Restricted vs. Unrestricted Donations

Private donations make up a significant percentage of museums' funding, and development departments spend a good deal of time cultivating relationships with private donors. However, private donors frequently put restrictions on what their donation money can be used for, creating problems for the museum staff. Of course there is always the issue of museum staff "chasing" funding from private donors who are willing to give only for specific exhibitions or causes. But what are the pros and cons of restricted and unrestricted donations?

Restricted donations are donations of any amount given by private donors or foundations that have particular specifications about how the money is to be used. For example, the Smith family foundation may choose to donate $5,000 to the Phillips Collection, but will stipulate that the money can only be used for a particular museum program. But what if the museum needs money for operational expenses instead? In this case, unrestricted donations might be more beneficial, because a museum can use the funding towards what it needs the most. However, many private donors like the idea of seeing where their money is going, and many feel that if they are the ones giving the money, they should be able to designate its use.

One solution to this problem was devised by the Boston Children's Museum when it raised money to fund its Japanese House. The development department created a "Wishbook" online, similar to a bridal registry, where donors could check what items needed to be donated, and "buy" a specific item for the museum. This way, the museum was able to put donation funds towards fulfilling its needs, while still giving donors a stake in the project. Not only was all the necessary money raised for the Japan House, but donors felt a certain accountability and pride in contributing to a specific exhibition.

Art Out of Economic Crisis: Does the Best Art Come Out of Suffering?

Despite the overwhelming economic crisis in Greece today, the country is seeing a surprising growth in artistic activity. From art galleries to theater playhouses, the arts seem to be experiencing a revival. Filmmakers and street artists, inspired by the economic and social situation, are producing works of art that are deeply imbued with a critical consciousness. This year's Oscar nominated film from Greece, Attenberg, shows a different side of Greece from an offbeat perspective. Galleries such as the Kunsthalle Athena are showing exhibitions of works by artists such as Lydia Dambassina and Stefania Strouza, whose innovative work expresses the pain and duress of the Greek people. For example, Stefania Strouza is known for taking excerpts of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream and framing them for display: "My soul consents not to give sovereignty" and "Before the time seemed Athens as a paradise to me", are just a few examples.

It is undeniable that times of hardship provoke art (think: the great music produced by Blues artists, etc.), but my question is a little different. Is art better when it is produced in times of hardship? It certainly will have a different message, but is it true that the most intriguing art derives from suffering?

Is Displaying Non-Western Objects in a Western Setting an Injustice?

Is it wrong to display non-Western cultural artifacts in the setting of a Western-style museum display? This is a question that I have been mulling over for some time now, actually since I took a class on Japanese art last semester. The Freer and Sackler Galleries have a well-curated and extensive collection of Asian art. But do the museums do an injustice to the artwork by displaying them in a Western-style building instead of, say, a pagoda? What is the effect of displaying non-Western art in a Western setting? Or the effect of displaying objects that were not intended to be "art" (devotional statues, articles of clothing, etc.) in a museum setting?

Last year, one of the most successful exhibitions at the Sackler Gallery was the Tibetan Shrine from the Alice S. Kandell Collection, which essentially recreated a Tibetan Buddhist shrine and displayed all the objects in the shrine as they would be placed for worship. The exhibition was very well-received and continues to receive acclaim. Was it perhaps because it provided visitors with a rare look into how the art objects were meant to be used and displayed?

I am very intrigued by the example set by the Sackler's Tibetan Shrine, and I wonder if other museums would follow this lead for the display of other artworks. Certainly such displays would be more educational for visitors - they would be able to see for themselves what kind of uses the objects had, instead of merely reading about them on labels or in catalogs. Of course it is much more cost-effective to display artwork in cases or on a wall. But is it worth spending more money on an exhibition if it will be displayed in a manner more loyal to its contents' original purposes?

"Community Curating": Whose Side Are You On?

On a recent tour of the National Museum of the American Indian, I was surprised by the presence of "community curated" exhibits. These community curated exhibits allowed leaders from different native tribes to put together the kiosks showcasing their tribes. At the entrance to each tribe's enclave, there were pictures and blurbs introducing each of the community curators. The exhibits included traditional artifacts, such as boots and weapons, but also featured wall texts with tribal history and personal anecdotes.

