{"id":423,"date":"2019-12-22T23:32:41","date_gmt":"2019-12-22T23:32:41","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.freudenheim.com\/public_html\/tom\/?p=423"},"modified":"2019-12-22T23:32:41","modified_gmt":"2019-12-22T23:32:41","slug":"the-joys-of-a-museum-scofflaw","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.freudenheim.com\/public_html\/tom\/2019\/12\/22\/the-joys-of-a-museum-scofflaw\/","title":{"rendered":"The Joys of a Museum Scofflaw!"},"content":{"rendered":"

Recent Japan travels reminded me of how museum rules and regulations are supposedly important for the protection of what\u2019s on view, while also too often being arbitrary. But I could as well have thought of this elsewhere, since I recall being asked not to use a pen in some museums (SFMoMA comes to mind) \u2013 and even being provided with a pencil to use (the graphite point, with which I might puncture a canvas, presumably being less destructive to works of art than the ink of my ball point or fountain pen). Presumably my bona fides<\/i> as a responsible visitor are not validated by something as insignificant as my ICOM and\/or AICA card. That’s OK. I’m not a big fan of rank. The \u201cno flash\u201d camera rule seems reasonable, since it might annoy fellow visitors; but the argument museums often give is the destructive power of that flash of light on works of art (especially those on paper). I hope some conservator has done a thorough study of just how much damage is done by the occasional flash vs. the damage done by exposing the art to viewers at all. I can\u2019t recall the last time I saw an actual flash bulb pop anywhere but in retro movies.<\/p>\n

Demystifying museums has always been among my life goals, although I probably can\u2019t point to very many successes in that endeavor, even after half a century of museum work. It\u2019s what you\u2019ve come to see that might be \u2013 hopefully will be \u2013 magical, not the institution that\u2019s there to make it accessible to you. Trying to capture that magic and take it home with you seems like a reasonable urge. We know we can’t really “capture” the magic, but one can’t always restrain the impulse. In this age of smartphones, it\u2019s no longer only the Japanese tourists that are camera crazy. \u201cKodak moments\u201d have proliferated along with the demise of Kodak. In places with \u2018unforgettable\u2019 views one might even have to queue for the right spot to click the smartphone. The Louvre has tried to solve this problem, while creating new ones (maybe the newest definition of ‘distance learning’?) in its recent reinstallation of the Mona Lisa<\/i>.\"\"<\/p>\n

I was trying to figure out what lies behind the many museum photography restrictions in Japanese tourist venues (museums and other sights). It can\u2019t be simply to protect the [often] non-existent rights to images, or some false sense of security. In a few places highly visited and space-restricted venues the goal is probably to keep traffic moving. So I applaud those rules, just as I sometimes happily flaunt them.<\/p>\n

For some reason, while I was in Japan I was led to thoughts of my favorite rogue museum photo scoundrel. His name was Samson Feldman and he lived with his sister, Sadie, at 3900 North Charles St., a banal 1950\u2019s(?) red-brick apartment house in Baltimore, near my own home, when I served as director of The Baltimore Museum of Art<\/a> in the 1970\u2019s. Samson was a delightful old man (at the time surely at least a decade younger than I am now), who traveled everywhere to see art museums. When I would take a trip to France or Italy, he told me proudly that he couldn\u2019t go to see museums in Europe because he hadn\u2019t yet seen all the ones in the USA! He was also an artisan of sorts (I still have a few silver objects he gave me), and a collector of antiques. I was under the impression that he had been an antiques dealer before I met him, but I can\u2019t find any references to that. He was among the BMA\u2019s most loyal followers, coming to every exhibition, and taking photos at openings, events, and of the exhibitions themselves. He often would send me a card with a photo of me (and my wife and\/or children) taken at a museum event. He lived with his spinster sister, Sadie, in a well-appointed, but unpretentious, apartment filled with American antiques and lots of art books. Samson died in 1983, so I was delighted to see that Sadie, who died in 2005, gave the BMA their scrapbooks (now part of the museum\u2019s Archives<\/a>) of the photographs Samson took. \u00a0Sadly, however, there\u2019s no mention of my favorite of Samson\u2019s many photographs: at the Barnes Foundation, when it was under the watchful and policing eye of Violette de Mazia<\/a> (1899-1988) \u2013 at that time still the commander-in-chief (and watchdog), who had worked for the quirky Dr. Albert C. Barnes<\/a> and tried to carry on his mission following his untimely death in an automobile accident in 1951. (Despite speculation about whether de Mazia\u2019s relationship with Dr. Barnes was more than colleagial, no conclusive evidence on that subject seems to have come to light.)<\/p>\n

