James Cuno

An excellent exploration of the issues dividing the world's great museums and the countries in which great works were taken. What right do museums have to retain treasures obtained illegally or extralegally in previous centuries? What about Egyptian treasures willed to the British Museum by the Turkish leader when Egypt was under his control? And then you get the other side. Many of the treasures would have been destroyed, or have ended up in private collections, owned by people who wouldn't show more share them with the world. And then you read, theft is theft, and then you read they are world treasures. And by the end the whole topic is one gigantic collection of grey shades. Absolutely NOT cut and dried. And for that thought provoking roller coaster, I am very grateful to the author. show less

While still conspicuously ignorant of the subjects, museum acquisitions, museology in general, and the debates concerning (re)appropriation of “culturally significant objects” all fascinate me. James Cuno manages to cover all these bases in this book whose major question is: Do modern states have the right to demand the return of objects that may be deemed to have cultural, aesthetic, or national value? And if they do, what reasons validate this demand?

Cuno’s short answer is that show more states don’t have this right at all. Instead, he sees the rise of these cultural reappropriation laws as a way of shoring up nationalist pretentions. His argument seems strong. Two of his chapters, “The Turkish Question” and “The Chinese Question,” examine this assertion in detail. For example, when the Ba’athists took control in Iraq in 1968, they adopted strict laws of cultural appropriation in concert with their virulently nationalist rhetoric. “Their intention was to create a ‘national-territorial consciousness resting upon the particular history of Iraq and, equally significantly, of what the regime, or a powerful circle within it, presented as the history of the Iraqi people.’ Central to this effort was an official drive to foster archaeology as a way of making people aware and proud of ‘their ancient past,’ including that of the pre-Islamic era. At the same time, the Party encouraged local folklore for the purpose of inspiring communities with a sense of internal Iraqi unity, and emphasizing Iraq’s uniqueness among the nations of the world at large” (p. 58-59). In other words, at least on the level of political propaganda, the purpose of these new laws was not to maintain and preserve ancient artifacts, but rather a proxy for a relatively new country to build a sense of cultural and national identity.

Much the same thing happened to the young Turkey while trying to survive the birth pangs of early Ataturkism and subsequent westernization. “The emergence and the development of archaeology in Turkey took place under constraints that are deeply rooted in history. Confrontation between the traditional Islamic framework and the Western model, the endeavor to survive as a non-Arabic nation in the Middle East while the empire was disintegrating, the hostile and occasionally humiliating attitude of Europeans, and growing nationalism have all been consequential in this development … The pace that archaeology took in Turkey is much more related to the ideology of the modern Republic than to the existing archaeological potential of the country” (p. 83, a direct quote from Mehmet Ozdogan’s article “Ideology and Archaeology in Turkey”). In a similar way, the Elgin Marbles served as political symbols critical to the identity and “national spirit” of the modern nation-state of Greece, not just as archaeological artifacts.

The claim to national identity is also a common one, and one that Cuno rejects with equal fervor. We are so used to the argument that this object or that belongs here or there because of the important part it plays in making a people who they are. However, these objects are often so removed in historical time that the number of things these artists shared with the supporters of cultural appropriation shared is vanishingly small. Look at contemporary Egyptians. They share neither a common language, a body of customs, a religion, or law with ancient Egyptians, yet we are still urged to believe that one is an integral part of the identity of the other – presumably because of geographical proximity. That dynamic thing we call culture has worked over dozens of centuries to produce these widely divergent changes. The claims of contemporary Egyptians on the cultural artifacts of ancient Egypt seem tenuous at best. The ever-presence of boundary-crossing and the impermanence of cartography both speak to the capriciousness that is “cultural identity.”

Cuno argues for what he calls “partage,” the provision of archaeological and historical expertise in return for the partitioning of important discovered objects. One of the only other alternatives would be to potentially let these objects onto the black market, where they would certainly lack the curatorial and historical expertise they would be afforded in a museum.

While Cuno effectively cottons on to an important lesson of the last few centuries – that the modern nation-state will stop at nothing to traduce any obstacle that gets in the way of imparting its influence - he does go out of his way to paint many of these states as heterogeneous and uniform in their power, which is misleading at best. Not all nascent nations practiced nationalism, either on an ideological or pragmatic level, with equal vim and vigor.

As convincing as Cuno’s arguments were, I often found myself reversing the cultural tables and asking myself what I would do if, for whatever counterfactual historical reason, an original copy of the Declaration of Independence or the Constitution had found its way into the halls of the Kremlin or the Forbidden City. Could Americans who argue against cultural reappropriation laws have the intellectual courage to say, with a straight face, that it doesn’t matter that these objects are not permanently housed in the United States? Then again, we’re much closer in historical time – in language, heritage, culture, and mores – to the people that created this country than the contemporary Chinese are to Shang-era potters or the contemporary Greeks are to those brilliant artisans who created the Elgin Marbles, which may further complicate an already intricate argument.

Whatever your opinion on the issues, provided you had one prior to exposure to this book, it will make you re-think how art, identity, cultural appropriation, and museum-building are all intimately connected. It does a wonderful job at raising intelligent questions about how these concepts are linked. show less

"Whose Muse" is a book which looks at the role of art museums in Western society and their rlationship with the public. There are six essays written by noteworthy directors of art museums.For me two of these stand out: "The Object of Art Museums" by Jams Cuno (Courtauld) and "Pictures, Tears, Lights, and Seats" by John Walsh (Getty Museum - LA). These two essays take the museum-goer through the experience of visiting an art museum, realizing that this is both educational and aesthetic. The show more way a museum shows a given room or an exhibition has considerable influence on ones experience. Whether or not the exhibitor juxtapostions pieces of art for a certain effect or statement is perhaps useful to know. For me it has been startling to see a certain theory of painting placement at the Barnes Foundation outside of Philadelphia, but it was a revelation to see one painting looking at reflecting another at the Frick Collection in New York. Some ideas discussed in the book include what size of attendance is acceptable for a good enjoyment of an exhibit, how lighting and seating help us to enjoy what we are looking at, the tension between philanthropy and commerce, what makes up "success," and so forth. A valuable book. show less

This slim book is the companion to an exhibition at The Art Institute of Chicago in 2005 that documented the design process of Renzo Piano's addition to the museum, called The Modern Wing. Millennium Park opened the year before, and by then it was clear that the decision to orient the addition to the park across Monroe Street was a good one. The park was immediately successful and has continued to be a huge draw for the city, enough that Piano added a slender bridge to his design connecting show more an upper floor of the addition to the middle of the park. The book does a good job of explaining Piano's design, and situating it within the architect's larger oeuvre of museums, but it's just too small; the museum deserves a larger book with more thorough text delving into the design and more illustrations. That came later with 2009's "The Modern Wing: Renzo Piano and the Art Institute of Chicago." show less