Each time I hear of a new work of fiction featuring a conservator as a character, I think, “Maybe this time they’ll get it right”. I had high hopes for Cathleen Schine’s novel, “They May Not Mean To, But They Do”. Before I started reading the book, I knew that its’ protagonist was not the beautiful 25 year old working on valuable Old Master paintings in a famous Italian museum while being romanced by a wealthy and dashing man usually found in works of fiction that feature conservators, but rather an older woman working in a small underfunded and under staffed museum trying to cope with family crises and keep up with her work. Real life, I thought.
As a mother of two small children (ca. 1960), the protagonist Joy Berman volunteered two days a week in a small museum dedicated to the immigrant experience on the Lower East Side of New York City. When her family suffered financial setbacks, she took a full time salaried job there as the assistant to the conservator. The conservator encouraged her to go back to school. So far this seems plausible. Joy needed the income and could not stop working to go to school full time, so she cut back to part time work, spent years earning her PhD, and was hired by that same museum as its conservator. Now, I’m a bit confused. A PhD in what and how does that PhD prepare her for hands- on conservation bench work?
What is most upsetting to me is the way Joy’s job seems to have little place in her life. When she has been away from it for months (granted due to illness) giving not a thought to what is happening to the collection in her absence, she returns expecting that all museum activity concerning her department stopped awaiting her return. Where is the professionalism of the conservators we know?
Yes, it is a comic novel. But fiction is the means through which a large part of the general public learns about conservators and what they do at work. And the novelists still haven’t gotten it right.
Author: Rebecca Rushfield
What wonderful tools they could be
In the June 18-19, 2016 issue of The Wall Street Journal, Anna Russell writes about Vic Muniz’s Mauritshuis, the Haag show, “Versos” which consists of his meticulous reconstructions of the backs of famous paintings like Vermeer’s “Girl with a Pearl Earring” (“Famous Artworks’ B-Sides”). While works of art in their own right, because they provide insights into the materials, construction, and conservation history of those famous paintings, what wonderful tools Muniz’s paintings could be in public education.
Art can be damaged by things much less tangible than wind and rain
In an article in the Arts section of the June 2, 2016 issue of The New York Times (“Sculpture in a Building’s Shadow”), Victoria Burnett reports that “Espacio Escultorico”, an important work of land art on the campus of the National Autonomous University of Mexico has been damaged by a recently constructed eight story building whose presence in the landscape disrupts the line of the sky against the top of the work. As the building is not next to the work, but is located the equivalent of three or four city blocks (less than one-quarter mile) away from the sculpture, it is likely that the university did not consider that there was any relationship between the two. This situation is a reminder that a work of art is more than its physical parts and can be damaged by things much less tangible than wind or rain.
We are not doing a good enough job
According to Claire Voon writing on May 23, 2016 for the website Hyperallergic, at the Shanghai Museum of Glass, two adults stood and videotaped the two children who were with them as they played with and broke the art work, “Angel Is Waiting” by Shelly Xue. The museum is now playing surveillance footage of the incident next to the piece. Whether this will serve as a lesson on what not to do or will inspire copycat actions remains to be seen. As these four were visitors to a museum of GLASS, it is clear is that we are not doing a good enough job educating the public on how to interact with different kinds of works of art.
What if the artist doesn’t care, but a lot of other people do?
In Joe Morgenstern’s review of the documentary “Eva Hesse” (The Wall Street Journal, May 13, 2016), he notes that in the film Grace Wapner, a fellow artist and friend, recalls Hesse saying that she didn’t care that her materials would degrade and that she threw a glass against a fireplace shattering it to illustrate what would happen to them. Hesse may not have cared that her work would degrade, but considering the amount of scholarship that has been dedicated to the condition and conservation of her works, a lot of other people do.
At last, public recognition of the importance of the conservator
In the “Arena” page of the Sunday Styles section of the May 8, 2016 issue of The New York Times, there is a small but prominently placed piece (“Art Matters: The Secret Weapon of Frieze Week”, by Kat Herriman) about Gloria Velandia who is the conservator on call for many international art fairs including Frieze New York which ended that day. Herriman notes that there are many people who make an art fair, but that “ an undersung ( and increasing critical)“ person is the conservator who makes sure that the art works are in the best condition. Here, at last, is public recognition of the importance of the conservator.
A difficult problem with no easy solutions
The Wall Street Journal recently published the news that the four year long restoration of the Vatican’s Gallery of Maps has been completed and that the paintings have recovered something of their original grandeur (“An Italy Alive Again in Maps”, by Liam Moloney, April 24- 25, 2016). The restoration was funded by the California chapter of the Patrons of the Arts in the Vatican Museums which raised 25% more than the $2.3 million needed to complete the work. There are scores of churches in Italy that will never have the wherewithal to raise even that unneeded half a million dollars for the care of their art. They lack the cachet and importance of the Vatican and therefore the patrons. The disparity in funding among institutions is a difficult problem with no easy solutions.
Why don’t they think conservators count?
I recently saw “The First Monday in May”, a documentary about the creation of both the Metropolitan Museum’s spring 2015 costume exhibit , “China: Through The Looking Glass,” and the gala, held on the first Monday in May, that celebrated its opening.
The film opens with a shot of a woman in a white lab coat (who I assume to be a member of the Costume Institute’s conservation department) rolling a cart piled with costume storage boxes down the back corridors of the museum. There are many shots of conservation staff removing pieces from boxes, dressing mannequins, and even repairing pieces.
Almost every museum department involved in the exhibit and the party is mentioned by name and its head interviewed. Among the missing: conservation. The women and men who prepared the objects for display are at least as important as the florists. Why don’t the film makers think that conservators count?
We might call them “happy accidents”
As the five year study and treatment of “St Michael”, the terracotta relief by Andrea della Robbia that fell off the wall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 2008 comes to an end, Randy Kennedy writes about the new insights into the working methods of the della Robbia factory that were gained during the period of study and treatment in the April 6, 2016 issue of The New York Times (“Master Class from a Broken Angel”). In the article, he also mentions the 2002 accident at the MET in which the sculpture of “Adam” by Tullio Lombardo fell off of its pedestal, an accident which led to a review and re-engineering of the MET’s mounting practices and many new insights into the creation of that sculpture. With so much discussion of the knowledge that was gained because of these disasters, if we were to be flippant, we might call them “happy accidents”.
Are these the works as the artists envisioned them?
According to an article in the March 28, 2016 issue of The Wall Street Journal (“Artist Skeptical Over Murals’ Fate”, by Peter Grant), Dorothea Rockburne is fighting the Chetrit Group which purchased the Sony Building in 2013 over its plans for the building’s lobby and her two floor to ceiling site specific frescoes painted there. The Chetrits have neither promised to preserve the murals in perpetuity nor agreed to give Rockburne final say over the new surroundings for the paintings (lighting, furnishings), so she is considering seeking a landmark designation for the lobby. Short of winning that status, does Rockburne have any means of ensuring that her works—which she feels encompass the environment around them– remain as she envisioned them?
According to an article in the April 5, 2016 issue of The New York Times (“Foundry is Closing; Degas Debate Goes On”, by William D. Cohan), although the Valsuani foundry which has cast Degas bronzes in recent decades has gone bankrupt and its assets are undergoing liquidation, the fight over whether castings from the foundry can be considered authentic works by Degas or reproductions will continue. Degas scholars have questioned whether the plasters used in the Valsuani castings were made during Degas’ lifetime or after his death. Since Degas allowed only one of his wax and clay figures to be cast in bronze during his lifetime, are any of the bronzes—even the early ones considered authentic by scholars—really the sculptures as Degas envisioned them?