“ROMPIENDO BARRERAS”
1. DIAGNÓSTICO: DETECCIÓN DE NECESIDADES
The AGNSW, with its architectural mix of historical styles and trends, demonstrates the way in which the semiotics of a gallery space can affect not only a viewer’s reading of the artworks within, but also inspire site-specific works of art. The building, with its neo-classical sandstone portico entranceway similar to that of a Greek temple, is flanked by bronze statues of horses and their riders, and surrounded by the greenery of the city’s domain and botanic gardens. Significantly, it is the gallery’s distinctive features, such as the equestrian statues, richly decorated colonial courts, and grand entrance vestibule that are continually the site of artistic response. As I mentioned in the introduction to the chapter, I will demonstrate that contemporary artworks responding to the physical or spatial aspects of the museum frequently address multiple and complex issues, despite the fact that Kwon infers that this model of site-specificity is less critical than her mobile model.
The façade of the AGNSW was built in 1902, 14 and has been retained as the
entrance and the public ‘face’ of the gallery; yet a quick circle of the gallery’s rear exterior reveals its Modernist architectural truth. Such an entrance is not uncommon in museums and art galleries around the world, and as James Putnam argues, this type of classical architecture ‘conveys an impression of power, religion and permanence.’15 In addition to the invisible barriers described by Lefebvre and Foucault, and before the
14 The current façade is based on the New South Wales Colonial Architect W.L Vernon’s 1895 design. The gallery was originally built in 1885, designed by John Horbury Hunt. However, Hunt’s architecture was not popular with the trustees, and little of the original building remains today. Daniel Thomas, ‘Building History,’ Art and Australia 10, no. 1 (1972): 43.
15 Putnam, Art and Artifact, 7.
viewer even steps inside the gallery, the physical exterior of the gallery has suggested notions of reverence and devotion.
Inside, the neo-classical atrium entrance proclaims grandeur, decorated in various coloured marbles, symmetrically positioned columns, classical statues and fresh flower displays. By contrast, the area beyond the entrance is a vast Modern space - the result of a significant 1970s renovation to the then leaky, run-down, and dated building.16 Following entry and to the right, the original
old galleries can be seen through the large decorative archways embedded in the white walls. David Saunders, in his 1972 article on this juxtaposition of architectural styles, wrote that ‘the meeting of the old and the new is a matter of special
consideration… The choice has been to arrange the junction as if the new approaches the old but does not actually join.’17 He also notes that the ‘pre-twentieth-century works belong beyond those arches, younger art is in the new section,’18 a policy that largely continues to this day.19
16 Annette Van den Bosch, The Australian Art World: Aesthetics in a Global Market (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2005), 120.
17 Saunders, David. ‘Gallery Building.’ Art and Australia 10, no. 1 (1972): 47. 18 Ibid.
19 In late 2009, the museum curators hung a selection of their Indigenous art collection in one of these old rooms, the significance of which will be discussed later in this chapter.
31. AGNSW Vestibule
The art gallery’s development from a woolshed-like structure in the late-nineteenth century to its current mix of classical and modern extensions, somewhat echoes the changes in the values, art and culture in Australia. The building of the current façade was initiated just prior to federation when New South Wales was a self-governing colony; however, the growing nationalism that ultimately resulted in the Commonwealth of the Australia, also contributed to the desire to establish a national art gallery.20 The likeness of the AGNSW façade to that of London’s National Gallery, the British Museum, or Edinburgh’s National Gallery of Scotland, suggests not only the continued influence of the ‘mother country’, but also the drive to establish Australia as learned and sophisticated.21 The fact that the gallery trustees insisted on the somewhat dated
‘classical temple,’ rather than Vernon’s originally proposed, and relatively individual, Gothic-style structure,22 illustrates the cultural conservatism of Australian society at the time. The bronze horse and rider statues were added later: The Offerings of Peace and
The Offerings of War (1923) by Gilbert Boyes. Placed in mimicry of the exterior decoration of many older European galleries, the sculptures also illustrate Australia’s
then continuing conservatism, as well as a lack of independent style and identity. Despite the fact that they were produced after World War I, Michael Hedger observes that they ‘emphasise nineteenth century nationalism and might and the horses’ defiant expressions suggest a readiness and alertness contrary with
more contemporary memorials.’23
The extensions that took place in the 1970s similarly reflected Australia’s changing attitude towards the arts, as well as the changes in art itself. The renovations coincided with a significant increase in public investment in the arts, with Gough Whitlam
20 The institution’s name was changed to the National Art Gallery of New South Wales in 1883, and although it became a redundant name after the 1901 federation of colonies, it was only changed back to its original name in 1958. Daniel Thomas, ‘Institutional History,’ Art and Australia 10, no. 1 (1972): 41. 21 This assertion of nationhood echoes the popularity of neoclassical architecture in the United States of America a century earlier, at a time when they were establishing a young united nation.