When I expressed interest in these community curated exhibits, the cultural interpreter who was leading our tour explained that there were some setbacks to the well-meaning idea of replacing the traditional museum curator with a team of knowledgeable native leaders. First was the issue of content selection. While the community curators may be able to most effectively choose the artifacts and stories that best represent their tribe's culture, they are not necessarily in tune to the needs of museum visitors. For example, the cultural interpreter mentioned that a lot of visitors to the Cherokee exhibit were looking for information about the Trail of Tears. However, the community curators of the exhibit had decided not to include the Trail of Tears, as it had not directly affected their branch of the Cherokee tribe. Another setback of community curators is the fact that most do not have a background in art or museum studies. Museum curators are professionals who study and practice for years before compiling their own exhibits. Community curators may know more about the art and artifacts from their personal experiences, but they may not necessarily know how to choose objects that work best in a museum setting.

In an ideal world, community curators would work side-by-side with museum curators to offer visitors the best of both worlds. Unfortunately, for reasons of economy and politics (what else is new?), this is not always the most feasible solution.

Can Art Inspire Social Change?

The question I raise in the title of this post is not really a question in my mind. I think one of the many functions of art is to motivate social change [think: Shepard Fairy's "Hope" poster which was used in the Obama campaign or J. Howard Miller's "We Can Do It" poster used during WW II]. However, I feel like these past few weeks have witnessed some particularly noteworthy examples of artwork inspiring and reflecting current events.

Last week, I visited the National Portrait Gallery with a class and was astounded to see a photo-portrait memorializing Apple co-founder Steve Jobs. My class was visiting on October 13, and Jobs had died only a week earlier, on October 5. My eyes grew even wider when I learned that the portrait was actually prepared, mounted, and ready for public exhibition the very next day after his death. Clearly, Steve Jobs was such a monumental figure in the eyes of the American public that the museum felt it necessary to honor his passing without any delay.

Occupy Wall Street, the social movement that gained speed and media attention after Jobs' death, is said to have been inspired by a poster designed by Canadian protest organizing group Adbusters, which features a ballerina balancing atop the emblematic Wall Street bull sculpture. The heading above the image inquired, "What is our one demand?" Though the protesters in the dozens of demonstrations across the country have different ideas about what this one demand is (and true, most people still don't know what the movement is gunning for), they were inspired by this unique image: a graceful dancer poised elegantly on the head of a raging bull, with crowds of protesters in the hazy background. What exactly is this image trying to convey? Different activists have had varying interpretations of the message, but have taken it as the symbol for their multi-faceted movement all the same.

So what can we learn from this? Nothing we didn't already know. But it's always helpful to be reminded of the underestimated power of art.

VTS vs. Guided Inquiry

Today in my Museum Education and Interpretation class, we watched a video clip of the Guggenheim Museum's Learning Through Art program in action. In the clip, an artist in residence visited a third-grade classroom in Queens, New York and showed the students how to use guided inquiry questions to view and interpret Franz Marc's Yellow Cow painting. Last week, I visited the National Museum of Women in the Arts and participated in a Visual Thinking Strategies exercise, where a facilitator asked questions to help visitors view and interpret a Magdalena Abakanowicz sculpture. Both the guided inquiry exercise and the VTS exercise used similar questions to achieve comparable goals, but the outcomes were slightly different. Why do some museum programs choose to implement VTS, while others employ guided inquiry exercises?

In VTS, a facilitator asks the group three questions: What do you see? What makes you think that? What more can you find? The facilitator rephrases each participant's response, but does not provide any information. The process continues as the facilitator repeatedly asks the same questions, giving all willing participants the chance to share their ideas. The exercise concludes when the group either runs out of time or ideas. The goal is not to achieve a result or "find the right answer", but rather to encourage the development of critical thinking skills through looking at a work of art.

Guided inquiry exercises involve a similar facilitator-participant dialogue, and many of the questions asked sound awfully like the questions asked in VTS. The first question is almost always What do you notice? Subsequent questions, however, are shaped based on participant responses and on the subject matter of the lesson, since guided inquiry is often used in conjunction with another subject, like Social Studies or Language Arts. The moderator does not correct misguided ideas, but does provide correct information about the piece and its artist.

