Rijksmuseum to public: "If you don't like it, buy your own Rembrandt"

Picture: MS

It's a cliché that blockbusters are overcrowded, but Late Rembrandt at the Rijksmuseum was the worst I can recall. It's more spaced out than the London leg of the show, but that extra space isn't to give the pictures room to breathe. It's to cram in the maximum number of people. There were far, far more people per picture than in London (which was also badly crowded). The room above has just three pictures in it. There were rarely fewer than a dozen people in front of each of them. 

There have been many complaints. A Dutch newspaper headed its report of the show with a visitor quote, "I could have punched someone". Director Wim Pijbes responded to criticism by saying that if you want a contemplative experience you should buy your own Rembrandt. That must be the most disgusting thing I've heard from a museum. When Anatole France said, "The law, in its majestic majesty, forbids rich and poor  equally from sleeping under bridges" it was satire, criticising the economic inequality that mocks formal equality. Pijbes offers a grotesque perversion of this, offered not as criticism but as fact. He implies that the democratic experience must be raucous and crowded, describing the 'great buzz' at the show.

But of course Pijbes, art historian and museum curator, recognises the pleasure of looking at pictures rather than jostling with 'buzzy' crowds, and another comment he made last week is revealing. He explained that the reason the Rijksmuseum closes so early (5pm) is to give them time to set up for the 500 or so private evening functions they host each year. The contemplative experience is so valuable and so desirable that they can charge a fortune for it, reserving it only for the rich.

Meanwhile those of us stuck in the third class carriage get an experience that is deliberately degraded. Not only must we contend with crowds. Flash photography is permitted at the Rijksmuseum, including at their special exhibitions. The official regulations still say no flash, but there are no signs up and people were freely using flash in front of guards. There are also red focus dots on many modern cameras that linger on the surface of the pictures you're struggling to see. Between the red spots and the bright flashes, pictures were arbitrarily illuminated several times a minute. Here's a two minute clip of the Washington Self Portrait. People are more willing to move aside to let people take pictures than to allow people to look at pictures, so it's easier to snap pictures than to look at them. It helps move people through more quickly and more predictably, but trying to focus on looking at anything is impossible. 

Museum overcrowding is a problem with no easy solution. Some want to build more extensions, but even if there's more room to show Troost people will still crowd around Vermeer. It's the same handful of famous masterpieces that draws the crowds; as the Rembrandt show illustrates, the extra space in the Amsterdam leg just meant even greater overcrowding. But the answer can't be to reject a contemplative experience (actually never mind a contemplative experience; I'll settle for just being able to see the pictures). Treating people like cattle and encouraging a more superficial engagement for the masses and charging through the nose actually to see things is an absolute perversion of what museums ought to be, and a degrading way to show great art. Pijbes' vile elitism adds insult to the injury of the Late Rembrandt experience.

The final sale of a great collection: I.Q. van Regteren Altena at Christie's

I'm just back from a few days in Paris and Amsterdam where I caught the viewing of the final part of the stupendous I.Q. van Regteren Altena collection of old master drawings that Christie's is selling today. It's a scholarly collection, but it's attracted intense interest and some astonishingly high prices. The St Christopher above is a really refined copy of an engraving of  by Lucas van Leyden, drawn by Jacques de Gheyn II. It's a lovely thing, estimated at a modest €20k - €30k. Attribution of copies is especially tricky, but van Regteren Altena was the authority on the de Gheyns and wrote the catalogue raisonné of Jacques de Gheyn II.  A copy is less desirable than an original, but this beautiful sheet linked to two significant artists deserves to sell well. Mr Market will pass his judgment later today.

This sheet of Studies of a Black Winged Stilt is one of Regteren Altena's Gheyn attributions that hasn't held up, because we now know that the paper was produced after his death. It's now being sold as anonymous Dutch seventeenth century, with the same estimate as the St Christopher. It's a high estimate for an uncommercial picture of dead birds without an attribution, but reflects its obvious quality. You can particularly appreciate it in the context of this sale, where there's a plethora of studies of flora and fauna that range widely in quality. The opportunity to see a gathering of related drawings collected by one connoisseur was the attraction of this viewing, a chance to get to know the minor masters as well as the most famous and celebrated. I wasn't disappointed. Saftleven's Litchi Tomato (€18k - €25k) and a study of a Male Lumpsucker from Goltzius's circle were the other natural history highlights for me. There are also more obviously attractive flower studies, including a Van der Ast and some pretty studies in mixed lots. 