But I digress (which is the point of these meanderings). Those of us who had visited the Barnes when it was first opened to the public, following a lawsuit (only the early phase for a slew of Barnes lawsuits<\/a>) \u2013 I think it may have been 1963 or 1964 \u2013 remembered the strict regulations about carrying anything around. I think pads and pencils were permitted, but no handbags and certainly no cameras. The regulations surely weren\u2019t about flash bulbs and conservation, and since the visitor numbers were purposefully sparse (in those days a reservation had sort of trophy status), the Barnes zealously protected the \u201crights\u201d of their images, as did most museums at that time. Unlike the Barnes, which laid no claims to being public or hospitable to anyone but its students, most museums claimed that their art belonged to \u2018everyone\u2019 \u2013 except that the image apparently only belonged to the museum. Technology has changed much of that by now. But in those days, I would never have dared to attempt surreptitiously taking photos of works in the Barnes collection. (I know nothing about the current photography policy at the \u201cnew and improved\u201d Barnes Foundation<\/a> in Philadelphia\u2019s central city.)<\/p>\n

Enter Samson Feldman. He came to my BMA office one day (probably 1972-73) and proudly showed me the entire Barnes collection in photographs which he had managed to take on a recent visit. And he then took out his Minox camera and explained how easy it was to photograph the Barnes collection. I knew what a Minox<\/a> was because my father had one (although I don\u2019t think he ever put it to such good use); it was a sort of early version of the \u201cwhoever dies with the most toys wins\u201d syndrome. I asked Samson how he had evaded Miss de Mazia, and he said, with a gleam in his eye, that was no problem at all, given his Minox expertise. If those photographs are among the ones in the BMA Archives, they may well have some archival value; but the online finding aids don\u2019t list them.<\/p>\n

Having just spent several weeks in places that don\u2019t permit visitors to take photographs, I fondly remembered Samson Feldman and wondered how he would have used his iPhone; despite his persona of a dour conservatively-dressed elderly gentleman, he had a great sense of humor and surely would have carried the latest iPhone model. If there\u2019s an ethical dilemma, it comes down to which rules you obey and which ones you flaunt, and how you rationalize your actions. In Japan travels that was simple for me. A religious site (temple or shrine) that\u2019s being visited by at least some people who care about that religion, meant that I wouldn\u2019t take photographs, out of respect for the place and the people (and the rules). But if it was just a visiting site (or clearly de-sanctified religious place), then I felt free to figure out ways of taking photographs, in spite of the rules. Note: I\u2019m only referring to use of my iPhone X, not to a real camera \u2013 that would be a lot more visible, difficult and therefore perhaps riskier.<\/p>\n

There may not be rules, but there\u2019s a routine. When there\u2019s a \u2018no photo\u2019 sign (vs. the \u2018no flash\u2019 sign \u2013 don\u2019t get confused) you start by checking out the guard or watchman situation. Is the person in a fixed location or does he\/she move around? Does the guard appear bored, wishing he had a better job, or is she super attentive, believing that museum guard is like being part of the POTUS Secret Service detail? Can you determine a pattern in his movements \u2013 doing regular rounds or erratically moving around? If the former, the guard may be away long enough for you to get that great shot. Are there other people around to shield you or are you out there on your own? A companion is useful for standing between you and your camera (iPhone) and the guard. If you need to hold your iPhone in an awkward position so the guard won\u2019t see you, will you still get a photo worth taking? Finally, how many times can you handle the humiliation of being told that no photos are permitted \u2013 especially by the same guard? Japan turned out to be especially onerous, since there were so many places with no-photo rules. On the other hand, that also turned into a challenge. Who doesn\u2019t like to surmount a challenge?<\/p>\n

