museum Appropriation fund and, according to the April 1937 Bulletin, holds an honored place in the Museum collection.
I then began searching for accession information on The Supper at Emmaus, which according to the booklet available in the Museum's main gallery, was painted by Jan Cossier and given to the Museum by Dr. and Mrs. Edward M. Harris in 1923. With this information, I began scanning the bulletins from that year but came up with nothing. In the January 1924 bulletin, there were ten paintings listed as gifts from Dr. and Mrs. Harris. While ''The Supper at Emmaus" was not among them, there was a painting called the ''Christ at Supper" by the Flemish painter Gasper de Crayer. I wondered if this could be the ''Supper at Emmaus" by Jan Cossier. Sure enough, in the January 1925 bulletin article about the paintings given by Dr. and Mrs. E. M. Harris, the ''Supper at Emmaus" or the ''Christ of Emmaus" as it is also referred to, was noted as being a ''fine example of Craeyer's freedom of brush work and technical skill". I wondered when it was discovered that Supper at Emmaus was not a fine example of de Crayer's technical skill, but that of Jan Cossier.
A similar story unfolded with that of the painting ''The Money Changers" by Marinus van Reymerswaele given to the museum by Jesse H. Metcalfe in 1925. An article on ''The Misers", by Van de Capelle in the January 1927 bulletin tells a story about the parallels between Capelle's The Misers and other paintings in collections at Windsor Castle and the National Gallery. I continued to collect more information about the remaining objects with the hope of discovering something else about the ''The misers" or ''The money changers" but the bulletins became increasingly less informative. Having exhausted the resources at the library and having collected what I could about the 15 objects, I emailed Maureen. I hoped she would be able to explain when and how ''The Supper at Emmaus" and ''The Money Changers" got reattributed. I also mentioned that I could find very little information on many of the other paintings, and in particular, the two floral still life paintings painted by an unknown artist and given to the museum by the estate of William E. Brigham in 1963. On the 23rd of January, Maureen replied that she'd be happy to meet with me. She also briefly explained that as for the floral still life paintings, there was no research in the Museum files, as they came without attribution with a group of objects from the Brigham Estate around 1960. She mentioned that they were originally likely to have been part of a decorative scheme in a palazzo or private home. We planned to meet at 10 am on January 27th.
A few days earlier, I made contact with Denise Bastien, the museum's Collection Information and Imaging Specialist. If there was any way to get behind the museum's curtain, it would be through Denise. In our first conversation, I explained my fascination with the removed objects and the Museum's use of removal cards. I mused about how the presence of the card reminds the viewer of what's absent and makes one question what objects and information the museum chooses to include or exclude. I explain that I'd been discovering fascinating historical and contextual information about some of these objects and that this information might even be more interesting than the objects themselves.
Equally enthusiastic about the systems and conditions that exist in the museum, Denise began talking about the museum's interpretive role and how to create viewer engagement at the point of the object. She mentioned an interesting article published in Museum News entitled ''Visual Velcro: Hooking the Visitor," written by Peter Samis.
In his 2007 article Samis asks, "When do people most want information regarding the artworks in an exhibition?" He states that "the vast majority of visitors want their information ''just in time, when they're standing in front of the work. This need focuses our attention in planning for interpretive resources." Samis further concludes that "The work of interpretation, then, is to give cognitive hooks to the hookless, and assure that these hooks are sufficiently varied so that they can successfully land in the mental fabric of a broad array of visitors. Once visitors have a framework, all kinds of sensory impressions, emotions and reflections can weave themselves into the fabric of perception. In fact, the more you know about a subject, the more you can learn about it (presuming the mental model you are working with accommodates the new information)."
Returning to my conversation with Denise, I also explained my disappointment with the Museum's accessibility and that I was originally hoping to be able to use the removal cards and accession numbers as a way to get behind the scenes. I explained how I had been looking through the library's bulletins for days and was becoming increasingly fascinated by what objects and collections the museum privileges over others. So far, I had been able to find published information about most of the paintings, the Etruscan finger ring, and the Japanese palanquin; next to nothing on a Chinese brooch; and absolutely nothing on a pair of paintings and two pieces of 20th century pottery.
