With their grand buildings and priceless artefacts, museums have historically been viewed by many people as bastions of elitism, dominated by fashionable, upper-class visitors. But the snobbier the better for cartoonists, who have consistently lampooned such institutions over the centuries, using them as an almost bottomless well of satire-worthy material.
London’s British Museum has been the subject of considerable caricature since it was founded in 1753. Its holdings of ancient objects, from Egyptian relics to the much-disputed Parthenon marbles, have been a particularly popular target. One of the first satires on the sculptures, also known as the Elgin marbles, was George Cruikshank’s excellently self-explanatory print made in 1810, “The Elgin Marbles! or John Bull buying Stones at the time his numerous family want Bread!!”, the title deservedly employing two exclamation marks.
The museum has always been popular with visitors, so an attempt in 1923 to charge for admission led to mass disapproval. That year, a drawing by Leonard Raven Hill appeared in Punch magazine depicting its emblematic eponymous character Mr Punch standing in front of the museum tearing up the proposal for entrance fees. A 1954 cartoon by David Langdon in the same magazine offered one solution – “Shove it under the National Trust and charge the public a couple of bob for wandering around”.
Another healthy source for cartoonists has been London’s Royal Academy of Arts, which was inaugurated by artists in 1768. With its annual exhibitions attracting royalty, the rich and the rotund, the academy’s clientele fast became a subject to satirise. “Exhibition Stare Case”, 1811, by Rowlandson (who had studied at the Royal Academy Schools) is one such example – pompous fashionable visitors are seen tumbling over each other as they attempt to visit the gallery on the upper floor.
A similar lampooning takes place in Cruikshank’s “Beauties of Brighton”, etched in 1826 after a design by Alfred Crowquill (who appears in the print). The domes and minarets of the Royal Pavilion in Brighton, the seaside home of George IV, provide a suitably extravagant backdrop for the dandies promenading in the foreground. They include the Duke of York, the king’s younger brother, and the French politician Charles Talleyrand.
A modern satirical crowd scene can be seen in Martin Honeysett’s depiction of the Jerwood Gallery in coastal Hastings, where a group of grey, skinny, dour and pretentious-looking art lovers are contrasted with the line of colourful, fat and jolly families queuing up for the adjoining funfair.
The National Gallery in London has also received its share of satire, particularly in the 1840s when John Leech of Punch attacked its over-zealous restoration policy in “Cleaning the Pictures of the National Gallery”. Published in the 1847 Punch Almanack, Leech depicts conservators scrubbing canvases with brushes and
a broomstick.
Hot off the press
As well as art handling, arts administration has also been the subject of cartoon satire. The flamboyant Roy Strong, who ran the Victoria and Albert Museum (V&A) in the 1970s and 1980s, was a particular favourite. In a 1985 cartoon by JAK in the Evening Standard, Strong is seen standing in the doorway of the V&A as the actor and screenwriter Colin Welland demonstrates outside with a placard that reads “Free Museums”. “I’d like to see someone trying to get into one of his plays for nothing!” Strong says.
As well as being the subject of graphic satire, the V&A holds a large collection of cartoons, caricatures and prints. A recent cartoon-based display celebrated the 50th anniversary of the satirical magazine Private Eye, and a special cartoon was commissioned for it. The comic illustrator Edward McLachlan depicted Queen Victoria and Prince Albert visiting the exhibition, with the former exclaiming: “We are amused.”
Cashing in
The subject of funding has always been a bone of contention in the museum sector, but it’s all fair game for satirists, including how patrons’ money left in legacy is spent.
One notable case drew headlines in the 1950s, when the then director of Tate Britain came severely under fire. A drawing by Norman Mansbridge describes the culmination of the controversial directorship of John Rothenstein from 1938 to 1964. Published in Punch in 1954, “The Millbank Resurrection” shows dead benefactors emerging from their graves to hound Rothenstein for misusing their donations. The respected art historian John Richardson expands on the foray in a memoir about the art world in the 1950s: “Rothenstein had done things for which a solicitor (though not a museum director) might have been struck off the roll. He had repeatedly flouted the terms of the gallery’s trusts and bequests, and among other misdemeanours used funds reserved for modern, foreign art to buy art that was neither modern nor foreign. He had also allowed a Renoir from the all-important Courtauld Fund to be sold in secrecy without the usual procedures being followed.” Look back at the cartoon and you will see Samuel Courtauld reaching with particular vigour out of his resting place.