Previous to Japan, my most recent experience with trying to outwit the no-photo system was in April 2018 at the Prado, where I fell in love with Bosch\u2019s Adoration of the Kings<\/i> triptych (1485-1500) and desperately wanted my own image of it.<\/p>\n

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But getting a clear photo straight on, while being sneaky, is no mean feat. \u00a0In that gallery most of the attention was on the more celebrated Bosch Garden of Earthly Delights<\/i> (1490-1510), which attracts huge crowds and therefore requires more guard attention.<\/p>\n

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(above is not my photo!)<\/p>\n

As luck would have it, the guard in that gallery did make a fairly regular and trackable circuit, which I could figure out after a while \u2013 except when that routine was interrupted by excessive jostling around the Garden<\/i> painting. I did eventually get my photos, but there was never enough time for the details which I so badly wanted \u2013 more clarity on the extraordinary crowns of the Kings, and more of the genre scenes, such as Joseph doing his (and the Virgin’s?) laundry, on the left wing.<\/p>\n

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More time might have yielded those, but there was so much else to see in the Prado. And in the Vel\u00e1zquez galleries I admit to having understood why the Prado\u2019s no-photos rule is so important. The number of people wanting selfies with Las Meninas <\/i>(1656) would make seeing that glorious painting impossible, and the crowds are significant even without selfies.<\/p>\n

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(above is not my photo!)<\/p>\n

On the other hand, once you get into the joy of surreptitiously taking museum photos, it’s difficult to stop, especially at a museum as wonderful and inadequately vigilant as the Prado. \u00a0So among my several other transgressions (triumphs?), the joy of seeing both of Goya’s Maja<\/i>s (1797-1805) side-by-side was too great a photo op to miss, despite the fuzzy results.<\/p>\n

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It ‘s still unclear to me why Japanese museums would have the no-photo-rule, since most of them were not so full of visitors that picture-taking would be problematic or traffic-stopping.<\/p>\n

On the other hand, the many temple gardens we visited seemed to demand silence and contemplation while also insistently beautiful, wanting to be photographed. \u00a0The challenge (unmet!) was to figure out how one could capture the abstract subtleties of light and shadow while also retaining the meditative silence. \u00a0Most of the temple gardens had assertive no-photo signs, but that didn’t stop me (if no one was sitting in meditation and no guards were in view). \u00a0You can’t really capture that mysterious feeling of contemplating minimal rows of grey stones. \u00a0 Ultimately the stone gardens’ inscrutability triumphed over my scofflaw instincts.<\/p>\n

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More closely restricted from photography (because well guarded!), much to my grudging satisfaction, is the so-called Teshima Art Museum<\/a>, a confection by Ryue Nishizawa<\/a>, one of the co-founders of the SAANA<\/a> architectural group, with the collaboration of Rei Naito<\/a>.\u00a0 I find a special perverse satisfaction in not being able to describe this non-museum. \u00a0It’s part earthwork, and mostly experiential, demanding close quiet attention in the way that a Bill Viola video might. \u00a0And it shares in the meditative qualities of Japanese gardens, ever re-revealing itself. \u00a0Like a Viola piece, the Teshima work is minutely calibrated and dependent on unseen technology, while somehow persuading you that you’re engaged in the minute observation of natural forces. So exterior photos (which are<\/i> permitted) tell you nothing about the experience. \u00a0The “museum’s” isolation — it’s a long hike (or beautiful bicycle ride!) from where the ferry drops you off — is part of the memorable experience, as is one’s inability to actually find the words to describe what it’s all about. \u00a0Even the photos of the exterior (below) reveal nothing about what’s inside.<\/p>\n

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The other, sort of nearby, mecca for contemporary art enthusiasts is the island of Naoshima, also on the Seto Inland Sea, at the southern edge of Honshu, Japan’s largest island. \u00a0Once again the mysteries of no-photo rules proved both a puzzlement and a challenge. \u00a0The outdoor pieces in the m\u00e9lange of site-specific and\/or beautifully placed works on Naoshima were all available to be photographed, and three\u00a0George Rickey<\/a> sculptures must count as among the artist’s best-sited works, begging for photo ops.<\/p>\n

