Why Do We Collect?

Soviet Realist paintings? Rushnyky? Old postcards? Medals? Small china figurines? This weekend I went with a group of Fulbrighters to an indoor antique/flea market across the river here in Kyiv. In a way, it was just like any similar place in the United States--long rows of tables, bored looking dealers, and piles of merchandise.

But the merchandise was both the same and different--old photos, china figurines, yes; but other items shared hints of a more complex history--one familiar to Ukrainians and not to me. One painting showed a school girl reciting her lessons underneath the watchful eye of a bust of Stalin; another showed members of a communal farm listening to one of their members make a speech; an album of photos showed real photo postcard images of Russian soldiers in the trenches and field hospitals of World War II; many, many medals for sale. It seemed to me that there were far fewer items from the 1950s-1970s, items almost always now found in American antique markets and I suspect it may be because many Ukrainians are still using those items. Or maybe another reason I'm not imagining.

Why do people collect? I've worked on a couple projects where we talked with kids about collecting. Many kids in the US collect something: rocks, bird feathers, little toy trucks, bottle caps. They begin collecting as young as 6 or 7 and the elements of collecting include a display of sorts and an organization of the collection in some way--and of course, the urge to acquire more--more of the same thing, more slightly different things, bigger things, smaller things. Are kids here the same? I haven't discovered that one way or another, but suspect that my students can enlighten me.

That same collecting impulse seems to work for adults as well. I'm guessing that most of the people there today were looking for something specific: a particular medal from the Great Patriotic War (World War II to Americans) or a postcard of a particular place. But my museum career has lessened my urge to be a real collector, to organize, to know in complete detail, to be surrounded by multiples of the same thing--and of course finances rarely allow owning the very best of anything.

I find the collecting impulse on display in museums here. Objects and art are often presented without the context that allows us to fully understand their importance, but arrayed in ways that embrace the collecting mindset. It sometimes seems enough just that the museum possesses the item; displays it in a row with other similar items, and expects that we will be able to understand the meaning of those items. Of course, many Ukrainians do, but as fewer and fewer Ukrainians live in villages and hold a connection to traditional life, that knowledge will disappear as well and museums will be the places to find those connections and meaning.

So what did I buy? Two rushnyky (an all purpose word meaning towel, but now often with ritual importance)--one, an old one with a great red design and several mends, making it affordable; and two wood block prints from the 1970s. All because I liked and enjoyed them, the best reason to collect.

Above: my new rushnycky

Russian, Ukrainian, English: A Tangle of Words

I've just completed another Russian lesson, with the patient Vika, who makes house calls in a valiant attempt to teach me a bit of Russian while I'm here. For my non-Ukrainian readers, you may or may not be fully aware that both Ukrainian and Russian are in use here in Ukraine. Ukrainian, is of course, the official language and spoken most widely in the west of Ukraine. Russia was, also of course, the official language in Soviet times, and is spoken most widely in the east of Ukraine. So why am I attempting to learn Russian? For me, it seemed the language that would have the broadest use in future travel, however I respect and admire Ukrainians' desire to more fully root their own language in every aspect of life here.



Learning a new language--with a new alphabet and new sounds--is a challenge. I feel victorious when I recognize and pick out a word in the stream of conversation, or painstakingly spell out, and perhaps pronounce correctly--a word I see on a sign.

What does this have to do with museums? I've worked on two bi-lingual projects at home in the US as part of a commitment to make museums accessible and interesting for as many people as possible. That's been reinforced for me here, where my lack of language makes my understanding of any given museum experience pretty limited. Most museum information here is conveyed through minimal labels in Russian and/or Ukrainian, and more extensive information through a guided tour--which is often available in English but you need to know how to ask for it in Russian or Ukrainian.

Today, at the Kyiv Museum of Russian Art I had a chance to review their English language audio tour which hopefully, will soon be available for English language visitors. (and English language visitors include not only Americans and Britons, but many others for whom English is a second language). I had visited the museum before, and had been a bit interested in the collection, displayed in a very traditional sense, but had not been able to put it into context. The audio tour, presented on an iPod, was great. I learned about St. George and his eventual adoption as a symbol of Imperial Russia; about portrait painting in the 18th century; and about the 19th century work that reflected more democratic changes in Russian society.



I also came away with an ongoing appreciation for the complexities of language and translation. For instance, I learned that the act of painting and the act of writing are the same word in Russian, so in the English translation, it emerged as an artist writing this work, when discussing a painting. I was pleased to be offered the opportunity to comment on the tour by Tanya Kochubinska of the museum and I look forward to working with her to make a few small corrections, provide ideas from my colleagues in the US on how to manage the rental of the iPods, and then, a successful debut of audio tours at the museum.

Above: poster outside the Kyiv Museum of Russian Art Tanya Kochubinska of the Museum of Russian Art A school group at the Museum of Russian Art

The Cold Economic Winds Blow

The cold economic winds seem to blowing on both sides of the world. I hear regular updates from US colleagues about layoffs, cutbacks and funding uncertainty. The same thing is happening here. Not surprisingly, museum workers are not paid well here, and economic issues, are having a chilling effect on museum staff--as they are on all Ukrainians. Unpaid leaves, pay postponed for months, and layoffs are just part of the picture for Ukrainian museum professionals. Housing, transportation and food here are all becoming more expensive as Ukrainians have less money, so a one month furlough presents severe hardships.