Another lampooning of Tate’s artistic empire occurred when Tate Liverpool opened in 1988. One of the works on show was Equivalent VIII, a pile of 120 firebricks by the American artist Carl Andre in 1966. Its display led to a renewed spate of cartoons, echoing those published when the work had originally been shown at the Tate in London during the 1970s.
Home for cartoons
Although the Tate, British Museum, V&A and other venues had held exhibitions on cartoons and caricature, there had long been a desire for an institution devoted to the history of graphic satire (see p31). The movement began to gather pace in 1970, when London’s National Portrait Gallery hosted Drawn and Quartered: The World of the British Newspaper Cartoon 1720-1970 – the first major exhibition by the British Cartoonists’ Association (BCA). The show was inspired by the cartoonist HM Bateman, who had died that year and who, at a lecture at the Royal Society of Arts in 1949, had called for a national gallery of humorous art to be set up.
To mark the occasion, the president of the BCA, Carl Giles, published a cartoon in the Daily Express, which showed the Labour prime minister Harold Wilson and the Conservative leader of the opposition Edward Heath being restrained by policemen while fighting in front of the gallery. Both politicians wield knives and hold placards: Wilson’s reads “Cartoonists Go Home” while Heath’s has “Revenge – Cartoonists Unfair To Me”. In the caption, a sergeant sitting on Wilson says: “You are charged with unlawfully entering the National Portrait Gallery carrying offensive weapons with intent to commit grievous bodily harm.”
Though Bateman was not alive to see it, his dream came true in 2006 when, after a decade of exhibiting in smaller venues, the Cartoon Museum opened in Bloomsbury, central London. It was the result of 20 years’ campaigning by the Cartoon Art Trust, one of whose original directors was Bateman’s daughter, Diana Willis. It is appropriate that it found a home close to the British Museum as it was Bateman who drew “The Boy Who Breathed on the Glass in the British Museum”, published in Punch in 1916. It was one of his first cartoons for the magazine and fittingly one that the British Museum holds in its collection.
Perhaps an appropriate museum, or rather museum group, to end on is Bath. “The Man Who Asked for a Double Scotch in the Grand Pump Room at Bath”, a 1931 cartoon by Bateman, can be seen as a critique of museum visitors to whom the drinking of whisky instead of spa water would have been shocking. Museum clientele have historically been viewed as uptight, just like their majestic buildings, which Bateman picks up on in his cartoon commentary. Ironically, in 1971 (a year after Bateman’s death), Bath’s Pump Room got a licence to serve alcohol.
But the snobbish image of museums, and the stuffiness of their visitors, has changed a lot over the years. Though graphic satirists continue to lampoon cultural institutions, they are no longer places that lack a sense of fun and, in many cases, are seen as part of the visitor attractions industry along with zoos, concert halls and theme parks.
The debate over charging for entry will continue to rear its head from time to time, and no doubt we will see more controversial directors. But museums, as they work towards becoming inclusive and welcoming, have probably largely lost their elitist tag. Bad news for cartoonists maybe, but good news for the visiting public.
Certain themes recur. It is clear that anything regarded as extinct, antiquated or obsolete – policy, person or object – is a prime candidate to be consigned to a museum. However, this is not always a safe predictor. In 1983, the satirist MAC drew a cartoon published in the Daily Mail showing civil servants and a taxidermist from the British Museum turning up in Ken Livingstone’s office at the Greater London Council. Livingstone was asked if he wanted to be stuffed “sitting down or standing on one leg”. But Livingstone’s political career lasted longer than expected, continuing into the 21st century.
In February 2006, the Cartoon Museum opened at premises in Little Russell Street, very near the British Museum, and the news was covered by Museums Journal. The magazine’s cover used a drawing by the cartoonist Steve Bell, showing a grand classical facade so typical of a traditional museum. However, where the British Museum’s pediment depicts the “Progress of Civilisation”, the Cartoon Museum’s parody pediment of “Progress” showed Superman, Batman, Betty Boop, Andy Capp, Jonah and Minnie the Minx.
In recent years, we have witnessed something of a reversal of fortune: the so-called “low art” of cartoons and comics has become the subject of serious study, while “highbrow” museums are now keen to present themselves as “fun” destinations.