Another cheaply estimated copy is this wonderfully striking Study of a Plaster Cast of a Crying Child, by the relatively little-known Leendert van der Cooghen (€6k - €8k). I expect it'll make much more, but it's odd what goes cheaply in these sales. This drapery study by Bloemaert will be good value if it sells within its estimated €3k - €4k, and there's also his tiny study of a Nun estimated at €6k - €8k. Cheap works by a fine draughtsman. The estimate that's most inexplicable to me is the mere €1,800 - €2,000 against a charming and fine Willem van Mieris Man Holding a Tankard, which is sold without reserve. Just not today's fashion, it seems.

Do peruse the online catalogue. There's much else to enjoy, including some nice Jan de Bisschop copy after Joos van Cleve, an unusual sheet of studies from the Prague school, a handful of sixteenth century drawings and a range of works by eighteenth and nineteenth century artists that are much less well known than the golden age masters. Many are attractive, and all modestly estimated. I leave you with Aert Schouman's A Pale Kangaroo Mouse. Because who doesn't love a pale kangaroo mouse?

(All pictures from Christie's)

UK Arts Policy Election Special

         

The parties vying for votes in tomorrow's UK general election have quite rightly not focused their campaigns on cultural policy. They've also failed to address more important issues like housing, productivity and international relations, but that's another story. The parties can be blamed for many evasions, but they shouldn't be faulted for giving culture a low priority, I'm more concerned by the flaccid critique of such cultural policies they have laid out, which is squarely the responsibility of the cultural sector itself. 

Labour has produced a document elaborating on their rather bare-bones manifesto commitments. The pledge that's received most attention is the guarantee that every child will be entitled to creative education. I'm all for creative education, but the reason it's been squeezed out is that a generation of lazy politicians have responded to every fashionable concern by dictating that it must be added to the school curriculum. No one can reasonably disagree with creative education, but politics is about difficult trade-offs. Unless they're willing to tell us what schools should teach less of, we should treat it with disdain. Better to give teachers a bit more freedom to teach.

They think there's an 'urgent' need to 'rebalance' regional arts funding. It's funny what politicians think is and isn't urgent. Housebuilding? Can wait. Regional arts funding? Right on it. But really, what silly parochialism. London's institutions aren't local, they're global. You can't balance the British Museum against local museums in the north. The BM is a benefit to the whole world. There is, however, a chronic shortage of funding for regional museums. But neither party wants to address that, because they choose to blame local governments. Local government in the UK is dependent on central government for most of its funding, and has little freedom of action once it's carried out statutory duties. It exists mainly to shield national government from responsibility for poor local services.

The most stupid part of Labour's cultural charter is their commitment to 'robust' protection of intellectual property. It's already far too robustly protected, to the benefit of vested corporate interests rather than struggling artists. Patents and copyrights now act as a tax on creativity and innovation. But protecting special interests that benefit from copyright (or think they might in future) might win a few votes. No one is voting the common interest, so principles be damned. 

The Conservatives say almost nothing about culture. To be fair, their great cultural achievement in office has been to eschew the frenetic micro-management that characterised the previous Labour government. Benign neglect is an under-rated virtue. I'm not being facetious; they really deserve credit for this. The manifesto commits them to maintain free admission, which is unhelpful when they're also cutting funding. It reduces museums' freedom to maneuver in the context of reduced funding, which is their fault, whilst taking credit themselves for the benefit of free admission. Politicians legislating for free admission without funding it is grotesque. The Conservatives also want a 'great exhibition' in the north, which is the most feeble PR response to calls for increased regional arts funding I've heard. PR is also behind the Conservatives' expansion of tax breaks to fund acquisitions, which is bad policy but effective spin. That deserves a separate post later; it's not as good as it seems. I've said less about the Conservatives because they've had less to say about culture, not because they're necessarily a better option. Neither party offers much, and what they do offer isn't good. Rather a microcosm of the whole election, I think.

The response to the election debates from the cultural sector has been predictable and clueless. They kid themselves that they're being politically savvy by promising to deliver what they think politicians want: good value and economic growth for the right, social inclusion for the left. They've promised the same for a generation, but the same sort of people still go to museums, and the same sort of people don't. The economic growth argument is nonsense, and they know it. All spending has a multiplier effect, and the cultural industries don't have the biggest multiplier. Governments can get better value elsewhere. In boom times it justified a few extra pounds of spending, perhaps. But today they've made their own argument for defunding. 

The argument they all shy away from is the argument about why culture matters at all. They seem to think it's naive to imagine that it'll have any effect, though I suspect it's because they don't know how to make it. One thing's for sure. If all they can offer is dishonest claims about value for money and hollow promises about social inclusion, they don't deserve political attention or government funding.