22 Art Gallery of New South Wales, ‘History of the Building,’ Art Gallery of New South Wales. http://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/about-us/history/history-of-the-building/
23 Michael Hedger, Public Sculpture in Australia (Roseville: Craftsman House, 1995), 109. 34. Gilbert Boyes The Offerings of Peace (1923)
establishing the Australia Council for the Arts in 1973, extending the council established in 1968 by the earlier Prime Minister, John Gorton. The gallery, which had previously been more façade than depth, was extended to include more exhibition space, as well as educational facilities, café and gift shop – facilities demanded by the modern visitor. The Asian art gallery established as part of the subsequent 1988 national bicentenary
extension, again, reflected Australia’s growing interest in, and acknowledgement of, our geographic neighbours.24 Then in 1994, although relatively late, the opening of a gallery space devoted solely to Aboriginal art, ‘Yiribana’, signalled the gallery’s eventual recognition of the importance of Australian Indigenous culture.
Particularly significant is the institution’s method of classifying and separating art from various eras and ethnicities. The distinct areas of the gallery, such as Yiribana and the Asian art space, subtly suggest varying levels of worth through wall colour, accessibility or gallery layout. These largely artificial divisions are often invisible to the visitor. For instance, it seems appropriate that the pre-twentieth-century works, with their gaudy gold frames are hung in the original galleries. The walls are painted in dark reds, mustard or olive, and some even have the original four hanging rails, accommodating the salon style hanging that was once customary. Interestingly, this outmoded style of hanging still seems fitting in these spaces. By contrast, the white-walled renovated spaces on the same level have low concrete-grid ceilings, and the works strictly adhere to the typical Modernist way of hanging, each work in its own space.
24 The development of the Asian art gallery also reflected the research interests of the then director,
Edmund Capon.
The allocation of colonial art into older, and more traditionally decorated gallery spaces, while twentieth-century and contemporary art are hung in the renovated, white-walled areas of the gallery is common to many of Australia’s other older institutions, such as the South Australian and Tasmanian state galleries. Just as the gold frames that adorn these pre-twentieth-century paintings are often invisible to the gallery viewer, the red walls and dense floor-to-ceiling hanging in the TMAG’s colonial collection room often goes
unnoticed, despite the influence of this semiotic environment on our viewing of the art.25 Like its grand façade, the AGNSW’s pre-twentieth-century collection rooms
communicate notions of permanence and worth. The coloured walls, patterned parquetry floors and decorative arches, along with the ornate and often disproportionately large gilt frames, powerfully connote value and importance. Yet, as described earlier, this
embellished environment is reserved for pre-twentieth-century art, and the very idea of placing contemporary art into such an environment seems inappropriate. An exception to this rule is when artists deliberately incorporate this environment into their work, such as Mike Parr’s performance Major/Minor (2008), and Gordon Bennett’s Untitled (Concept for the Art Gallery of New South Wales) as part of the 2008 Biennale of Sydney.
