This is a snapshot from one exhibition at the Met that I'm going to let do double duty for another, and for broader issues too. From the crowded "Musical Bodies" exhibition, which closes in a few week, here's a "Cycladian female figure (ca. 3200-2700 BCE)." In the vitrine behind is a Stradivarius. The caption:
Cycladian figures are some of the earliest representations of the human body. Tied to beliefs about life, death, and the divine, they likely had ritual and symbolic uses. Although the objects predate the violin by around four thousand years, the resemblance between the two is so striking that scholars refer to the statues as "violin-shaped figurines" - a comparison that also underscores the instrument's evocation of the human form.
Say what? Do they have objects that look like iPhones too? It's harmless for specialists to notice the violin-like shape but for those unacquainted with mysterious Cycladic art it's irrelevant and distracting. If visitors find their way to the collection of Cycladic work currently on loan to the Met (this exhibition might have told them how to find it) they'll be at best disappointed by the absence of violins. If they engage a little more with the world of the Cycladian they might feel, as I did, that placing one of these objects together even with a Stradivarius is a little, well, disrespectful.
The rest of "Musical Bodies" isn't quite as forced, though the exhibition ransacks the whole museum for objects which make sound and evoke human forms. But there's a whole other exhibition not too far away which is composed almost entirely of jarring juxtapositions like this.
Yes, I finally made it to "Costume Art," the first show of the Costume Institute in its new digs on the ground floor (where the gift shop used to be). Here some two hundred works of couture, most quite recent, are paired with works from the Met's seventeen other departments, in aid of the claim the "the dressed body" is an important participant in the history of art and culture as a whole. The method is explained:
Pairings between fashions and artworks will present a spectrum of connections and experiences: from the formal to the conceptual, the aesthetic to the political, the individual to the universal, the illustrative to the symbolic, and the playful to the profound.
The actual pairings are sometimes thought-provoking, sometimes witty, sometimes silly, sometimes obvious, sometimes sacriligious. I think a dozen such juxtapositions might have made for an engaging celebration of fashion's arrival at the Met, but two hundred feels not only forced but heavy-handed. The non-garments - many of them treasures - feel like loot. Mostly they are in display cases beneath (and usually dwarfed by) the garments and most, so far as I can tell, are gritting their teeth waiting for their command performance to end.
I don't begrudge fashion a place at the Met (we've already got a whole hall devoted to arms and armor after all), and I've worked with enough fashion students to know that this is the way fashion designers make use of the past through "moodboards." ("Moodboards and museums" would make a great topic for an exhibition, actually.) But with the actual treasures pressed into what feels like supporting roles here, it feels like a hostile takeover. Sure, a curious viewer might be inspired to learn more about the non-garments but, as with the person who might seek more "violin-shaped figurines" among the Cycladic art, they'll hardly know what they're seeing or why.
Did I say there was a broader issue this might evoke too? Only the plight of the liberal arts at a university dedicated to designing the new...





















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