The logic of our age

The entire Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York was closed yesterday, so that rich people could have a party. In the UK museums were traditionally reticent about renting themselves out for private functions, but some now market themselves aggressively. It starts with out-of-hours rental, but once the principle is established and the tills start ringing the plutocrats encroach on normal opening times. It's like the old joke where a man asks a woman if she'd sleep with him for a million pounds. On careful reflection the impecunious lady agrees. "Would you sleep with me for five pounds?" he then asks. "What kind of woman do you think I am?" she replies angrily. "We've already established that; we're just haggling over the price". It might be more expensive to hire an entire museum during opening hours, excluding the public, but it's just a matter of haggling. 

The Victoria and Albert Museum is already notorious for its vicarious closing hours so they can set up for parties. A number of other museums often have random room closures for private events. I've also heard anecdotal reports of damage to art during a wedding piss-up at the Wallace Collection. Weddings are appropriately a time for drunken revelry. Museums are not an appropriate place.

It saddens me that people can travel from all over the world to see the Met, but then be denied access because only the super-rich can go today. It would be bad enough if the Met were making a difficult compromise to raise needed funds. But they actually seem proud of themselves. Its Twitter feed is stuffed with pictures of celebrities, as if the museum's purpose is to provide a backdrop for celebrity photos, 'drooling over wealthy people' as Tyler Green put it on Twitter.

This is the apotheosis of the modern museum. The real experience is reserved for the wealthy. But the rest of us can look admiringly at how cool museums are, because celebrities hang out there. Maybe drooling over celebrity photos on the Met's Twitter feed is the museum experience today.

Bad Acquisition in Chicago

The Art Institute of Chicago has acquired a collection of contemporary art that they describe as the 'largest' in their history (it's been misreported as 'greatest'). It includes artists I like (Jasper Johns and Gerhard Richter) and artists I don't (Warhol, Koons, Hirst). But some people like that sort of thing, and there's no question that the art is a worthy addition to the Institute's collection. It's a bad acquisition not because of the pictures, but because they paid too high a price, agreeing to display the collection together for fifty years. That is not really a gift. It's an expensive acquisition that hands over a public space and subverts it to the whim of vain plutocrats.

Donors Stefan T. Edlis and Gael Neeson are buying themselves a memorial, over-riding judgments of more expert curators and over-riding the changing views of posterity to insist that their taste is imposed for half a century, that their pictures are shown whilst other, perhaps better pictures are consigned to storage. If the importance of the collection were beyond doubt then the condition would be unnecessary. The collection's focus on the most currently fashionable artists makes it especially vulnerable to changing taste, and I suspect that future curators and visitors will bitterly regret this acquisition.

The press release disingenuously claims that the museum itself proposed the condition. That trivial piece of spin disgusts me far more than the condition itself. The museum has not only given them gallery space, it implies that the plutocrats' generosity is untainted by conditionality. They get to eat their cake and have it; they take over part of the museum for half a century, and pretend that it was some one else's idea. They get a grand boastful memorial that imposes a cost on the public, and they get to be presented as modest and public-spirited. The museum prostitutes itself twice over, first in handing over the galleries, and second in surrendering its dignity. 

Museums should have the courage to turn down costly bequests like this, which do themselves and their patrons no favours. The Institute is already stuffed to the rafters with treasures. Unless they're adding another wing (or maybe subdivide the big atrium they built for parties), showing these pictures means not showing better pictures. Just say no, kids.

Campaigning for Good Curatorship

I like curators, especially good ones. So I should be delighted to discover that there's a Campaign for Good Curatorship. The campaign wants to put knowledge of collections back at the heart of museums, and I'm all for that too. And they want 'good' rather than 'great' or 'excellent' curatorship, which is a victory for language and common sense.  But I recoil from its manifesto, which seems to be trying to appropriate all the anti-curatorial guff that's infected the museum sector. 

They say that museums "have a vital role to play in a healthy, tolerant and inclusive society". Fine sentiments, but they don't survive scrutiny. What can curators do to fulfill their 'vital' role in promoting health? Do they mean 'vital' in the sense of central to what curators do, or vital in the sense that museums must lead the charge on behalf of society? Neither claim is credible. And that weasel-word 'inclusion'. No one explicitly argues for an 'exclusive' society, but the meaning of inclusive is hotly contested. The term is either politically contentious or else vacuous. 