We talked today with a small group about regular get-togethers to discuss museum issues and whether it was worth doing in such tough and discouraging times. I encouraged my colleagues here to undertake such endeavors nonetheless. For two reasons--first, it's always good to have support and contacts during difficult times, and second, that more than ever, this is the time for ideas to come to the fore. New ways of doing things, even on a small scale, can make a big difference.

Next week, I present my first workshops here in Kyiv--with the help of Ihor Poshvailo of the Honchar Museum, we've framed a two day workshop around the idea of making change with only a little change in your pocket. I've found that my work with small museums in the US is very helpful in both understanding the sometimes slow pace of change here and the ways in which financial resources (or the lack thereof) can hinder an organization's development. But, I'm always hopeful that it doesn't serve as an excuse for new thinking, conversation and professional development.

Cold winds, Vienna, Austria, 2007
Trent Stroh, via Flickr

Silence as an Interpretive Strategy

Are there times when just silence is the best interpretive strategy? Last year when I facilitated an AAM Conference Idea Lounge session called, "Why are Historic House Tours so Boring?" one participant reminded us that sometimes silence is the best thing--just providing visitors with a chance to appreciate the space and the art. I was reminded of that comment yesterday when I went, just as a tourist, to St. Sophia's Cathedral here in Kyiv.



St. Sophia is on UNESCO's World Heritage List, the first such site listed in Ukraine. It was built in the 11th century, though its exterior dates from a later period. It has a complex and complicated history, and it operates now as a museum, not as a working place of worship.



But yesterday was a cold January day, with only a weak bit of sun--enough to get me outdoors to see some of Kyiv's sights. It proved a great time to see St. Sophia. The sanctuary of the Cathedral itself is incredibly beautiful, with both mosaics and paintings in these deep, rich, incredible colors. The labeling was minimal, but thankfully in English, Russian and German, and there were very few people there. It was an opportunity to just be in this space, with centuries of history, and surrounded by such beauty--well, for once, I didn't really need any interpretation, I just immersed myself in it.

And outside it felt the same--enclosed from the outside world on the grounds, you could just wander, with the small number of other visitors, and look closely at details--the lock on a green door, the gold on a dome, a copper downspout. It felt like everything extraneous was pared away, leaving you to appreciate the place itself.

Too Intelligent to be Fooled

A brief foray back into the US museum world. In the past week or so, incredible attention in the media and in the blogosphere has focused on Brandeis University's proposal to close the Rose Art Museum and sell the entire collection.

My friend Claire, a freshman at Brandeis, sent me an essay written by Julia Sferlazzo, a senior student arts major at Brandeis and posted on the student blog, Innermost Parts. I won't repeat the full essay, but as I read it, I was struck by the parallels with some of my work here in Ukraine.

Julia writes,

Our school is in a dire economic situation right now, but the loss of the Rose is one that will damage our history, legacy, and standing in the public view forever. While it is certain that changes need to be made and programs may be cut, we must urge the Administration and the Board of Trustees to have confidence that the students can be trusted to take part in these hard decisions. They should know that this institution has made us too intelligent to be fooled by press releases and evasive answers. We have each been taught to inquire and debate. We have learned never to accept an answer without proof. Our voice on this issue and our unity in demanding transparency is a testament to the very motto of this university, "truth even unto its innermost parts." I ask the administration to honor that motto, to give us the hard answers to some very hard questions, and to trust that our time at Brandeis has educated us to understand. If the administration makes the situation clear, we will not feel as if they are doing something to us, but as if we are all working together to solve an incredibly difficult situation. We must each attempt to understand another perspective and examine what is best both now and for the future.

The sense of questioning and transparency is still less than one generation old in Ukraine. But in my work here, I can see, as at Brandeis, that young people committed to such thoughtful inquiry are genies that cannot be put back in the bottle--that such change, if nurtured, will become permanent.

Window at St. Sophia's, Kyiv

What Do We Hunger For?

This week I had the opportunity to meet with Eckhard Schneider, Director, and Peter Doroshenko, Art Director, of the Pinchuk Art Centre here in Kyiv. The Pinchuk is a contemporary art centre, showing work by artists from the larger global world of contemporary art. It's unlike any other museum or gallery I've visited here in Ukraine--and most intriguing to me is the fact that, every day, lines of people wait to get in the door (admission is free) to see interesting, pretty challenging, contemporary art. First, I should note that the Pinchuk is open every night until 9:00, and we talked about how pleased they were to have made that decision right from the start, as opposed to having hours that are just business hours.

Why do they have lines out the door? Several reasons, I think, based on my conversations both at the Pinchuk and with others. It's a place that has great buzz--many of the visitors are young people, and it's the thing to do. In a discussion with my students, some felt, in a similar vein, that it was about sensation--the shock of the new.

