The allure of European art, design and fashion is displayed in appropriately grand galleries, says Sara Holdsworth
The new Europe 1600-1815 galleries are the latest chapter in the Victoria and Albert Museum’s (V&A) ambitious FuturePlan project, an ongoing initiative to develop galleries and visitor facilities across its South Kensington home.
The new galleries occupy a premium space along the Cromwell Road frontage and replace their 1970s predecessor, which closed six years ago. I remember that iteration as a dark and depressing tunnel, crammed with French furniture. All is now transformed. The plasterboard and false ceilings have given way to a series of extraordinarily elegant spaces. From the entrance hall, visitors are drawn in by Bernini’s theatrical Neptune and Triton through a suite of rooms that end with the glittering tower of Wellington’s Victory Service, celebrating the defeat of Napoleon.
The exhibition designer, ZMMA, has reclaimed back-of-house storage and increased the display area by a third. In terms of style, ZMMA has taken its cue from the grandeur of the original architecture: teak window frames have been revealed and the parquet restored. The designer’s additions make reference to the materials of historic furniture but are completely contemporary: plinths covered with figured stone and lots of luxurious leather, bronze and walnut. The cases are airily transparent, so much so that I overheard a member of staff reporting that visitors were banging their heads against the glass while peering at the objects inside.
About 1,100 items tell the story of 17th- and 18th-century European design in this modern, grande-luxe setting. They are displayed in a chronological sequence of appropriately coloured zones, starting with baroque red to describe the years during which Italy still held sway, through to French blue, indicating that country’s inexorable rise as the leader of fashion, to light green for the naturalistic whimsies of the Rococo. Finally, there is a pale grey for the classical revival. This gives clarity to the displays and helps explain them in art historical terms.
Within this conventional structure, there is a less familiar, more complex story. The scope of the galleries goes beyond the former western European focus. Objects such as a Maltese silver button, a Norwegian porridge spoon and embroidered bed curtains from the Greek island of Patmos indicate how the desire for fashionable goods reached the continent’s more remote corners. The section on Russia is particularly arresting, with its centrepiece of a faceted steel mantelpiece from the Tula Imperial Arms Factory. The long and wretched history of European colonisation is given an unusual twist with the inclusion of Mexican and Peruvian pieces that contrive to combine European, Chinese and indigenous influences.
However, the larger story was always going to be one dominated by France’s design superiority. The sheer quantity and bulk of French objects on display make their own point and reflect the strengths of the V&A’s holdings. “My pleasure is not to contemplate the gold in my coffers but to spend it,” wrote Madame de Pompadour, prefiguring our modern obsession with shopping. Even the French revolution didn’t knock the gilt off the gingerbread: we see porcelain maker Sèvres replacing birds and garlands with a libertarian cap and republican flag on its exquisite china. Fashion was still king.
All this richness could become a bit indigestible. Recognising this, the V&A commissioned a sculptural intervention by Los Carpinteros, a Madrid-based art collective, at the halfway point to represent the questioning spirit of the salon. It takes the form of an empty, spherical wooden frame, referencing both a globe and a bookcase. A plinth around the inside provides seating. The area is peopled by busts grouped as if in conversation, each accompanied by a quotation from Diderot’s great Encyclopédie of 1745, which serves as the key Enlightenment text. Curators intend it as “a space for meeting, discussion and debate”, but on the morning I was there the few people who were sat down were checking their phones rather than doing anything high-minded.
Effective interpretation
The main target audiences for the Europe galleries are adults and families and the interpretation serves both groups well. Fashions change, and Europe is significantly less didactic than the British Galleries, now 15 years old. Wall panels are admirably concise; most text relates to individual cases, which encourages detailed browsing. I loved the facsimile books of contemporary prints and the contextual films that show pieces of furniture in use or architecture in less familiar places such as Russia and Portugal. The audioguide is informative and occasionally a delight. But I would have liked to have seen more imaginative contributions similar to the one by the ceramicist and writer Edmund de Waal, who handles a Nyphenburg porcelain virgin Mary and a jewelled Mughal thumb ring and shares his wonder at the feel and significance of these objects.
