Uncrated

Over time, however, casts fell out of favor. By the 1930s, most museums started dispersing or destroying their cast collections. Leon Arkus, director of CMOA from 1968 to 1980, was instrumental in keeping the collection intact at a time when some believed the Hall of Architecture should be converted to galleries. Today, the Hall of Architecture is the only remaining cast collection in North America, and the third largest in the world.

The Archer is part of a lot of five casts—including Fallen Warrior, Standing Spearman, Head of Athena, and Bended Warrior—purchased in 1905 for $107.50. The sculptures are all casts of marble originals from the eastern pediment of the Temple of Athena in Aegina. The original, which dates from 480–450 BCE, is currently located at the Glyptothek in Munich.

Noble yet diminutive in form, this kneeling warrior has remained forever poised to fire his arrow at an unseen enemy. Unfortunately, such dedication to task has taken its toll, primarily on his muscles. By 2007, the Archer’s outstretched left arm had so greatly deteriorated that it separated from his body at the bicep. Luckily, CMOA conservators were able to administer aid, employing dowel rods, epoxy, and vinyl spackle to reattach the warrior’s much-needed limb.

In September of 2007, the Archer made his post-rehab debut in the exhibition On a Grand Scale:The Hall of Architecture at 100, which celebrated the history of this storied space in the museum.

The decision about what to keep as art object was a result of conversations among the artist, the curators of the 1991 International (Lynne Cooke and Mark Francis), the artist’s gallery, and the museum’s conservators (see below). In an early proposal, the assertion was that the molds used to cast the wax heads comprise the work of art; the heads would need to be refabricated every time the object was shown, and the process of heating and melting would need to be replicated in the gallery space. In the end, though, practical considerations prevailed, and the artwork was defined as the two furniture elements the museum eventually acquired.

The immersive installation filled three floors:

Image 1: Upon entering the first floor, visitors were greeted by the distant sound of chirping canaries. Mounds of melted wax covered a concentrated area in the middle of the floor. Wax oozed through cracks from the ceiling above.

Image 2: Ascending to the second floor, visitors encountered a table (now in CMOA’s collection) with a miner’s log, open, and covered in the same wax, again dripping from the ceiling above.

Image 3: On the third floor, 30 canaries fluttered about, their wings leaving markings on soot-covered windows. A glass vitrine (the second element owned by the museum) was filled with cast wax heads, melted by a heating element in the case, oozing out of the bottom, down to the floor, through the cracks to the stories below.

Hamilton’s objects trigger many questions. What is the conceptual as well as practical relationship between an ephemeral event and the remaining artifacts? How can these objects be explained in a museum gallery?

The decision about what to keep as art object was a result of conversations among the artist, the curators of the 1991 International (Lynne Cooke and Mark Francis), the artist’s gallery, and the museum’s conservators. In an early proposal, the assertion was that the molds used to cast the wax heads comprise the work of art; the heads would need to be refabricated every time the object was shown, and the process of heating and melting would need to be replicated in the gallery space. In the end, though, practical considerations prevailed, and the artwork was defined as the two furniture elements the museum eventually acquired.

The work that Mosley refers to, Georgia Gate, was acquired in 1976 following the artist’s participation in the 66th Annual Exhibition of the Associated Artists of Pittsburgh. The spare but expressive structure, composed of finely carved wood on three marble bases, has been on view numerous times over the years. Its delicate wooden arms—carved, like so many of Mosley’s sculptures, from reclaimed wood from the city’s public works department—have made the work particularly vulnerable. For example, in July 1979, the sculpture was taken off view after a small child stepped onto the platform that held it and damaged the work. Eight years later, in March 1987, Georgia Gate was taken off view again after excessively dry environmental conditions caused some cracking in the wood.

In 1997, Recent Sculpture by Thaddeus Mosley debuted in the museum’s Forum Gallery—an exhibition that featured such powerful works as Cove for Chillida (1994) and Source—of All Gods and Superman (1994). With mallet and chisel, Mosley wrestled with sentiments of life and mortality through his sculpture, themes that have permeated his art practice for more than six decades. 

Georgia Gate is in good condition today—it was last on view in 2007 for the exhibition Popular Salon of the People: Associated Artists of Pittsburgh Annuals at Carnegie Museum of Art, a retrospective of the AAP shows from 1910 to 2006. But as part of the storage project for Heinz E, the museum’s chief preparator wants to create a dedicated crate for the work. Mosley’s sculpture will be outfitted with what’s referred to as a skeleton or slat crate, constructed to both frame and brace delicate objects.