I was most intrigued by the the director's perspective. He felt that contemporary art allowed Ukrainians something they had not been allowed to have--the chance to make their own judgment about something--and that that was something audiences here hungered for. In more traditional fine art and folk art, during Soviet times, there was a prescribed way to appreciate and think about art. But in new contemporary art, it's a chance to make a judgment--perhaps even a snap judgment, on your own. For me then, it gets back to the idea of individual meaning-making. We all bring different eyes, different minds, and different hearts every time we go to a museum. And at Pinchuk, not yet a full fledged museum but serving the same purpose, they provide the buzz of the new, but also something very old, the chance to use art as a way to look inside yourself and at the world around you.

Above: View of "Sigh," by Sam Taylor-Wood at the Pinchuk Art Centre, copyright 2008. Photo by Sergei Illin

Conceptualizing Exhibits Part 2

Yesterday, Michael Forster Rothbart, Sergii Mirnyi and Irina Leonenko joined my class to discuss how to conceptualize an exhibit of Michael and Sergii's work documenting communities affected by Chernobyl. Sergii gave an overview of the disaster within the context of other disasters; Michael then shared photos of his work. We gave the students, working in small groups, the tasks of developing a big idea for the exhibit (and now I noticed my students, when speaking in Russian or Ukrainian, use the English phrase, Big Idea--perhaps my contribution equivalent to Internet or mobile phone). They also had to edit a group of about 50 photos into a the big idea, think of 2-3 subthemes, and develop one interactive for their theme. We then discussed the exhibits using a simplified form of the Excellent Judges exhibit framework.

They did an amazing job! Four different, thoughtful ideas all surfaced.

My Last Day at ChAes (the Chernobyl plant): Oksana. Alexander, Nadya
This group chose a group of photos to personify a worker on his last day working at the plant. They used a set of photos to take him through the day, with the soundtrack by Kraftwerk, "Radio Activity," which one student managed to download on their cell and play during their presentation. Most interestingly, they ended the exhibition with a computer station linked to the most popular job-hunting website here, and a poster with tear-offs with the "hero" of our story looking for a job. Unemployment is a critical issue here, and they effectively tied the story of one man's time at Chernobyl to a broader contemporary issue.



Chernobyl: A Wave to Life: Anna, Katia, Anna, Maria and Katerina
This presentation used different levels of layering. On one level, it used a time line to explore the effects of radiation and the accident--from an older person with cancer to a young person just beginning her life now. At the same time, they layered it in concentric circles, as radiation spread out from the site itself. And a wave to life? A nod to waves of radiation, and to hopefulness. One class member questioned the time line within the context of Michael's photos--because they are all taken within the last year, rather from the last twenty-plus years. But others felt the photos were appropriate because they showed the consequences and the future within the time span.



Chernobyl: Not What You Think: Anna, Miriam, and Katerina
This group, who also had a sound track (which I can't remember the name of) took a compare and contrast approach. Beginning with a photo of Michael's showing tourists posing on an excursion to Chernobyl, the first section was Tourists' View, with photos and words saying radiation, threat, tragedy, forgotton cities, abandoned homes. For the Residents' View, they used the photos that showed village life; the everyday life of people who live and work in the Chernobyl region. Interestingly, they used markers to embellish these photos, in a way, using highly simplified versions of motifs found in Ukrainian folk arts.



Dead Zone Alive: Yana, Julia, Irina, Alyona
This team also used the concentric circle (which Sergii had drawn on the board for his presentation) but started with a foggy picture of a house at the center--which they described as far, at at the same time, near. Theirs was not necessarily a circle of radiation, but rather a way to show that those affected by Chernobyl were tied together, but at the same time spread out. They used the first person for their presentation, making labels for the photos that included, "We want to move on," "We laugh and love," "We care about our health," "We can be happy," and "We have annoying guests," (those tourists again). The interactive idea: tour guides in the exhibit dressed and presenting as actual villagers.

What were the take-aways for our exhibit team from my students' great work? One, that the story works best when it is personally compelling, rather than just a broad narrative. We all can connect to human stories of both tragedy and everyday life.

Second, that there is a difference between the way Ukrainians view Chernobyl and the way outsiders do, and that exhibits here and in the US might be very different. Michael had one photo of a Holomodor observance and asked the class if they thought it should be included. Holomodor, for those like me, who had never heard of it before beginning to learn about Ukraine, is the Great Hunger of 1932-33. A famine, but not just any famine, but a famine created and enforced by Stalin, intentionally starving millions of Ukrainians. One student thought it should not be included, but another strongly felt that it should, because both Chernobyl and Holomodor represent two tragedies caused by the Soviets. In the US, that's alot of explaining to do (there have been Holomodor exhibits at at least one Ukrainian museum in the US in the past year but I still think it is unfamiliar to most).

And third, that a big idea is always a tough thing to write and that it's work best done in a group process, using the skills and ideas of many. Special thanks to all my students for their creative, passionate, enthusiastic work in a process new to them.

Class photos by Irina Leonenko