A museum of collective vitality

What are museums for?

One answer to this question comes toward the end of Orhan Pamuk’s epic novel, The Museum of Innocence, as the anti-hero Kemal visits thousands of museums in Europe, Asia and America. He’s planning to open his own house museum in tribute to Füsun, the forbidden love of his life – he’s been collecting objects he associates with her for years, from her cigarette butts to the ceramic dogs on her family’s television set. Pondering the purpose of collecting, he comes to the simple conclusion that museums are time compressed into space.

Looking at it from the direction of visitors rather than collectors… within the space of the museum we decompress the assembled material – expand it to witness something of the flow of time – what happened, how, and what it might mean. But is knowledge and understanding the end point?

In another take on their purpose of museums, New Curator describes museums as the city’s lymph nodes, immersed in its central nervous system, providing immunity against its ills. This model suggests a purpose beyond the (co)production of knowledge and understanding. Here, museums play a role in maintaining public health and happiness.

I’d like to reconceive of the National Museum of Australia in these terms. If a city museum can contribute to a city’s vitality, then a national museum can contribute to a nation’s. And now that we have a new director keen to take the museum into the future and willing to engage with contemporary issues, it is timely to reconsider its purpose. Could it be to promote our collective health in both social and environmental terms?

What would such a museum look like? It would certainly host celebrations – of admirable qualities of people and country. But it would also work to heal historical wounds, to tend to our collective psyche and our ecology. It would enlist visitors as active collaborators in witnessing, in recognising, in empathising, and provide means for us to respond in constructive ways. In this way, the National Museum would cultivate our collective vitality.

Wondrous art

Donna Ong, 2006, Secret, interiors: chrysalis

chrysalis5

This artwork makes me wonder. Is it a childish experiment, like giving your doll a haircut, not knowing that in her case it’s forever? Or is it more sinister – a cruel act of punishment, played out on dolls in lieu of a real adversary? Or could the act of pickling represent preservation, even protection?

For me, its ambiguity is appealing.

secretinteriors-chrysalis2

How do you respond to it?

Stone art on the beach

World beach is a project of the V&A Museum, in which people on beaches all over the world are invited to make a drawing in stone and photograph the result, the people who made it, and the beach itself.

Read how it started, and keep up with where it’s headed at Concealed, Discovered, Revealed, the blog of artist-in-residence Sue Lawty.

[wondering when I can next get to the beach...]

Pobblebonkless

Museum Victoria has won the McFarlane Prize for excellence in Australian web design for its lovely site Caught and coloured, about zoological drawings from colonial Victoria. Nice one – I love scientific art / arty science, and there is great contextual info – and stories – here too.

My only disappointment is that the audio for Pobblebonk / the Sand Frog is a human voice about the frog, ie, it doesn’t actually play the ‘pobblebonk’.

This Botanic Gardens page on frogs has audio recordings of various frogs, and it claims that when Eastern Banjo Frogs croak in unison, they make a sound like ‘pobblebonk’. Unfortunately (again!) the recording is of a solo performance.

I remain pobblebonkless.