Gordon Bennett’s artwork challenged the institutionalised division between the gallery’s European-style colonial art and Aboriginal art collections, as communicated by the building’s layout. His work proposed that the gallery end its segregation policy and move some of the colonial paintings into the Yiribana gallery and vice versa. The proposal extended also to the hanging of the works, with the European artworks being turned upside down. The relocated colonial paintings were to be turned upside down, referring perhaps to the way in which Aboriginal artworks are frequently discussed in terms of abstraction, and the subsequent accidental mis-hanging of paintings in an incorrect orientation. The work addressed the concerns
25 In late 2011, the TMAG commenced significant renovations. Many areas described in this thesis, such
as the colonial gallery and zoology displays are no longer open to the public, although the issues discussed in relation to these spaces are still valid and relevant.
36. Gordon Bennett, Untitled (Concept for the Art Gallery of New South Wales) (2008)
expressed by many visitors to the gallery: that while the nineteenth-century colonial collection is on the ‘ground’ floor at the entrance to the gallery, housed in the ‘Grand Courts’ (as they are officially called), the epitome of classic museum grandeur with its decorative arches, hanging rails and parquetry floors; the Yiribana gallery is relegated to the institutionally white-walled and concrete-floored ‘basement’ (‘lower level three’), a newer section of the gallery.26
The location of collections is never accidental, and because the museum is fundamentally a physical space, values are communicated via their placement. The authority of the museum to
promote certain artists, movements and art forms at the expense of others, to exclude and homogenise, Ian Burn argues, is vocalised through these physical spaces - ‘a spatial expression of power relations in the art industry.’27 Bennett’s artwork therefore was highly political, and the gallery’s response embarrassingly token.28
The ‘proposal’, which was part of the 2008 Sydney Biennale and therefore not directly commissioned by the gallery, was unsurprisingly rejected; however, the scale models of Court 8 and Yiribana galleries were displayed outside the museum café on the second floor. But why the café location? Surely, the work would have functioned more
critically if it had been shown in the Grand Court? Perhaps the café location was chosen to neutralise the artist’s critical stance, or would its location in the gallery’s showcase collection be seen to disrupt the viewer experience? It could be as simple as the
26 The politics extends also to gallery upkeep. In 2011, the respected Aboriginal and Torres Straight Islander curator, Hetti Perkins, resigned from the gallery citing the lack of refurbishment of the Yiribana Gallery. While new Asian wings have opened, the shop and café renovated, and most other galleries updated, Yiribana has not changed for almost 20 years. Hetti wrote in her resignation letter to the AGNSW that her decision was made because of the museum’s inaction ‘to bring it up to the standard of other spaces … and to address the important issues of inadequate climate control and visibility within the building.’ Joyce Morgan, ‘Letter Reveals Frustration that Forced Perkins to Quit Gallery.’
27 Burn, ‘The Art Museum, More or Less,’ 168.
28 However, it should be acknowledged that institutions such as the AGNSW have an obligation to respect and conserve the works of all artists, even if they are long dead. Hanging paintings upside down would thus be compromising such responsibilities.
mediocre solution to a choice between exhibiting it in the Grand Courts or the Yiribana gallery. However, the Biennale’s promotional photographs of Bennett’s artwork are close-up images of the model with the Grand Court, rather than the café, in the background, suggesting divergent attitudes between the Biennale curators who commissioned the work, and the AGNSW staff.
As discussed, the Grand Court’s deep red or green walls, highly ornamental archways and gold frames, connote worth. The salon-style mounting, encouraged by the original hanging rails, also relates to a bygone era, a pre-Modernist style that reads as customary as the sparse, isolated display of contemporary works of art. Significantly, the
Aboriginal artworks in many state art museums, such as the NGV and AGNSW, are hung in the same style as contemporary art. The works in the Yiribana gallery, for instance, are hung at eyelevel against a white painted wall. Neither style of painting is ‘natural’ but the hanging style has become naturalised through convention. The works are thus re-contextualised as contemporary art objects in this environment.
The fact that this convention has become almost invisible was highlighted two years ago, when a number of traditional Indigenous artworks were moved from the Yiribana gallery to the Grand Courts. The Aboriginal artworks look odd in the gallery, but only because we are so used to seeing them against a ‘neutral’ white wall. The gallery stated that the move was due to the large number of
complaints by visitors,29 however, it is possible that Bennett’s proposal was a catalyst, even if the move was not reciprocated by the re-location of colonial paintings to lower level three.
