History museums make great playgrounds for contemporary artists and over the past 30 years it has become common for them to be invited to make “interventions” and “responses” in the galleries or to curate exhibitions.
At their best the results can be exhilarating and intriguing, at worst self-indulgent and bewildering.
The British Museum was an early adventurer in this field with Lost Magic Kingdoms at the Museum of Mankind in 1985, where Eduardo Paolozzi produced sculptural collages from the collections.
Fast-forward to 2011: the British Museum is hosting a show curated by Grayson Perry, Turner Prize winner and on the way to national treasure status as our favourite transvestite potter.
His work has a high degree of craftsmanship and it has always referenced popular art and culture, both past and present, within his own personalised landscape.
It’s quite clear that the look, the feel, the patination and the visual and imaginative power of objects fascinate and inspire him. In addition, Perry has celebrity status and has already curated exhibitions in the past.
His show Unpopular Culture, where he chose works from the Arts Council Collection, was learned, witty and accessible. No wonder the British Museum asked him in – he’s a bit of a bad boy but clever, articulate and bound to produce a buzz in the media.
But no, it was the other way round. Perry was aware of the past artist-led interventions at the museum and wrote to its director, Neil MacGregor, with his proposal.
He wanted a show that had one foot outside the contemporary art world and for his works to be displayed with objects from the collections so that they “might be viewed as examples of the material culture of a bohemian diaspora, a global tribe whose merchants and witch doctors bartered with a wider population by selling artefacts invested with a special quality, the quality of art”.
Needless to say, the museum took him on, and Perry began to work with the curators and to start thinking. Artists’ responses to collections are artificially induced versions of a process that has long powered world culture; the way in which artists and makers have responded to objects made by earlier generations.
Perry sees this cultural confluence as a form of “Chinese whispers” where images and ideas pass across time and cultures through trade, travel, war and invasion. Perry chose to reverse the process of response.
“Why not,” he writes, “make the works I am inspired to create, and find objects in this vast collection that respond to them? Somewhere in its endless storerooms there must be objects that echo my concerns and style.
"I have spent my entire career under the influence of the past. I wondered what I would learn from reversing the process.”
A show about looking
The result is the Tomb of the Unknown Craftsman, not an intervention in the existing galleries but a proper exhibition in the Rotunda. Its form is traditional, with an introduction and themed sections introduced with a personal observation.
Perry’s works are displayed either separately or with associated objects from the collections.
The design is restrained, with grey cases and plinths and no supporting images or interactives, and brief individual labels. Photography is banned and a good thing too: this is a show about looking.
It is a “pilgrimage” into his imaginary world and the themes reflect his preoccupations and inspirations; shrines, magic, maps, pilgrimage souvenirs, sexuality and gender, scary figures, craftsmanship, and patina and texture.
The exhibition starts with works inspired by Perry’s 50-year-old teddy bear, Alan Measles, and his recent pilgrimage to Germany on a customised motorbike. It leads through the themed sections to the Tomb of the Unknown Craftsman, a work in the form of an iron ship hung with casts of objects from the collections.
Perry sees it as a memorial to those often-nameless makers and builders within the collections. Like the Unknown Soldier, he represents all craftsmen and women.
The work by Perry covers a period from 1981 to 2011 and it is clear that the themes he selected have always been present in his art.
His degree showpiece, Early English Motorcycle Helmet, and the later Head of a Fallen Giant illustrate an affinity with signs and symbols and the skill to produce an object with a visual depth to match those of ancient originals.
Perry would make a great forger, and he acknowledges this in the section on Patina and Texture. “I love fakes for they make us think about what it is we see in the authentic.”
Curatorial duties
Other earlier work such as the iron Alan Measles on Horseback is displayed alongside medieval pilgrim badges and although the scale and material differ, the stylistic links between them is clear, as is his understanding of, and sympathy with, folk art.
Perry also shows a widening of the range of his work with sculptures in cast iron, textiles and drawings. The results may look superficially old, but his concerns remain contemporary. The Frivolous Now, for example, is the result of Perry plucking random phrases from TV.
The works from the British Museum collections cover a wide range of time periods and cultures. Much of it is ethnographic and would have been held within the former Museum of Mankind. There is also material from Britain and Europe.
All of those selected are fascinating and contribute to illustrating the points made within the themes. Some people may find them beautiful, others may find them ugly and crude, but that’s a matter of taste and education. What is revealed here is Perry’s tastes and aesthetic, and you either share it or you don’t.
The work of usually anonymous folk or tribal artists and the symbolism and power that they transmit are his inspiration. Whether we modern people, the receivers, gain different meanings from those originally intended does not really matter. The curator is there to guide our thoughts but we still respond aesthetically and even spiritually.
Perry is interested in well-made things but his taste is for those with a boldness and spontaneity. In the final section on craftsmanship it comes as no surprise that he chose two 17th-century slipware dishes by Ralph Simpson and Ralph Toft and not some cool, cold porcelain.
Perry introduces us to the exhibition by stating: “Do not look too hard for meaning here. I am not a historian, I am an artist. That is all you need to know.”
Well, maybe, but in fact Perry provides a lot of personal meanings for why these things matter to him. He has a genuine sense of the past and a real understanding of the creative legacy of tradition. No exhibition is ever truly objective and a personal curatorial authorship has the freedom to say: “This is what I feel about this stuff, what about you?”
So, is this show a success? Well, although I’m not exactly sure what Perry learned from his pilgrimage, it was great to go along for the ride and the view.
Mark Suggitt is the director of Derwent Valley Mills World Heritage Site
At their best the results can be exhilarating and intriguing, at worst self-indulgent and bewildering.
