Case study

What Is the Object of This Exercise? A Meandering Exploration of the Many Meanings of Objects in Museums Author(s): Elaine Heumann Gurian Source: Daedalus, Vol. 128, No. 3, America's Museums (Summer, 1999), pp. 163-183 Published by: The MIT Press on behalf of American Academy of Arts & Sciences Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20027571 . Accessed: 20/11/2013 15:30

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Elaine Heumann Gurian

What is the Object of this Exercise? A Meandering Exploration of the

Many Meanings of Objects in Museums

CC^^T^Thy did the serbs and Croats shell each other's historic

\ \ / sites when they had so little ammunition and these

W were not military targets?" I routinely ask my mu

seum-studies graduate students this question when I lecture.

"To break their spirit," is always the instantaneous answer.

Museums, historic sites, and other institutions of memory, I

would contend, are the tangible evidence of the spirit of a

civilized society. And while the proponents of museums have

long asserted that museums add to the quality of life, they have

not understood (as the graduate students did when confronted

by the example of war) how profound and even central that

"quality" was.

Similar examples reveal the relationship between museums

and "spirit" in sharp detail. Why did the Russians proclaim, one day after the Russian r?volution had succeeded, that all

historic monuments were to be protected even though they most often represented the hated czar and the church? Why did

Hitler and Stalin establish lists of acceptable and unacceptable art and then install shows in museums to proclaim them while

sending the formerly acclaimed, now forbidden, art to storage?

Why did the Nazis stockpile Jewish material and force interned

Elaine Heumann Gurian is acting director of the Cranbrook Institute of Science in

Bloomfield Hills, Michigan.

163

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164 Elaine Heumann Gurian

curators to catalog and accession it, intending to create a

museum to the eradicated Jews? Why, when I was in the rural

mountains of the Philippines, was I taken to hidden closets that

served as museums, curated by tribal members, holding the

material of the tribe's immediate past, secreted from the dealers

who were offering great sums for the same material?

In adversity it is understood, by antagonists and protagonists

alike, that the evidence of history has something central to do

with the spirit, will, pride, identity, and civility of people, and

that destroying such material may lead to forgetting, broken

spirits, and docility. This same understanding is what motivates

cultural and ethnic communities to create their own museums in

order to tell their stories, in their own way, to themselves and

to others.

Yet neither the museum profession nor its sibling workers in

the other storehouses of collective memory (archives, libraries, concert halls, and so forth), makes (nor, I would contend,

understands) the case clearly about its institution's connected

ness to the soul of civic life. In cities under duress you can hear

the case being made better by mayors and governors. Dennis

Archer, the mayor of Detroit, said recently while being inter

viewed on the radio, "Detroit, in order to be a great city, needs

to protect its great art museum, the Detroit Institute of Art." It

was Archer and his predecessor, Coleman Young, who cham

pioned and underwrote the latest incarnation of Detroit's Mu

seum of African American History. And it was Teddy Kolik, the

fabled former mayor of Jerusalem, who was the chief propo nent of the creation of the Israel Museum (and who placed one

of his two offices within the building). Mayors know why museums are important. Citizens, implicitly, do too. A recent

survey in Detroit asked people to rate the importance of insti

tutions to their city and then tell which they had visited. The Museum of African American History was listed very high on

the important list and much lower on the "I have visited" list.

People do not have to use the museum in order to assert its

importance or feel that their tax dollars are being well spent in

its support. The people who work in museums have collectively struggled

over the proper definition and role of their institutions. Their

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The Many Meanings of Objects in Museums 165

struggle has been, in part, to differentiate museums from other

near relatives?the other storehouses of collective memory. The resulting definitions have often centered on things?on

objects and their permissible uses. I believe the debate has

missed the essential meaning (the soul, if you will) of the insti tution that is the museum.

OBJECTS ARE NOT THE HEART OF THE MUSEUM

The following discussion will attempt to capture that soul by

throwing light on the shifting role of museum objects over time.

It will show how elusive objects are, even as they remain the

central element embedded within all definitions of museums.

This essay will also postulate that the definition of a "museum

object" and the associated practices of acquisition, preserva

tion, care, display, study, and interpretation have always been

fluid and have become more so recently. Objects did not pro vide the definitional bedrock in the past, although museum

staffs thought they did. I will show that museums may not need

them any longer to justify their work.