Anita O’Brien is the curator of the Cartoon Museum in London
London’s British Museum has been the subject of considerable caricature since it was founded in 1753. Its holdings of ancient objects, from Egyptian relics to the much-disputed Parthenon marbles, have been a particularly popular target. One of the first satires on the sculptures, also known as the Elgin marbles, was George Cruikshank’s excellently self-explanatory print made in 1810, “The Elgin Marbles! or John Bull buying Stones at the time his numerous family want Bread!!”, the title deservedly employing two exclamation marks.
The museum has always been popular with visitors, so an attempt in 1923 to charge for admission led to mass disapproval. That year, a drawing by Leonard Raven Hill appeared in Punch magazine depicting its emblematic eponymous character Mr Punch standing in front of the museum tearing up the proposal for entrance fees. A 1954 cartoon by David Langdon in the same magazine offered one solution – “Shove it under the National Trust and charge the public a couple of bob for wandering around”.
Another healthy source for cartoonists has been London’s Royal Academy of Arts, which was inaugurated by artists in 1768. With its annual exhibitions attracting royalty, the rich and the rotund, the academy’s clientele fast became a subject to satirise. “Exhibition Stare Case”, 1811, by Rowlandson (who had studied at the Royal Academy Schools) is one such example – pompous fashionable visitors are seen tumbling over each other as they attempt to visit the gallery on the upper floor.
A similar lampooning takes place in Cruikshank’s “Beauties of Brighton”, etched in 1826 after a design by Alfred Crowquill (who appears in the print). The domes and minarets of the Royal Pavilion in Brighton, the seaside home of George IV, provide a suitably extravagant backdrop for the dandies promenading in the foreground. They include the Duke of York, the king’s younger brother, and the French politician Charles Talleyrand.
A modern satirical crowd scene can be seen in Martin Honeysett’s depiction of the Jerwood Gallery in coastal Hastings, where a group of grey, skinny, dour and pretentious-looking art lovers are contrasted with the line of colourful, fat and jolly families queuing up for the adjoining funfair.
The National Gallery in London has also received its share of satire, particularly in the 1840s when John Leech of Punch attacked its over-zealous restoration policy in “Cleaning the Pictures of the National Gallery”. Published in the 1847 Punch Almanack, Leech depicts conservators scrubbing canvases with brushes and
a broomstick.
Hot off the press
As well as art handling, arts administration has also been the subject of cartoon satire. The flamboyant Roy Strong, who ran the Victoria and Albert Museum (V&A) in the 1970s and 1980s, was a particular favourite. In a 1985 cartoon by JAK in the Evening Standard, Strong is seen standing in the doorway of the V&A as the actor and screenwriter Colin Welland demonstrates outside with a placard that reads “Free Museums”. “I’d like to see someone trying to get into one of his plays for nothing!” Strong says.
As well as being the subject of graphic satire, the V&A holds a large collection of cartoons, caricatures and prints. A recent cartoon-based display celebrated the 50th anniversary of the satirical magazine Private Eye, and a special cartoon was commissioned for it. The comic illustrator Edward McLachlan depicted Queen Victoria and Prince Albert visiting the exhibition, with the former exclaiming: “We are amused.”
Cashing in
The subject of funding has always been a bone of contention in the museum sector, but it’s all fair game for satirists, including how patrons’ money left in legacy is spent.
One notable case drew headlines in the 1950s, when the then director of Tate Britain came severely under fire. A drawing by Norman Mansbridge describes the culmination of the controversial directorship of John Rothenstein from 1938 to 1964. Published in Punch in 1954, “The Millbank Resurrection” shows dead benefactors emerging from their graves to hound Rothenstein for misusing their donations. The respected art historian John Richardson expands on the foray in a memoir about the art world in the 1950s: “Rothenstein had done things for which a solicitor (though not a museum director) might have been struck off the roll. He had repeatedly flouted the terms of the gallery’s trusts and bequests, and among other misdemeanours used funds reserved for modern, foreign art to buy art that was neither modern nor foreign. He had also allowed a Renoir from the all-important Courtauld Fund to be sold in secrecy without the usual procedures being followed.” Look back at the cartoon and you will see Samuel Courtauld reaching with particular vigour out of his resting place.
Another lampooning of Tate’s artistic empire occurred when Tate Liverpool opened in 1988. One of the works on show was Equivalent VIII, a pile of 120 firebricks by the American artist Carl Andre in 1966. Its display led to a renewed spate of cartoons, echoing those published when the work had originally been shown at the Tate in London during the 1970s.