The British Museum was an early adventurer in this field with Lost Magic Kingdoms at the Museum of Mankind in 1985, where Eduardo Paolozzi produced sculptural collages from the collections.
Fast-forward to 2011: the British Museum is hosting a show curated by Grayson Perry, Turner Prize winner and on the way to national treasure status as our favourite transvestite potter.
His work has a high degree of craftsmanship and it has always referenced popular art and culture, both past and present, within his own personalised landscape.
It’s quite clear that the look, the feel, the patination and the visual and imaginative power of objects fascinate and inspire him. In addition, Perry has celebrity status and has already curated exhibitions in the past.
His show Unpopular Culture, where he chose works from the Arts Council Collection, was learned, witty and accessible. No wonder the British Museum asked him in – he’s a bit of a bad boy but clever, articulate and bound to produce a buzz in the media.
But no, it was the other way round. Perry was aware of the past artist-led interventions at the museum and wrote to its director, Neil MacGregor, with his proposal.
He wanted a show that had one foot outside the contemporary art world and for his works to be displayed with objects from the collections so that they “might be viewed as examples of the material culture of a bohemian diaspora, a global tribe whose merchants and witch doctors bartered with a wider population by selling artefacts invested with a special quality, the quality of art”.
Needless to say, the museum took him on, and Perry began to work with the curators and to start thinking. Artists’ responses to collections are artificially induced versions of a process that has long powered world culture; the way in which artists and makers have responded to objects made by earlier generations.
Perry sees this cultural confluence as a form of “Chinese whispers” where images and ideas pass across time and cultures through trade, travel, war and invasion. Perry chose to reverse the process of response.
“Why not,” he writes, “make the works I am inspired to create, and find objects in this vast collection that respond to them? Somewhere in its endless storerooms there must be objects that echo my concerns and style.
"I have spent my entire career under the influence of the past. I wondered what I would learn from reversing the process.”
A show about looking
The result is the Tomb of the Unknown Craftsman, not an intervention in the existing galleries but a proper exhibition in the Rotunda. Its form is traditional, with an introduction and themed sections introduced with a personal observation.
Perry’s works are displayed either separately or with associated objects from the collections.
The design is restrained, with grey cases and plinths and no supporting images or interactives, and brief individual labels. Photography is banned and a good thing too: this is a show about looking.
It is a “pilgrimage” into his imaginary world and the themes reflect his preoccupations and inspirations; shrines, magic, maps, pilgrimage souvenirs, sexuality and gender, scary figures, craftsmanship, and patina and texture.
The exhibition starts with works inspired by Perry’s 50-year-old teddy bear, Alan Measles, and his recent pilgrimage to Germany on a customised motorbike. It leads through the themed sections to the Tomb of the Unknown Craftsman, a work in the form of an iron ship hung with casts of objects from the collections.
Perry sees it as a memorial to those often-nameless makers and builders within the collections. Like the Unknown Soldier, he represents all craftsmen and women.
The work by Perry covers a period from 1981 to 2011 and it is clear that the themes he selected have always been present in his art.
His degree showpiece, Early English Motorcycle Helmet, and the later Head of a Fallen Giant illustrate an affinity with signs and symbols and the skill to produce an object with a visual depth to match those of ancient originals.
Perry would make a great forger, and he acknowledges this in the section on Patina and Texture. “I love fakes for they make us think about what it is we see in the authentic.”
Curatorial duties
Other earlier work such as the iron Alan Measles on Horseback is displayed alongside medieval pilgrim badges and although the scale and material differ, the stylistic links between them is clear, as is his understanding of, and sympathy with, folk art.
Perry also shows a widening of the range of his work with sculptures in cast iron, textiles and drawings. The results may look superficially old, but his concerns remain contemporary. The Frivolous Now, for example, is the result of Perry plucking random phrases from TV.
The works from the British Museum collections cover a wide range of time periods and cultures. Much of it is ethnographic and would have been held within the former Museum of Mankind. There is also material from Britain and Europe.
All of those selected are fascinating and contribute to illustrating the points made within the themes. Some people may find them beautiful, others may find them ugly and crude, but that’s a matter of taste and education. What is revealed here is Perry’s tastes and aesthetic, and you either share it or you don’t.
The work of usually anonymous folk or tribal artists and the symbolism and power that they transmit are his inspiration. Whether we modern people, the receivers, gain different meanings from those originally intended does not really matter. The curator is there to guide our thoughts but we still respond aesthetically and even spiritually.
Perry is interested in well-made things but his taste is for those with a boldness and spontaneity. In the final section on craftsmanship it comes as no surprise that he chose two 17th-century slipware dishes by Ralph Simpson and Ralph Toft and not some cool, cold porcelain.
Perry introduces us to the exhibition by stating: “Do not look too hard for meaning here. I am not a historian, I am an artist. That is all you need to know.”
Well, maybe, but in fact Perry provides a lot of personal meanings for why these things matter to him. He has a genuine sense of the past and a real understanding of the creative legacy of tradition. No exhibition is ever truly objective and a personal curatorial authorship has the freedom to say: “This is what I feel about this stuff, what about you?”
So, is this show a success? Well, although I’m not exactly sure what Perry learned from his pilgrimage, it was great to go along for the ride and the view.
Mark Suggitt is the director of Derwent Valley Mills World Heritage Site
Project data
- Cost £400,000
- Main supporters AlixPartners, Louis Vuitton
- Project curator Philip Attwood
- Exhibition design Gary Egleton
- Graphic design Surface 3
- Exhibition fit-out and Perspex showcases Mark II Construction
- Glass showcases Hahn Louda system
- System showcases installation Moylan Displays
- Graphic contractor Leach
- Lighting DHA Design
- Exhibition ends 19 February 2012