Which exercise is more effective? VTS has as its goal the development of critical thinking skills and critical looking skills. The moderator does not validate correct answers or penalize incorrect answers, because the philosophy behind VTS is not focused on what is "right" or "wrong". Many art historians, who spend so much of their time learning and interpreting facts, frequently see VTS as doing an injustice to the students, depriving them of useful knowledge. Guided inquiry, on the other hand, works in a similar way to improve critical thinking skills, but its questions are not always as open-ended. Facilitators don't lecture about the work of art, but they do integrate facts into the discussion. So which one is better? I think the answer will depend on the unique needs of the participants, depending on their age, education level, and interests.

Made in China

Nowadays, if you pick up anything cheap and plastic, from children's toys to home goods, you'll usually find the brand "made in China" on the underside. Most American consumers have generally accepted the fact that a large quantity of the items they buy are produced in China. Those who have problems with this (you know the Made-in-the-USA types) can pay the higher prices to buy things made in this country. Therefore, it seems surprising that such a tremendous surge of voices has come forward to condemn the new Martin Luther King Jr. sculpture, which, like your child's Barbie doll or flimsy flip-flops, was made in China.

The statue, part of the Washington D.C. Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial on the National Mall, has raised eyebrows because its Chinese artist, Lei Yixin, sculpted the work in China of Chinese granite. Of course if it had been a statue honoring I.M. Pei or any other Chinese-American, the public would have had no problem. But considering the function and purpose of the MLK Memorial, many Americans were outraged that a memorial for one of the greatest advocates of equality and peace was created by someone still living in a Communist state. Some more extreme critics went so far as to claim that the representation of Dr. King has Asian features and a Mao-like crossed-arm pose.

The children of Dr. King were reportedly pleased with the monument, praising Lei's depiction of their father. Many other visitors were equally impressed with the 30-foot sculpture, and millions more are projected to visit it this year. They don't seem to have a problem with the fact that it was made by a Chinese artist. Interestingly enough, none of the critics seemed to remember that America's most emblematic monument, the Statue of Liberty, was made in France by a Frenchman.

However, I am still trying to wrap my head around the whole argument: is there actually an ethical issue here? Or is it just another occasion where self-invested Americans are biting the hand that feeds?

Should curators take artists' wishes into account when designing exhibitions?

Recently, one of my classes took a trip to the Katzen Gallery at American University to see an exhibit of Louise Rosskam's photography and to meet one of the curators. As the curator showed us around the exhibit and shared with us the details of her creative process, I was particularly struck by how much she seemed to be influenced by the wishes of the artist and her family. Which of course led me to wonder: how much should a curator allow herself to be influenced by an artist's wishes or the wishes of family members? Is she doing an injustice to the artist if she takes some liberties with the way the works are presented? Can a curator get too tied up with trying to honor what the artist wanted and fail to accomplish her goals in the exhibition?

Using the Rosskam exhibit as an example, I noticed several aspects of the exhibition (some which worked effectively, others which raised questions) which paid special attention to the artist's perceived wishes. One of the most effective manifestations of this was the arrangement of Rosskam's photographs in eight chronological sections. Each section, introduced with a well-written wall text, focused on one of the artist's photography projects (her work for Standard Oil Company, her images of post-WWII Puerto Rico, etc.). These sections were cohesive and flowed fluidly around the exhibition room. By arranging the works in this way, the curators paid respect to Rosskam's development as a photographer, from her early days to her later works.

Another aspect of the exhibition which worked to the exhibit's benefit while honoring Rosskam's wishes was the attention paid to her social consciousness. In our class discussion with the curator, she especially emphasized the artist's dedication to socially-committed photography, or photo-documentary, as she called it. The curators included in the exhibit newspaper clippings and other ephemera that supported Rosskam's commitment to making a difference in the world through her photographs.

I was a bit confused, however, about the choice to include photographs by Rosskam's husband Edwin, also a prolific photographer, in the exhibition. The curators' reasoning was that Rosskam worked so closely with her husband, who was her teacher and her inspiration, that it would be an injustice not to include his works as well in the exhibition. Additionally, the curators were uncertain about the attribution of some works - in the cases where they were not sure if Louise or Edwin had taken the photo, they attributed it to both of them. The entrance to the exhibit also featured an image of Louise and Edwin, not an image of Louise alone. The curator explained to us that the family of the Rosskam's had expressly asked for a photo of both Rosskams to be placed at the entrance, not Louise by herself.