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The Benesse Art Site<\/a>, which is the owner\/collector\/ commissioner of a fairly vast array of wonders on Naoshima Island, remains mysterious as to its funding, organizational, and curatorial structure. \u00a0But that seems inconsequential in relation to the many fascinating visual revelations. \u00a0Architect Tadeo Ando<\/a> is presumably a co-conspirator here, not only with the architecture but probably with many of the siting issues as well. \u00a0 Visiting Naoshima one can better understand why clients such as Williamstown’s Clark Art Institute<\/a>\u00a0would have found Ando such an appealing choice for a major architectural makeover. \u00a0But my better sense of Ando’s aesthetic, seeing his work at Naoshima, did nothing to win me over to The Clark’s clumsy plan. \u00a0At Naoshima there’s a[n occasionally frustrating] sense of discovery entirely missing in Ando’s Berkshire venture.<\/p>\n

Despite a few appealing works that suggest the arbitrariness so often associated with “plop art” — e.g., Yayoi Kusama<\/a>‘s pumpkin out on a pier (more of a branding exercise than an interesting sculpture), and both<\/p>\n

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Karel Appel<\/a>‘s and Niki de Saint Phalle<\/a>‘s “fun” lawn sculptures — those<\/p>\n

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felt arbitrary in comparison with so much that is (and feels) purpose-built at Naoshima.<\/p>\n

In the museum settings, it was again a cat-and-mouse game of trying to elude the policing that kept one from snapping photos. \u00a0The Benesse House Museum<\/a> seemed needlessly strict about photos, but I still got to sneak a few, including \u00a0some fine pieces by Richard Long<\/a>.<\/p>\n

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My favorite here was the wonderful Jennifer Bartlett<\/a> 1985 boat painting. \u00a0But an especially watchful guard kept me from taking a straight-on \u00a0photo.<\/p>\n

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To see the boats “echoed” on a beach nearby (photos permitted: it’s outside) gave a special eery resonance to Bartlett’s work.<\/p>\n

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A wall of small Kuniyoshi<\/a> works, also secretly photographed, doesn’t provide much of a souvenir, since they would each have had to be photographed separately — not an option, given where the guard<\/p>\n

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was standing. \u00a0It was also a bit puzzling as to why this artist was included in an array of primarily contemporary art works. \u00a0Still, there’s something engaging about seeing a selection of art that’s not an “overview” of anything, but rather represents personal choices — even if we don’t get to know the identity of those involved in the choosing.<\/p>\n

The Lee Ufan Museum<\/a>\u00a0may have been the most challenging of the Naoshima no-photo sites. \u00a0Another collaborative Ando effort, this museum does well demonstrating the eponymous artist’s range, even if the outdoor works (photos permitted) may be overly reliant on their setting, suggesting earlier artists (e.g., Robert Grosvenor<\/a>) and what we might think of as the\u00a0Storm King<\/a>\u00a0(and other sculpture gardens\/parks) aesthetic.<\/p>\n

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I admit that trying to elude the guards to take photos of Ufan’s work inside the museum made the art feel more engaging than it might otherwise have felt. \u00a0A spare Japanese aesthetic overlay doesn’t completely mask a likely debt to many other artists.<\/p>\n

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I’m not sure I would have been as engaged by Lee Ufan if it hadn’t been for my game of trying to nab some photos before the roving guard reappeared.<\/p>\n

If beating museum regulations is its own sweet private game, it’s nevertheless more relaxing to be at ease in a museum that’s too small (or too poor) to maintain a security staff that polices photography. \u00a0So it was a joy to take so many illicit photographs of the ceramics at the Kurashiki Museum of Folk Crafts — surely one of the best arrays of mingei<\/i>\u00a0ceramics we saw in Japan.<\/p>\n

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Given the array of images now available on the internet, it may seem redundant to play at capturing less distinct images on an iPhone, simply because it’s fun to play a game of museum cat-and-mouse. \u00a0But there are enough instances of finding a wonderful image that “demands” to be captured, that one has never seen before and may never again encounter. \u00a0Such a memorable work is L\u00e9onard Tsuguharu Foujita<\/a>‘s Avant le Bal<\/i> (1925)<\/p>\n