Denise agreed to meet with me the next week and we scheduled an appointment for the 26th of January. She explained how to find the back entrance of the museum and told me that I'd have to wait in the security area upon arrival until she came down to meet me. I asked if I could photograph my visit and Denise explained that security and risk management are top priorities for the museum and that photography of the back entrance and storage areas would not be allowed.
I was looking forward to meeting with Denise. Denise had full access to ARGUS, the museum's database. If there was any way to obtain records on the objects, I knew it would be at her discretion. Denise greeted me in the security area on the afternoon of the 26th and we walked down the hallway to her office. After a brief explanation of her department's daily operations, Denise invited me to sit down. She started explaining how the dialogue about an object begins before any transaction occurs. Every object that enters the museum gets recorded in a daybook and is accompanied by an intake form. If an object becomes accessioned, it is then assigned an accession number and is entered into ARGUS. Denise explained that the primary role and responsibility of the museum is stewardship. Once an object is put into public trust, it is never put into jeopardy. The goal of the institution is to maintain this stewardship so that an object is protected in perpetuity. Donors have come to expect this on a fundamental level as they believe they are giving an object to the public in some way. In order to protect the object, Denise explained that different people in different departments have varying degrees of access to the database. For example, as the Information and Imaging Specialist, Denise is the only person with complete access to all the electronic information in the database and is the only one who can see all the changes that have been made. However, Denise does not have any access to ship artwork or move it out of the building. Vice versa, the Registrar can ship artwork and objects or move them out of the building but cannot access the auditing capability of the database. Likewise, an educator has access to some fields in the database, but he or she will never see the valuation or insurance information that is entered. It is this system of checks and balances that helps protects the museum's 84,000 objects and ensures the Museum's role of stewardship. Denise further explained that in order to keep track of an object, the accession number is essential-it controls everything. Denise told me how important it is that the accession number be attached to the object and its documentation in every way possible no matter how small the object. She explained that the accession number is what tells us when and where an object is from. If the accession number becomes detached from an object, the object's link to its source becomes broken and the object's legal identity is absent.
Bearing in mind the significance of the accession number, we began entering the accession numbers of the fifteen removed objects into the database. Denise showed me each object's record on her computer screen as we searched. When we entered the accession number for the Chinese brooch, a box popped up telling us that no record could be found. Perplexed, Denise searched for the object using some of the other descriptors from the object's tombstone that I had written down in the Parsons Silver gallery on January 10. An object's tombstone is what we might commonly call its plaque. The tombstone contains the object's descriptive information, in this case that the object is Chinese, was possibly made for export, that it is a brooch made circa 1900, that it is made of kingfisher feather, silver, and gilt and finally, that it was a gift of Theodore F. Green. Denise continued searching and guaranteed the record was there somewhere. Finally, Denise exclaimed that she found it. The object's accession number had changed slightly with the addition of the letter D, for de-accessioned, before its five digit number. The object report states, "this record has been classified as de-accessioned however the object was inventoried and photographed in the summer 2003. Need to check the de-accession paper files" The record was flagged as having a problem. The location tab clearly notes that the object was moved to the Asian textile gallery for inclusion in a display called Queen of the Insects: The Art of the Butterfly on December 10, 2009. I find this curious since the object removal card states that it was removed on November 3, 2009 for photography. At the end of the report there are indeed some photos of the brooch that were taken on November 6, 2009. The object report also states that the brooch was eaten by moths and destroyed on November 21, 1945. Also a bit odd since not only is the brooch metal, but it apparently still exists.
When we got to the accession numbers for the two still life paintings that were part of the Brigham collection, I asked why there was so little information on the work. Denise explained that when the Brigham collection came to the museum in the 1960's there were thousands of objects and no professional registrar. Before the 70's, when museum professional training began, the cataloging was done by bookkeepers. When the Brigham collection came to the museum, there were not enough resources in place and the diverse collection spread across many departments created a cataloging nightmare. For that reason, many of the objects got double numbered and weren't thoroughly documented. To this day, the Brigham collection remains a tangled mess that would take way too long to re-catalog.
At the end of our two hour meeting, Denise very generously printed the fifteen complete object reports. Before I left, Denise showed me the old catalog room that houses all the original object records. Until 1995, each object was recorded on a card and stored in a card catalog, much like a library card catalog. It took five years for all the information spread across the museums various departmental files to be compiled and entered into ARGUS and in 2000, the museum began using the database.