Something that raised a red flag for me was the use of the term 'retrospective' to describe the exhibition, meanwhile it was not a full retrospective of all of Rosskam's work. The curators decided to exhibit only her work from the beginning of her career in the 1930's to her work in the 1960's, excluding all work done in the 1970's-1980's. The reasoning behind this was that her later work was "not up to the quality" of her earlier work. Is it still a retrospective if the curators decide some of the artist's works are not up to snuff for the rest of the exhibit? Hmm...

In any case, I like to advocate a balance - and I think that applies here too. There is a fine line between catering to an artist's every whim and respecting his or her ideals.

Writing About Art: Who is Eligible?

Today's blog post is not going to be particularly scholarly, but I think it has a degree of validity in the world of universities, if not in the art world as a whole. A few days ago, I found myself in the midst of a heated debate with my boyfriend Will* and his roommate Martin*. Earlier in the evening, Martin had made a comment criticizing the writing in the art section of our university newspaper. He further made the point that the newspaper staff members writing the articles in the art section are not art history majors. The debate ensued from this idea: should those writing about art in newspapers or magazines have a background in art, or is anyone qualified to write about it?

Martin and I are both art history majors, so I suppose we are biased to some degree. Will, who is a government major, is an avid lover of both art and architecture, but has never taken an art history class. Martin and I found ourselves arguing that, at least in the setting of a university newspaper, the writers of the art section should have some working background of art history, while Will was adamant that anyone with an appreciation for art should be able to contribute.

I felt that since art history majors are trained in the specific jargon and methodology for describing works of art, exhibits, and programs, they would better be able to compose articles relating to art. Will countered that the general readership of a university newspaper may not necessarily have the technical vocabulary inherent in art historical writing, and therefore might be lost in a newspaper article that is too full of foreign terms. I explained to him that there is obscure vocabulary used in many different types of newspaper articles, not only those relating to art. In addition, art history jargon, if properly explained in the context of the article, is something that will actually enhance the reader's understanding - in other words, using "art history words" like chiaroscuro or perspective gives the reader an opportunity to expand his or her own vocabulary.

Will also argued that non-art history majors may have an appreciation and working knowledge of art, even though it is not their focus of study at the time. But I continue to wonder: does having an interest in art qualify you to be able to write about it? I don't know how much credibility a music major might have writing about politics. The world of politics has its own set of vocabulary which is understood by a select group of people. So I guess if a music major (or any other major for that matter) had a working knowledge of the way to describe political events, he or she should not be deprived of doing so. But still, something about this is gnawing at me - perhaps it's just my need to validate myself as an art history major in a community where art is not always the focus. Or perhaps it's something else.

In the world outside the university setting, those who write about art in reputable publications generally have a background in some area of the art world. Roberta Smith of the New York Times, for example, is an art critic and lecturer who has worked in numerous museums. It is rare for a newspaper like the New York Times to include art articles written by authors who are not professionals in the field (unless the purpose of the story is to get a certain person's perspective on art, etc.). But does a university newspaper necessarily need to conform to the standards of a publication such as the Times? Food for thought.

NB: Regardless of who is writing for the university newspaper's art section, the articles should be of high quality. There is no excuse for bad writing, no matter what the subject.

*Names have been changed.

Does Interpretation Debase Art?

While reading Lisa C. Roberts' article "Changing Practices of Interpretation" for my Museum Education and Interpretation class, I found myself presented with the question: "Does interpretation demean art by turning it from an aesthetic phenomenon into a social or historical construct?" This was something I hadn't really thought of before. Usually when visiting museums, I tend to read and appreciate the wall text that accompanies the exhibit. However, there are several occasions (particularly when the labels are too verbose) when I'm just not in the mood to spend half an hour reading the text, and would much rather observe and enjoy the object in front of me. But does wall text inhibit visitors' appreciation of the art and somehow demean their aesthetic enjoyment of the works?

One side to this argument is advocated by John Walker of the NGA, who compared a work of art to a musical composition. What he meant by this was that art should be a source of enjoyment, of happiness, not necessarily a piece of historical evidence. In his opinion (and in the opinions of those who agree with him), visitors to a museum should not be bombarded with information, but instead allowed to appreciate the art from primarily an aesthetic standpoint.