They want to reach a 'balance' between community engagement and expertise in objects. Maybe this is just a problem of hasty drafting, but I think treating engagement and expertise as opposite poles that require balancing is a disastrous strategy. Museums will engage communities on the basis of their collections. Curatorship has been undermined because museums have tried to convince politicians that they should be funded because they can play all kinds of instrumental roles like promoting social inclusion and public health. Convincing them of the value of museums in their own terms seemed to much like hard work. But the other approach has backfired, because it has put museums in direct competition with specialists. In a contest over the health budget, health professionals will beat museum professionals. 

The manifesto concludes with some specific demands, but they are as wishy-washy as something from the student union. They want the Department for Culture, Media and Sport to 'recognise' the role of good curatorship, whatever 'recognition' means. Worse still they want the Arts and Humanities Research Council to sponsor research into the public benefit of curatorship. Can nothing happen without a government grant these days? Given that the campaign's whole premise is that there is public benefit to curatorship, this isn't really research - it's marketing. Just because it's marketing a cause I happen to espouse doesn't mean it needs or deserves a government grant.  

This gets to the nub of my beef. The problem isn't that curatorship is 'under-researched' or that the DCMS hasn't 'recognised' its value. The problem is that the case for curatorship hasn't been made robustly. In fact let's put it in simpler terms: the case for knowledge hasn't been made robustly. For a generation museums have been capitulating to an agenda that devalues objects and disdains cultural knowledge in favour of the instrumental pursuit of political objectives.

We don't need government grants or campaign bullet points. We need to make a more forceful case for the value of culture. Lots of people are doing that already. I often disagree with many of them; it doesn't have to be a unitary case, and we don't all need to be friends. There are lots of ways to value and engage with culture. But lily-livered appeasement of the access and social justice agenda is fatal. Good curators don't promote public health or an inclusive society. They understand quality and context. The select and preserve and display and interpret objects, and in doing those things they play a role in defining a society (heck, let's use an old-fashioned term: civilization) that's worth being included in. The historical and artistic legacy preserved in museums is valuable in its own right, and is degraded when it's deployed as a tool in the latest public health initiative. Let no one be in doubt about the vital role of curators, and let's not let this campaign get away with underselling it.

What ails Italy?

I love Italy, really I do. Great food, great art, great landscape. Transport is fantastic; well-maintained roads (well, better than UK or US), cheap, regular and reliable trains. But the experience of trying to see art in Italy is so needlessly fraught. I look forward to writing some upbeat blog posts about the wonderful things I saw on a recent trip to the Adriatic coast, but first I must vent. 

At Ancona the museum greeted me with this permanent-looking sign. The wonderful collection of Crivelli, Lotto and Titian is closed; who knows where the pictures are during the 'work in progress'. Websites are almost non-existent and usually useless; you can never check these things in advance. But closure is common - short term or long term, vicarious or strategic, partial or complete. In Bologna an entire wing of the museum was closed. A preposterous local exhibition of art 'from Cimabue to Morandi' had claimed the museum's greatest masterpiece, a Raphael altarpiece that ought never to be lent, but this is at least its third trip in the past two years alone. 

The Adriatic coast is a place of artistic pilgrimage for Lorenzo Lotto. Many of his works are in small and remote hill towns, and he was a major reason for my own visit. The biggest concentration is in Loreto, where he died. They have nine, usually on display in this room. Only one was on display when I visited.

The other artist I wanted to see was Piero della Francesca. I'd been planning for years to do the next leg of the Piero Trail, which I'd previously had to postpone at the last minute when I discovered a key picture was on loan in America. I was especially delighted to see two great masterpieces in Urbino, in a beautiful place in gorgeous hill town set in stunning countryside. What could possibly go wrong? Well, this:

The picture is unframed, behind an ugly glass panel under a harsh spotlight. Alas, this is common practice in Italian museums. Pictures are lit up like displays in a department store. And the lack of frames is lamentable. One of the most wonderful things about Italy is context - you get to works of art in historic settings, often part of collections of local art that give a much greater feel for regional genius than you get in a 'highlights' display in the great universal museums. But it seems they almost purposely rebel against that, seeking to show pictures shorn of context, presented as icons against a bare wall. 

Many museums are open only a few hours a day, sometimes just a morning, often with a break of two or three hours at lunchtime. Sometimes they will let you stay after closing time, which is wonderful. But it makes the logistics of visiting quite a challenge. The obvious response is that more funding is needed. But I'm not sure that's true; one are is grossly over-funded. There is never a lack of funding for major restoration projects, many of which are dreadful. 