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now at the Ohara Museum of Art<\/a> in Kurashiki (a charming city whose one canal earns it the strange misnomer ‘the Venice of Japan’).<\/p>\n

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I haven’t been able to find it on the internet, yet it may be the artist’s chef d’oeuvre<\/i>, emerging from the both C\u00e9zanne and Puvis de Chavannes, along with an obvious relationship to Picasso’s Demoiselle d’Avignon<\/i><\/a> and \u00a0his Saltimbanques<\/a>. \u00a0A number of other interesting works at the Ohara Museum would have merited better photographs — for example the 1948-50 Jackson Pollock Cut-out<\/i>,<\/p>\n

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for which I was only able to manage a bad photo, as well as a Rothko<\/p>\n

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painting and some other intriguing works. \u00a0But although the galleries were not especially crowded, the no-photo rule was being quite strictly enforced.\"\" \"\" \"\"<\/p>\n

On the other hand, the Ohara was worth visiting for the Hamada<\/a> ceramics alone. \u00a0And especially stunning array of this incredibly influential master and teacher — and, visa Bernard Leach<\/a>, source of so much of the rich 20th century British ceramics tradition. \u00a0And they weren’t as careful about guarding the ceramics from photography, despite the official prohibition.<\/p>\n

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The ever-changing illogical rules about photography were especially amusing at the National Museum of Art<\/a> in Osaka. \u00a0An extensive and fascinating special exhibition, Vienna on the Path to Modernism<\/i><\/a>, celebrating the 150th anniversary of the establishment of diplomatic relations between Japan and Austria, consisting primarily (or exclusively?) of loans from the Wien Museum<\/a>. \u00a0Here the\u00a0zealously overseen no-photo rule deterred me a bit, although I managed to sneak in a few snaps.<\/p>\n

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Most astonishing was the “OK to photograph” sign by the splendid Klimt portrait, which seemed like a generous gesture until one realized that the \"\"<\/p>\n

space and lighting was not likely to yield much of a photo. \u00a0This\u00a0Portrait of Emilie Fl\u00f6ge<\/em> (1902\u201303) was only one highlight in an exhibition with some<\/p>\n

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wonderful works, but the internet yields better images (albeit not on the Wien Museum’s website)!<\/p>\n

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(above not my photo)<\/p>\n

Finally, in the realm of thoughtful and visitor-friendly museums, nothing in Japan beats the Osaka Museum of Oriental Ceramics<\/a>! \u00a0The signage is clear and inviting, which is great for anyone who revels in Asian ceramics.<\/p>\n

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So it was an endless feast, especially the superb examples of Korean ceramics, a special love of mine. \u00a0And I was set to wondering once again<\/p>\n

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about the shortsighted and miserly approach of so many museums to visitor photography. \u00a0There are surely venues in which crowd control, security or similar concerns are valid. \u00a0But possessiveness about visual images that constitute much of the museum’s raison d’\u00eatre<\/i> are generally silly, and will continue to encourage the joys of being a scofflaw.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Recent Japan travels reminded me of how museum rules and regulations are supposedly important for the protection of what\u2019s on view, while also too often being arbitrary. But I could as well have thought of this elsewhere, since I recall being asked not to use a pen in some museums (SFMoMA comes to mind) \u2013 … Continue reading “The Joys of a Museum Scofflaw!”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.freudenheim.com\/public_html\/tom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/423"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.freudenheim.com\/public_html\/tom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.freudenheim.com\/public_html\/tom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.freudenheim.com\/public_html\/tom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.freudenheim.com\/public_html\/tom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=423"}],"version-history":[{"count":23,"href":"http:\/\/www.freudenheim.com\/public_html\/tom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/423\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":555,"href":"http:\/\/www.freudenheim.com\/public_html\/tom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/423\/revisions\/555"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.freudenheim.com\/public_html\/tom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=423"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.freudenheim.com\/public_html\/tom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=423"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.freudenheim.com\/public_html\/tom\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=423"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}