A parrot symbol on labels alerts young visitors to objects to look for and puzzles to solve. The main activities for children are in the Cabinet of Curiosities section and are focused on a wonderfully tactile cast bronze activity desk. An atmospheric interactive film on the theme of the masquerade replaces the more familiar presence of dressing-up clothes.
On the negative side, the curators’ aspiration to “show how – for the first time – Europe systematically explored, exploited and collected resources from Africa, Asia and the Americas” doesn’t come across strongly. The history of slavery is not completely missing from the displays, but is hard to find. Size, scale and the nature of the material are issues here: a print depicting Haitian revolutionary Toussaint L’Ouverture (behind light-proof doors) and a couple of sweetmeat holders with black figures are hardly a match for the huge table fountains and palace tapestries that command so much attention.
Also in short supply is the human dimension. There are some wins, in particular the inclusion of costumes and the decision to mount them at floor level so that the mannequins seem to be standing with us in the galleries. But it is too easy to miss one of the most evocative things on display. It is not a swanky object, but a photograph of a handwritten note to the future, long hidden in the back of an ornate desk by the two hungry, fed-up makers of it: “We would like to go elsewhere, for little meat and a great deal of cabbage have driven us out of Würzburg. We ask him who finds this note to drink to our health and if we are no longer living then, may God grant us eternal rest and salvation. This 22nd day of October in the year 1716.”
Their words bring a prickle of recognition from centuries gone past and make the galleries come alive in a way that even the grandest objects never can. Splendid as it is, Europe 1600-1815 would have been even better with a few more such invitations to look behind the glitz at the stories of the people who made and used these objects.
Sara Holdsworth is a museum and gallery consultant
Entitled The Masquerade, this interactive allows visitors to join a cast of characters as they enjoy the revelries of the Venetian Carnival as it would have been in about 1760. Guided through a series of short film vignettes by the energetic “commedia” character Harlequin, visitors are periodically asked to mimic a variety of gestures to progress the narrative. They visit a formal ball, a gambling hall (ridotto), and finally a commedia dell’arte performance in a piazza.
The Masquerade was a collaborative effort, from the early days of brainstorming sessions with colleagues and external specialists to working with Clay Interactive, Slung Low Theatre Company and others to turn our ideas into a reality.
While intended as a “fictional recasting of the past”, The Masquerade had to adhere to museum standards of historical accuracy, so is underpinned by vast amounts of research. I found myself variously pinning down the changing laws on mask-wearing, trying my hand at the favoured games of the ridotto, and even determining which breeds of dog would have been found sniffing around. The pleasures and pains of historical research may be familiar, but knowing that the findings would inform how we brought the period to life was novel.
A cast of 40-plus people aged from 17 to 94 was put together from community groups. We developed a programme of workshops with Slung Low, where participants learned about key themes of the film’s production, such as the practise of masking, and choreographers trained them in deportment and dancing 18th-century minuets.
In the midst of what can sometimes feel like behind-the- scenes work in preparing new galleries, working with the participants, sharing our research and being buoyed by their enthusiasm was a refreshing experience.
Dawn Hoskin is the assistant curator of the Europe 1600-1815 galleries at the V&A
Cost £12.5m
Main funders Heritage Lottery Fund; the children of Sheikha Amna Bint Mohammed Al Thani; Friends of the V&A; The Selz Foundation; Würth Group; Wolfson Foundation; Genevieve Davies; William Loschert; J Paul Getty Jr Charitable Trust
Exhibition design ZMMA
Main contractor Coniston
Exhibition contractor Scena
Admission Free
The new Europe 1600-1815 galleries are the latest chapter in the Victoria and Albert Museum’s (V&A) ambitious FuturePlan project, an ongoing initiative to develop galleries and visitor facilities across its South Kensington home.