I asked Denise where I might find more information on the objects and if she thought there might be any way I could get access to the curatorial object files. She suggested I go to the Library Archives since many of the museums historic documents had been moved there. She told me to ask for Andy Martinez.
The next morning, I met Maureen O'Brien, the curator of painting and sculpture, in her office at Carr House on Benefit Street, adjacent to the museum. I explained my project to her and she apologized for not allowing students to access her object files. She would need to watch over the documents and it just wouldn't be practical. I told her I completely understood and that I would be grateful for any information she would be able to give me about the paintings that had been removed from the Main Gallery. We turned to my interest in ''The Supper at Emmaus" and ''The Money Changers" and began talking about the topic of reattribution. Maureen began by telling me about how Google has changed scholarly research for curators. While searching Google images has made it possible to immediately see a plethora of artworks housed in museums and collections around the world, it has in some ways made the role of the curator more difficult and the responsibility greater. When she started re-hanging the Museum's Main Gallery in the early 2000s, she reviewed each painting to make sure each work had proper artistic attribution. At this point, Maureen told me about the importance of connoisseurship. She explained that curators learn from objects over the years and that connoisseurship draws on what you know and what you have seen. Great curators, she added, have good eyes and great gut instincts. So when it came time to re-hanging the Main Gallery, Maureen trusted her instincts about some of the paintings. One of the paintings whose attribution changed was "The Supper at Emmaus." Up until then, the painting was attributed to Gaspard de Crayer. Maureen recalled that she had some instinct about the bearded man on the right and through Google images and books, she began seeing this man appear in paintings by Jan Cossier. After some thorough research, Maureen was confident that ''Supper at Emmaus" was painted by Cossier and re-hung the painting with its new attribution. Maureen told me fascinating stories about lessons she'd learned from the objects she'd seen and researched in her more than thirty years as a curator. It struck me that losing a curator must be devastating to an institution whose strength relies on the eyes, memories and gut instincts of its connoisseurs.
After my meeting with Maureen, I wandered over to what would be my final resource-the RISD Archives. I briefly met with Andy Martinez and explained what I was doing and what kind of information I was looking for. I started to give him the accession numbers of the 15 objects and he told me that the museum records in the RISD Archives were organized by name, not by accession number. Since accession numbers were generated as a result from the correspondence between individuals or organizations and the museum about any given object, the accession number in this case was meaningless. After providing Andy with donor names and dates, he returned with some museum storage boxes containing folders filed alphabetically by last name. The first folder I opened was that containing the correspondence between the Ostby and Barton Company and Earl Rowe, the museum director in the early 1900's. When I found the first reference to the Etruscan finger ring in a letter dated January 15, 1923, I shared my enthusiasm with Andy. He asked me if I knew the story about Englehart Ostby-that he went down in the Titanic. The most I knew at this point was that the finger ring was gift to the museum from Ostby and Barton Company in memory of Englehardt Cornelius Ostby. Minutes later, Andy returned with a copy of a RISD report dated February 1998 entitled ''Englehardt C. Ostby, RISD and the Titanic." As I poured through correspondence spanning more than sixty years, I learned about the lives behind these objects, the handwriting and language exchanged in each transaction. I learned that if the Harrises had accepted the Museum's offer on January 14, 1927 to return the ''Supper at Emmaus" as a consolation for not being able to return a more highly prized painting, I would not have a story to tell you about ''The Supper at Emmaus." It's accession number would not have been written on the removal card that was present among the six object removal cards that you would have noticed placed across the Museum's permanent collection on Sunday, January 10th, 2010.
If the Museum's map were followed, the first of these cards would have been seen on Floor 5 on the South wall of the Main Gallery. The second card would have appeared on Floor 6 in a large display case in one of the Asian Galleries. The third and fourth cards would have been seen in the display case on the bridge adjacent to the Farago Gallery. The fifth card would have been spotted in drawer 5 on the left side of the Parsons Silver Gallery in the Pendleton House. The sixth and final card would also have been seen in the Parson's Silver Gallery on the left side in drawer 6.
Loop to beginning.