#object stories

Teams from my new story series! :D (read Story 1 on DA here!)

Descriptions under cut!

A Treasure Hunt

I stumbled across Desire, Love, Identity: Exploring LGBTQ Histories in the Enlightenment Gallery. A purple, white, and orange text panel stood out from the dark wood and 18th century aesthetics of the gallery, highlighting a Maori carving depicting sexual acts between two male figures. The panel directed the visitor to other objects highlighted along a trail throughout the museum’s permanent displays and could either begin or culminate in a small exhibition space that neatly unified the themes.

I enjoyed the self-conscious style and tone of the exhibition because it reflected on its own process, including a clear definition of the terminology and parameters they used and listing the many LGBTQ groups involved in the project. The exhibition avoided anachronistic labels by using the term “same-sex love and desire” instead. And I deeply appreciated that they were clear about the gaps in the British Museum’s collection and representation:

“The British Museum’s collection does not represent all perspectives and experiences equally. This is partly due to what survives and is available to collect, but it also reflects the way objects were catalogued by previous generations”

All museum collections are quirky beasts, since they were formed by different individuals, different time periods, different interests, and many different donors all with different ideas about what should be preserved for future generations. Victorian collections like the British Museum are particularly guilty of ignoring the perspectives of marginalized groups, and any gaps represent the communities and cultures that were overlooked. Primarily, the exhibition explains, the stories of “extraordinary” individuals (usually the very rich or infamous) were the ones that escaped this version of censorship.

The bright side is that many museums now have initiatives seeking to acquire objects that fill and flesh out these underrepresented human experiences. The Warren Cup is a recent acquisition the British Museum made, for not only does it represent same-sex male desire in Ancient Greece, it was from the personal collection of Edward Perry Warren, who jokingly called the cup his holy grail. At a time when homosexuality was a criminal act in the UK, this cup was a private view into a culture that admired same-sex desire.

One of the last panels in the exhibition asks, “What makes an object LGBT or Q?” I think their definition was wonderfully broad, allowing them to draw in objects that confront heteronormative interpretations of history. The central case focused on this ambiguous prehistoric sculpture of a couple making love and challenged the visitor whether there is anything inherent to the figures that suggests they are male and female.

Sculpture from Ain Sakhri, Palestine, c. 9,000 BCE

  This definition – including objects that “have been adopted by” LGBTQ communities like the discus thrower featured in E.M. Forster’s Maurice – also begins to address the problem that there are multiple histories, each one privileging and legitimizing their own sociocultural norms.  A museum object’s meaning or significance is spread across multiple networks of associations, relationships, and systems of symbols, which means there are as many meaningful meanings as there are people to look at an object.

The need now isn’t to point out exceptions, but to normalize LGBTQ in museums – so while one off exhibitions like the many on display for the 50th anniversary of the decriminalization of homosexuality in England are positive moves towards increasing representation, incorporating these marginalized histories into the everyday work of the museum should be the focus going forward.

“If a mainstream cultural organisation doesn’t try to promote marginalised voices it will inevitably add to the oppression, unwittingly or otherwise […] Absence or silence adds to the further marginalisation of LGBTQ people, despite the gains we have made in the past half century.” – Jude Woods

I would like to see if some aspects of this exhibition remain on display even after it formally closes October 15th, and for other museums to experiment with using small identifying markers to highlight the unrecognized, overlooked and underrepresented stories in their permanent collections, rewriting text labels, highlighting different objects, and, most importantly, handing over control and encouraging insider participation during the process and the product.

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  The Song of Achilles

Thetis bringing her son Achilles new armor as he is sunk in grief over the death of Patroclus. Red-figured pelike (jar) made in Athens c. 470 BCE

The exhibition and trail had a heavy focus on Ancient Greek life – due partly to their collections and partly to the subject matter, as the Ancient Greek world became an alternative to the dominant Christian morality. Whether by coincidence or design, the entrance to the exhibition room was flanked by a wall of vases depicting the life of Achilles and scenes from the Iliad. It was seeing them juxtaposed with Desire, Love, and Identity that pushed me to finally pull The Song of Achilles off my “to read” shelf.