The new galleries occupy a premium space along the Cromwell Road frontage and replace their 1970s predecessor, which closed six years ago. I remember that iteration as a dark and depressing tunnel, crammed with French furniture. All is now transformed. The plasterboard and false ceilings have given way to a series of extraordinarily elegant spaces. From the entrance hall, visitors are drawn in by Bernini’s theatrical Neptune and Triton through a suite of rooms that end with the glittering tower of Wellington’s Victory Service, celebrating the defeat of Napoleon.
The exhibition designer, ZMMA, has reclaimed back-of-house storage and increased the display area by a third. In terms of style, ZMMA has taken its cue from the grandeur of the original architecture: teak window frames have been revealed and the parquet restored. The designer’s additions make reference to the materials of historic furniture but are completely contemporary: plinths covered with figured stone and lots of luxurious leather, bronze and walnut. The cases are airily transparent, so much so that I overheard a member of staff reporting that visitors were banging their heads against the glass while peering at the objects inside.
About 1,100 items tell the story of 17th- and 18th-century European design in this modern, grande-luxe setting. They are displayed in a chronological sequence of appropriately coloured zones, starting with baroque red to describe the years during which Italy still held sway, through to French blue, indicating that country’s inexorable rise as the leader of fashion, to light green for the naturalistic whimsies of the Rococo. Finally, there is a pale grey for the classical revival. This gives clarity to the displays and helps explain them in art historical terms.
Within this conventional structure, there is a less familiar, more complex story. The scope of the galleries goes beyond the former western European focus. Objects such as a Maltese silver button, a Norwegian porridge spoon and embroidered bed curtains from the Greek island of Patmos indicate how the desire for fashionable goods reached the continent’s more remote corners. The section on Russia is particularly arresting, with its centrepiece of a faceted steel mantelpiece from the Tula Imperial Arms Factory. The long and wretched history of European colonisation is given an unusual twist with the inclusion of Mexican and Peruvian pieces that contrive to combine European, Chinese and indigenous influences.
However, the larger story was always going to be one dominated by France’s design superiority. The sheer quantity and bulk of French objects on display make their own point and reflect the strengths of the V&A’s holdings. “My pleasure is not to contemplate the gold in my coffers but to spend it,” wrote Madame de Pompadour, prefiguring our modern obsession with shopping. Even the French revolution didn’t knock the gilt off the gingerbread: we see porcelain maker Sèvres replacing birds and garlands with a libertarian cap and republican flag on its exquisite china. Fashion was still king.
All this richness could become a bit indigestible. Recognising this, the V&A commissioned a sculptural intervention by Los Carpinteros, a Madrid-based art collective, at the halfway point to represent the questioning spirit of the salon. It takes the form of an empty, spherical wooden frame, referencing both a globe and a bookcase. A plinth around the inside provides seating. The area is peopled by busts grouped as if in conversation, each accompanied by a quotation from Diderot’s great Encyclopédie of 1745, which serves as the key Enlightenment text. Curators intend it as “a space for meeting, discussion and debate”, but on the morning I was there the few people who were sat down were checking their phones rather than doing anything high-minded.
Effective interpretation
The main target audiences for the Europe galleries are adults and families and the interpretation serves both groups well. Fashions change, and Europe is significantly less didactic than the British Galleries, now 15 years old. Wall panels are admirably concise; most text relates to individual cases, which encourages detailed browsing. I loved the facsimile books of contemporary prints and the contextual films that show pieces of furniture in use or architecture in less familiar places such as Russia and Portugal. The audioguide is informative and occasionally a delight. But I would have liked to have seen more imaginative contributions similar to the one by the ceramicist and writer Edmund de Waal, who handles a Nyphenburg porcelain virgin Mary and a jewelled Mughal thumb ring and shares his wonder at the feel and significance of these objects.