Like Bennett’s ‘proposal’, Parr’s video Major/Minor, responded to the AGNSW’s Grand Court collection and display methods. Parr’s video shows him sitting in a military
29 Conversation with AGNSW staff, November 22, 2009. 38. AGNSW Grand Courts in 2009
uniform, with a cast replica of his head on his lap, while the camera focuses alternatively on the paintings then on the artist’s rigid profile. The background paintings include Australian ‘classics’ by Arthur Streeton, Tom Roberts, and Sydney Long, as well as the gallery’s few token ‘Virgin and Child’ paintings, and the epic Vive l'Empereur (1891) by Édouard Detaille – ‘a telling art-historical context for the Australian paintings.’30 Daniel Thomas also suggested that the performance could be a response to John Howard’s leadership and a ‘manipulative fetishisation of militarism and nationalism.’31
The priorities of the AGNSW seem to lean significantly to the nineteenth-century colonial painting and Australian
Modernism, and so it is understandable that Parr and Bennett focussed on the Grand Court as the subject of postcolonial critique. The content and format of the Grand Courts rarely appears to change, and to an extent, these galleries are symbolic of the continued dominance of colonial history in this country. Additionally, by siting their artworks in the grand courts, Parr and Bennett disrupted the generally accepted physical separation of collections, questioning the location of collections within the gallery, and more
specifically, the disproportionate value we place on certain artworks in this country. Unlike the pre-Modern paintings in the older galleries, contemporary art is rarely placed in overly ornate or gilt frames. If framed at all, minimalist frames, not dissimilar in aesthetic to the Modernist art space, are used. Just as Parr and Bennett have used the art historical associations of the colonial art galleries to their advantage, contemporary artists such as Perejaume exploit and highlight the connotations of physically framing art, particularly when the structure is gold-coated.
In Marc a l’encesa (1990), Perejaume examines both the paradoxical nature of pictorial representation, and the way in which the natural landscape is ‘framed’ in art. The work,
30 Daniel Thomas, ‘Mind/Body: Mike Parr’s Cartesian Corpse,’ The Monthly, 2009.
http://www.themonthly.com.au/art-daniel-thomas-mind-body-mike-parr-s-cartesian-corpse-1404 31 Ibid.
now in the collection of the AGNSW, consists of two gilt framed photographs depicting a large smouldering piece of frame in an unremarkable landscape. The charred remains of the massive frame sits on the floor in front of the pictures. One photograph is
orientated in the ‘landscape’ position, the other in the unconventional ‘portrait’, the different photographic ‘frames’ allowing a slightly different view of the same scene. The photographs strictly adhere to traditional landscape image composition, with carefully composed percentages of foreground, hills and sky, as well as the silhouetted sun. The cropping mentioned earlier emphasises the paradoxically artificial construction of landscape photographs.
Perejaume’s work draws our attention to the significance of the frame. The burning frame in the image is in turn framed by the photograph, which is framed by the physical gold border. The entire installation – the images and charred wood - is then framed by the museum.
Additionally, the chunk of burnt frame sitting on the gallery floor, an object usually only used as a practical device rather than an artwork itself, is reduced in size to the point of uselessness. By placing a frame so that viewers can literally trip over the object, Perejaume compels us to consider not only the frames that edge two dimensional objects, but also the other ‘circumtextual frames’32 usually invisible to gallery visitors, such as didactic texts, lighting, the room, or surrounding artworks.
Interestingly, the work was most recently displayed on the dividing wall between the gallery’s old courts and Modern space. Considering the sheer number of romanticised, pictorial depictions of the Australian landscape in the gallery’s colonial collection, the installation’s location is quite apt. However, it is important to note that this placement was decided by a curator; despite the work’s powerful message and critique of the way in which landscape is depicted in art, the siting would have quite a different set of meanings if it had been the artist’s choice. When the artist as an external, ‘neutral’ figure, chooses