Madeline Miller was inspired by the story of Achilles, Hero of the Trojan war, and his closest friend, Patroclus, and the interpretation (popular amongst groups we would now identify as LGBTQ from Plato’s time onwards) that their relationship was a romantic one. She used Homer’s own words to create a moving and intimate story about friendship and love.

“There is a lot of support for their relationship in the text of the Iliad itself, though Homer never makes it explicit. For me, the most compelling piece of evidence, aside from the depth of Achilles’ grief, is how he grieves: Achilles refuses to burn Patroclus’ body, insisting instead on keeping the corpse in his tent, where he constantly weeps and embraces it—despite the horrified reactions of those around him. That sense of physical devastation spoke deeply to me of a true and total intimacy between the two men.” – Madeline Miller

Like the exhibition, Madeleine Miller’s retelling of the Iliad provided a “queered” history, an alternative to the heteronormative interpretation of history. Books and exhibitions like these contribute to the effort of normalizing and mainstreaming LGBTQ perspectives, and there will hopefully come a point when history is truly impartial and museums truly represent all the groups they aim to serve.

  John Flaxman, Achilles and the shade of Patroclus, 1793 Pen and black ink over graphite

Explore Further

Desire, Love, Identity: Exploring LGBTQ Histories

The online exhibition

The British Museum trail

A Little Gay History by RB Parkinson

Same-Sex Desire and Gender Identity in the British Museum

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

The Pop-Up Museum of Queer History

Troy by Adele Geras

Ithaka by Adele Geras

Queer British Art: 1861-1967 at Tate Britain until October 1st

Gay UK: Love, Law and Liberty

David Hockney at Tate Britain (closed)

Inkwell 1.5” w x 2” h, most likely stoneware, salt or wood fired to create a glossy glaze across most of the surface, except for the base and one side where the clay is bare, likely due to being placed close to another piece in the kiln. Warm brown/tan with brassy tones where glazed, bare clay is a cold gray. It was thrown individually on a wheel, a stout body and narrow neck. A fingerprint is pressed into one side near the base, and striations on the base show where it was cut from the wheel.

Object Story

I have always liked bottles. The feel and weight of one in my hand, the idea of what could be held inside them – secret potions, herbs, feathers and pens. Bottles like this one, clay and old, the aesthetic of apothecaries and ye old wise women. 

I don’t remember exactly when I acquired this one, but I could have only found it during one of my many excursions into Portobello Road as a child. Dad and I would take the tube to Notting Hill Gate at the antiques end of the market, and work our way from the bric a brac of Victorian London into the modern day high road and pubs. The market is famous for its antiques. The road is filled with stalls of shiny brass and dull silver, of paper ephemera and vintage furniture, and if you slip between them, you will find narrow store fronts with names like the Dolphin Arcade leading into warrens of little nooks where every collectible and antique imaginable is sold. 

This, I thought as a child, is what a faerie market would look like, complete with odd characters like the mad old man with a great white beard who sells ceramics found in Victorian rubbish tips. I could have bought this bottle at that very stall, although there is always at least one booth groaning under the weight of precariously stacked pottering and glass. I’m drawn to these smooth and delicate pieces despite feeling a breath away from ruining it all like a bull in a china shop. 

I cannot ignore the influence Harry Potter and the great semi-medieval Hogwarts has had on my sensibilities. I’ve been playing around with fountain pens and inks since I first read them at seven years old. So I can imagine the excitement I felt the moment I picked this little clay bottle. A 19th century inkwell, rich with the subtle details and imperfections that only a handcrafted object can have. I would have bought it immediately, and probably for very little. These sorts of things are riddled across London’s soil. 

Since I first bought this, I have learned hands on how to throw pottery, which has only deepened my appreciation of clay objects. I can look at the lines and curves on this inkwell and visualize exactly how this was made, where the potter placed their fingers. I can guess at the tools they used, this nameless craftsperson, and where they placed this in the kiln. I can imagine the sense of community they experienced during the day long firing, because I’ve been there, too.

Still Curious?

All the Best Rubbish

London’s Rubbish

Portobello Road

Pen Museum

An inkwell from the Museum of London