E.C. BRILLON

From a small notebook // 18 September 2017 // 14:21

“Don’t forget to look up!” The guard motioned toward the ceiling. Mouth gaping, I lifted my head and meeting my gaze was a vibrantly painted scene of roman soldiers and cherubs reveling in the heavens. In the Veronese Room of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, densely-packed religious imagery lives with strung-off furniture. It is not unlike the other galleries of the palace, each offering their own pointed curatorial arrangements. This particular room, fortunately, does not appear to have anything stolen from it.

It is a museum whose owner created a vision bred from travelling and generosity. Her motto famously was, “C’est mon Plaisir,” or “It’s my pleasure,” a phrase that the institution embraces wholeheartedly. Gardner was a traveler, doing most of it from 1867-84, and her collection reflects her wanderings around the Middle East, Europe, Russia, and Asia, each room or gallery pertaining to a period in art or location. For example, the Spanish chapel is on the first floor, the Raphael room on the second floor, the Gothic room on the third. Abutting the Chinese Loggia is the closed Chinese room, whose contents, I learned, are probably not in there anymore. The impression the nearby guard gave me was that the gallery originally served as a private retreat, and inaccessible today because of restrictive fire codes. A common affliction for homes-turned-museums, I suspect, and its secrecy makes me both praise and envy Isabella for her sanctuary. Known for its architectural and interior ornamentation, the Gardner Museum is also known for being the subject of one of the most well-known art heists in museum history.

What strikes me about the Gardner Museum, aside from its obvious ornamental attributes, is the institution’s commitment to the founder’s wishes. The space requires unparalleled conservation efforts (one of the first advocates for art conservation as science was George Stout, the museum’s second director) and requirements from Isabella’s will, stating that no work or frame be moved. Therefore, everything that was originally installed is there permanently. There is no changing of objects or wall space, which is apparent given the empty frames devoid of their stolen artwork.

On my particular visit I was unable to experience the additional Renzo Piano space due to a closed press opening, but I don’t doubt the Henry James: American Painting was a much-anticipated show for the institution, as Gardner and the writer were good friends. Fortunately the original building space, more commonly referred to as the Palace, was a delight in itself. Upon entering the museum, the visitor is welcomed by the courtyard with its magnificent garden. Comparing one museum to another is unforgiving, I think, but for reference’s sake, it was not a dissimilar first experience than the one I had at the MET’s Cloisters. In contrast though, its palm trees and seasonal foliage is a tell that this museum’s collection recognizes a more global influence, that its founder went further than the art-historical cannon. The density of work in each room is astounding, and each object, furnishing, or artwork pertains to the details that create every room’s singularity in the grand scheme. And this is the point in the essay that everyone is waiting for: it is nearly impossible to not mention the art heist in 1990 when two people passing as Boston Police officers stole 13 objects – among them 5 paintings, three Degas drawings, and a golden eagle that used to sit above one of Napoleon Bonaparte’s flags. (How they took the worthless eagle and left Napoleon’s flag is beyond one of the museum guard’s knowledge). Honoring Gardner’s wishes, empty frames remain in the Dutch room where two Rembrandts were stolen and two others; storage doors visitors can look through have a frame with three listed Degas works with a line that simply reads, “STOLEN, MARCH 18TH 1990.” The empty frames and the taken artwork add to the allure to the whole museum, as if a lush courtyard and opulent rooms weren’t enough.  It is shocking to see the remnants of stolen artwork, an uncommon sight in all museums, but it invigorates the imagination and makes you feel like you’re in on the secret. The mystery is tantalizing for all visitors and encourages true, quality seeing. 

China: Through the Looking Glass was quite an evening trip and I was expecting very little in terms of cultural sensitivities. However, I was stunned again by Andrew Bolton -- that curatorial-genius bastard --  and was pleasantly surprised too by its integration of objects and fashion. It had a stronger focus on the art objects versus say, Savage Beauty or the Gaultier show. Bolton curated a great show despite being a “blockbuster,” which is a term I’ve grown to dislike, but will default to, for exhibits. (Semantically speaking, there seems to be no alternative...yet). For the fear of being criticized for too much western designers and being criticized for racial insensitivity, objects were displayed well and tastefully. The Costume Institute created an experience -- where the debate is “should it be an experience at all for the fear of tiptoeing Disneyland?” Where they created environments that were close to the line, the exhibit remained steeped in art history which therein lies the success: the experience of a fantastic exhibition with the resourcefulness that museums offer.