In Rimini they are systematically wrecking their art collection. Conservators (I use the word loosely) are stripping down anything they think is repaint. Most museums have long since moved away from such drastic and irreversible action, which risks removing original paint in error. Instead of recreating what's lost, the Rimini restorers are replacing lost paint with hatching, to ensure we can tell what is original and what is restored. In some cases it works, particularly where large losses would require significant recreation. But the point is to avoid visual distraction. In Rimini it's done dreadfully and it's hugely visually distracting. Look at this detail from a Crucifixion attributed to Giovanni da Bologna, restored in 2013. An original fragment looks like it's been stuck on a piece of cheap furniture. The remaining paint seems to float on ugly and intrusively coloured background.  

They are so proud of their work on an altarpiece by Guiliano da Rimini of the Coronation of the Virgin with Saints that there's a 'before' photo shown next to it. Trouble is, it looked better before. Now the picture is ambiguous; is the hatching in the picture below covering an area of lost gilding or lost landscape? From a distance you can't tell; the contours are ambiguous. Originally the gold ground established a clear delineation between painted scene and background; now it's a blur. Instead of seeing a damaged but coherent work of art, we are invited to contemplate little isolated souvenirs of original paint. 

The saddest part of my trip was seeing the amazing frescoes by Salimbeni in Urbino. They are currently being restored, and I watched as a plasterer arrived with a big trowel and started throwing on plaster. As he worked it into the edges, original plaster sprinkled off onto the floor, and his big trowel bashed against the original paint. We think of restoration as a careful, clinical process. This was more like butchery. And in a few decades, the work will be re-done, the new plaster hacked out again, and a bit more of the original will be lost.

Italian museums seem too often to be run for the benefit of their conservators who get to play around with pictures to their heart's content. There is no money for basic things like keeping the doors open, providing guards, adequate lighting, decent display or a website. But they will fund an endless cycle of drastic restoration.

Rather than address existing problems, Italy is adding new ones. It seems keen to introduce the worst elements of modern museum practice. An ominous new sign hung at the entrance to the Museo Civici in Pesaro:

THE NEW CIVIC MUSEUMS AT PALAZZO MOSCA ARE PROPOSING TO BE THE STRONG DYNAMIC DRIVING FORCE BEHIND THE CULTURAL LIFE OF PESARO IN ADDITION TO FULFILLING THEIR INITIAL FUNCTION OF CONSERVING, VALUING AND EXHIBITING WORKS, THE MUSEUMS ARE PROMOTERS AND PRODUCERS OF NEW INITIATIVES LINKED BOTH TO LOCAL MUSEUMS AS WELL AS OTHER AREAS AND CONTEXTS.

MUCH SPACE IS DEDICATED TO CONTEMPORARY ART, NEW TECHNIQUES AND ARTISTIC EXPRESSIONS. THE AIM OF THIS SIGNIFICANT PROJECT OF RENEWAL IS TO ENCOURAGE MEMBERS OF THE PUBLIC TO GET INVOLVED WITH THE LIFE OF THE MUSEUM, ESPECIALLY THE YOUNG GENERATIONS, AND TO PROVIDE THE WHOLE COMMUNITY WITH LONGTERM STIMULI AND MANY REASONS TO VISIT THE GALLERIES.

THIS CHANGE IS THE RESULT OF A HAPPY COLLABORATION BETWEEN PUBLIC AND PRIVATE INDIVIDUALS AND HAS BENEFITTED (sic) FROM  THE HELP OF PEOPLE WHO HAVE CONTRIBUTED THEIR PARTICULAR EXPERTISE.

THE MUNICIPAL ADMINISTRATION, WHOSE DUTY IT IS TO LOOK AFTER THE MUSEUM'S LEGACY AND VALUE THE COLLECTION IS COLLABORATING WITH SYSTEMA MUSEO, A LEADING FORCE IN THE PLANNING OF NEW FUNCTIONS FOR MUSEUMS. WHAT EMERGES THEREFORE IS A NEW MANAGEMENT MODEL CAPABLE OF CIRCULATING RESOURCES IN WHAT CONTINUES TO BE THE HEART OF EVERY MUSEUM, ITS ARTISTIC HERITAGE. (sic, passim!)

Everything about this is ominous. The meaningless guff, the self-promotion by the consultants ('Systema Museo'), and the commonplace belief that to be relevant art must be contemporary. In Bologna one room was closed. You couldn't get in to see the detached frescoes. But you could peer through a doorway at this trite scene of 'Tahir Square':

Relevant and worthy, no doubt. But also obvious, trivial, artless. It's horrible that Italian museums are following common practice elsewhere and using old masters as mere foil for contemporary trivia.

Next week, I'll write about the good things I saw. But sadly there was much to lament.