The flip side of this debate raises the question of whether museum visitors will better understand and find pleasure in the art if they are more knowledgeable about it. Many museums today include in their mission statements clauses about their duty to be places of learning for the public. Without providing visitors with some sort of information (whether through wall text, pamphlets, videos, or other media), they might be lost navigating through exhibits of Munch prints or Aboriginal sculpture.

Upon discussing Roberts' article with my class, one of the topics that came up was the idea of Visual Thinking Strategies, a method of teaching critical thinking and encouraging art appreciation merely through looking at art and discussing what one sees. The VTS method relies on observation and questions to create a dialogue about the artwork. It does not, however, provide learners with historical background or context on the artist or the work. While I am certainly no expert on VTS (though I would love to learn more!), it seems to me that there is a piece missing from this puzzle. And unsurprisingly, my gut reaction to our class discussion of these unconventional methods also helped me unravel my opinions regarding the aesthetic vs. information debate. In a word: balance. Sometimes observing a work of art for its pure beauty or emotional impact is valuable and even necessary. Other times more context and information is needed to fully appreciate an object. So essentially what I'm advocating here is moderation. I don't want to go to a museum where I'm barraged with superfluous information, but I would like some context on what I'm looking at. If you have a problem with labels, don't read them. No one is forcing you.

Should Museums Charge Admission Fees?

As an art history student in Washington, D.C., I always thank my lucky stars that the (majority of the) Smithsonian Museums do not charge admission. I came to appreciate this even more this past summer while studying in Paris. While museum admission prices for students were often reduced, all visitors were required to pay entrance fees. Because I visited many of Paris's museums with my art history class, I was exempt from purchasing my own tickets, but what about the millions of tourists who wander through the Louvre and the D'Orsay per year? I guess what I'm getting at is the following: is it ethical for museums to charge their visitors admission fees? And should some visitors be exempt from paying this fee?

Is it ethical for an institution to make money from someone else's work?

By exhibiting the works of artists - whether deceased or living - is it ethical for museums to make a profit? Museums generally acquire works for exhibition by purchasing them, by borrowing them, or by donation. So if museums have acquired pieces from an artist's body of work by purchase, loan, or donation, they technically are the property of the museum. Since the museum owns the pieces, why shouldn't it make a profit from their exhibition? On the contrary, should we have moral reservations about paying money to a museum who is profiting from someone else's work?

If museums are intended to educate and entertain the larger populus, is charging an admission fee incongruent with the social mission of museums?

I suppose this question is based firstly on the opinion/assumption that museums have social missions. If we accept that this is true, at least for the intents and purposes of this blog post, then we can proceed with the question at hand. If a museum has in its mission statement the objective to reach people from all social classes and economic backgrounds, it should take into consideration the ability of its visitors to pay admission fees. For example, a low-income visitor may have several reservations about spending an afternoon in an art museum. First of all because of the all-too-pervasive conception of museums as "mausoleums" - where a visitor dressed improperly or without adequate social standing is not welcome. Secondly, a visitor who may not have the means to spend $20 on a museum ticket has a disadvantage over a more affluent visitor. In short: if a museum charges an admission fee, is it perpetuating the cycle of social disparity and failing to fulfill its social mission?

If museums do not charge admission, where else is the funding for their maintenance and programs going to come from?

Museums tend to draw funding from a variety of places: admission fees, donors, museum memberships, government subsidies, and endowments. Some smaller museums who may not receive as much government funding or who may not have a substantial endowment rely on visitors' admissions fees to fund museum programs and activities. Without the contribution of these fees, some such museums would be in financial turmoil or would possibly even shut down. Is it the government's place to step in and financially support (with taxpayers' dollars, of course) these museums? I don't know. Whose responsibility is it, then, to provide funding for museums?

As I am milling over all of these ideas in my mind, I can't help thinking of the Met's system of admission on a donation basis as a possible solution. Visitors to the Met are encouraged to pay a "suggested donation" fee, which is essentially a pay-as-much-as-you-can admission fee. There are pros and cons to this concept too. Some visitors might choose to pay nothing (which brings us back to the above question of who will financially support museums). Other visitors might be embarrassed to give anything less than the suggested donation, and so may be deterred from visiting the museum (which brings us back to my ponderings about museums' social missions). So I suppose, in actually hashing out the pros and cons, the Met's donation system isn't perfect either.

If donations are not the way to go, and museums will die without funding, where should we stand on the issue of charging admission?