Home for cartoons
Although the Tate, British Museum, V&A and other venues had held exhibitions on cartoons and caricature, there had long been a desire for an institution devoted to the history of graphic satire (see p31). The movement began to gather pace in 1970, when London’s National Portrait Gallery hosted Drawn and Quartered: The World of the British Newspaper Cartoon 1720-1970 – the first major exhibition by the British Cartoonists’ Association (BCA). The show was inspired by the cartoonist HM Bateman, who had died that year and who, at a lecture at the Royal Society of Arts in 1949, had called for a national gallery of humorous art to be set up.
To mark the occasion, the president of the BCA, Carl Giles, published a cartoon in the Daily Express, which showed the Labour prime minister Harold Wilson and the Conservative leader of the opposition Edward Heath being restrained by policemen while fighting in front of the gallery. Both politicians wield knives and hold placards: Wilson’s reads “Cartoonists Go Home” while Heath’s has “Revenge – Cartoonists Unfair To Me”. In the caption, a sergeant sitting on Wilson says: “You are charged with unlawfully entering the National Portrait Gallery carrying offensive weapons with intent to commit grievous bodily harm.”
Though Bateman was not alive to see it, his dream came true in 2006 when, after a decade of exhibiting in smaller venues, the Cartoon Museum opened in Bloomsbury, central London. It was the result of 20 years’ campaigning by the Cartoon Art Trust, one of whose original directors was Bateman’s daughter, Diana Willis. It is appropriate that it found a home close to the British Museum as it was Bateman who drew “The Boy Who Breathed on the Glass in the British Museum”, published in Punch in 1916. It was one of his first cartoons for the magazine and fittingly one that the British Museum holds in its collection.
Perhaps an appropriate museum, or rather museum group, to end on is Bath. “The Man Who Asked for a Double Scotch in the Grand Pump Room at Bath”, a 1931 cartoon by Bateman, can be seen as a critique of museum visitors to whom the drinking of whisky instead of spa water would have been shocking. Museum clientele have historically been viewed as uptight, just like their majestic buildings, which Bateman picks up on in his cartoon commentary. Ironically, in 1971 (a year after Bateman’s death), Bath’s Pump Room got a licence to serve alcohol.
But the snobbish image of museums, and the stuffiness of their visitors, has changed a lot over the years. Though graphic satirists continue to lampoon cultural institutions, they are no longer places that lack a sense of fun and, in many cases, are seen as part of the visitor attractions industry along with zoos, concert halls and theme parks.
The debate over charging for entry will continue to rear its head from time to time, and no doubt we will see more controversial directors. But museums, as they work towards becoming inclusive and welcoming, have probably largely lost their elitist tag. Bad news for cartoonists maybe, but good news for the visiting public.
Why poke fun at museums?
The traditional image of the museum as a serious, stuffy part of the establishment has long provided cartoonists and satirists with a useful trope in their arsenal of stereotypes. It is easy to make fun of museums precisely because they seem such august institutions.Certain themes recur. It is clear that anything regarded as extinct, antiquated or obsolete – policy, person or object – is a prime candidate to be consigned to a museum. However, this is not always a safe predictor. In 1983, the satirist MAC drew a cartoon published in the Daily Mail showing civil servants and a taxidermist from the British Museum turning up in Ken Livingstone’s office at the Greater London Council. Livingstone was asked if he wanted to be stuffed “sitting down or standing on one leg”. But Livingstone’s political career lasted longer than expected, continuing into the 21st century.
In February 2006, the Cartoon Museum opened at premises in Little Russell Street, very near the British Museum, and the news was covered by Museums Journal. The magazine’s cover used a drawing by the cartoonist Steve Bell, showing a grand classical facade so typical of a traditional museum. However, where the British Museum’s pediment depicts the “Progress of Civilisation”, the Cartoon Museum’s parody pediment of “Progress” showed Superman, Batman, Betty Boop, Andy Capp, Jonah and Minnie the Minx.
In recent years, we have witnessed something of a reversal of fortune: the so-called “low art” of cartoons and comics has become the subject of serious study, while “highbrow” museums are now keen to present themselves as “fun” destinations.
Anita O’Brien is the curator of the Cartoon Museum in London