A parrot symbol on labels alerts young visitors to objects to look for and puzzles to solve. The main activities for children are in the Cabinet of Curiosities section and are focused on a wonderfully tactile cast bronze activity desk. An atmospheric interactive film on the theme of the masquerade replaces the more familiar presence of dressing-up clothes.
On the negative side, the curators’ aspiration to “show how – for the first time – Europe systematically explored, exploited and collected resources from Africa, Asia and the Americas” doesn’t come across strongly. The history of slavery is not completely missing from the displays, but is hard to find. Size, scale and the nature of the material are issues here: a print depicting Haitian revolutionary Toussaint L’Ouverture (behind light-proof doors) and a couple of sweetmeat holders with black figures are hardly a match for the huge table fountains and palace tapestries that command so much attention.
Also in short supply is the human dimension. There are some wins, in particular the inclusion of costumes and the decision to mount them at floor level so that the mannequins seem to be standing with us in the galleries. But it is too easy to miss one of the most evocative things on display. It is not a swanky object, but a photograph of a handwritten note to the future, long hidden in the back of an ornate desk by the two hungry, fed-up makers of it: “We would like to go elsewhere, for little meat and a great deal of cabbage have driven us out of Würzburg. We ask him who finds this note to drink to our health and if we are no longer living then, may God grant us eternal rest and salvation. This 22nd day of October in the year 1716.”
Their words bring a prickle of recognition from centuries gone past and make the galleries come alive in a way that even the grandest objects never can. Splendid as it is, Europe 1600-1815 would have been even better with a few more such invitations to look behind the glitz at the stories of the people who made and used these objects.
Sara Holdsworth is a museum and gallery consultant
Focus on: Making a film
When I started on the Europe 1600-1815 galleries project I didn’t anticipate that I would spend a long February weekend holed up in a green-screen film studio in London’s Waterloo to create a “fictional recasting” of mid-18th-century Venice. It was a first for me, just as developing an interactive film as part of a permanent display was for the V&A.Entitled The Masquerade, this interactive allows visitors to join a cast of characters as they enjoy the revelries of the Venetian Carnival as it would have been in about 1760. Guided through a series of short film vignettes by the energetic “commedia” character Harlequin, visitors are periodically asked to mimic a variety of gestures to progress the narrative. They visit a formal ball, a gambling hall (ridotto), and finally a commedia dell’arte performance in a piazza.
The Masquerade was a collaborative effort, from the early days of brainstorming sessions with colleagues and external specialists to working with Clay Interactive, Slung Low Theatre Company and others to turn our ideas into a reality.
While intended as a “fictional recasting of the past”, The Masquerade had to adhere to museum standards of historical accuracy, so is underpinned by vast amounts of research. I found myself variously pinning down the changing laws on mask-wearing, trying my hand at the favoured games of the ridotto, and even determining which breeds of dog would have been found sniffing around. The pleasures and pains of historical research may be familiar, but knowing that the findings would inform how we brought the period to life was novel.
A cast of 40-plus people aged from 17 to 94 was put together from community groups. We developed a programme of workshops with Slung Low, where participants learned about key themes of the film’s production, such as the practise of masking, and choreographers trained them in deportment and dancing 18th-century minuets.
In the midst of what can sometimes feel like behind-the- scenes work in preparing new galleries, working with the participants, sharing our research and being buoyed by their enthusiasm was a refreshing experience.
Dawn Hoskin is the assistant curator of the Europe 1600-1815 galleries at the V&A
Project data
Cost £12.5m
Main funders Heritage Lottery Fund; the children of Sheikha Amna Bint Mohammed Al Thani; Friends of the V&A; The Selz Foundation; Würth Group; Wolfson Foundation; Genevieve Davies; William Loschert; J Paul Getty Jr Charitable Trust
Exhibition design ZMMA
Main contractor Coniston
Exhibition contractor Scena
Admission Free