But if the essence of a museum is not to be found in its objects, then where? I propose that the answer is in being a place that

stores memories and presents and organizes meaning in some

sensory form. It is both the physicality of a place and the

memories and stories told therein that are important. Further, I propose that these two essential ingredients?place and re

membrances?are not exclusive to museums. And, finally, I

contend that the blurring of the distinctions between these

institutions of memory and other seemingly separate institu

tions (like shopping malls and attractions) is a positive, rather

than negative, development. Not meaning to denigrate the immense importance of mu

seum objects and their care, I am postulating that they, like

props in a brilliant play, are necessary but alone are not suffi

cient. This essay points out something that we have always known intuitively: that the larger issues revolve around the

stories museums tell and the way they tell them. When parsed

carefully, the objects, in their tangibility, provide a variety of

stakeholders with an opportunity to debate the meaning and

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166 Elaine Heumann Gurian

control of their memories. It is the ownership of the story, rather than the object itself, that the dispute has been all about.

This essay suggests what museums are not (or not exactly)

and, therefore, continues the dialogue about what museums are

and what makes them important, so important that people in

extremis fight over them.

WHAT IS AN OBJECT?

"Ah, but we have the real thing," museum professionals used to

say when touting the uniqueness of their occupation. When I

began in museum work, in the late 1960s and early 1970s, the

definition of museums always contained reference to the object as the pivot around which we justified our other activities.1

Although there were always other parts of the definition, our

security nonetheless lay in owning objects. With it came our

privileged responsibility for the attendant acquisition, its pres

ervation, safety, display, study, and interpretation. We were

like priests and the museums our reliquaries. The definition of objects was easy. They were the real stuff.

Words were used like "unique," "authentic," "original," "genu

ine," "actual." The things that were collected had significance and were within the natural, cultural, or aesthetic history of the

known world.

Of course, real had more than one meaning. It often meant

"one of a kind," but it also meant "an example of." Thus, artworks were one-of-a-kind, but eighteenth-century farm imple

ments may have been examples. Things made by hand were

unique, but manufactured items became examples. In the natu

ral history world, almost all specimens were examples but had

specificity as to location found. Yet some could also be unique? the last passenger pigeon or the last dodo bird. Objects from both categories, unique and example, were accessioned into the

collections. Museums owned the objects and took on the re

sponsibility of preserving, studying, and displaying them.

Yet even within these seemingly easy categories there were

variations. In asserting uniqueness (as in made-by-hand), spe cific authorship was associated with some objects, such as

paintings, but not with others, most especially utilitarian works

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The Many Meanings of Objects in Museums 167

whose makers were often unknown. Some unique works were

thought of as "art" and some as "craft"; with some notable

exceptions, art was individualized as to maker but craft was

not. This practice, which is now changing, made it possible to

do research and mount shows of the work of particular artists

in some, but not all, cultures.

WHAT ARE COLLECTIONS?

In the early 1970s the American Association of Museums (AAM) established an Accreditation Commission. As its members de

liberated, they discussed whether groups of living things could be called collections and whether institutions that so "col

lected" should be classified as museums. Heretofore, "muse

ums" were conserving things that had never been, or now were

no longer, alive. The field debated if the living things in botani cal gardens, fish in aquaria, or animals in zoos were "collec

tions"; if so, were those institutions, de facto, museums? It was

decided that, yes, at least for funding and accreditation pur

poses, they were museums, and the living things they cared for

were likewise to be regarded as collections, and hence objects.2 Yet there were other institutional repositories that cared for,

protected, preserved, and taught about "objects" but were not

called museums nor necessarily treated by museums as siblings. Archives and libraries, especially rare-book collections, were

considered related but not siblings even though some museum

collections contain the identical materials. There were also

commercial galleries and private and corporate collections that

were considered by museum professionals to be different and

outside the field, separated supposedly by an underlying pur

pose. A legal distinction of "not-for-profit" was considered an

essential part of the definition of a museum. It was clear that

while objects formed the necessary foundation upon which the

definition of a museum might rest, they were not sufficient in

themselves.

CAN NONCOLLECTING INSTITUTIONS BE MUSEUMS?

The Accreditation Commission of the AAM next sought to

determine if places that resembled collections-based museums

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168 Elaine Heumann Gurian

but did not hold collections (i.e., places like not-for-profit gal leries and cultural centers) were, for purposes of accreditation, also museums. In 1978, they decided that, in some instances,

galleries could be considered museums because, like museums,

they cared for, displayed, and preserved objects even though

they did not own them. Ownership, therefore, in some in

stances, no longer defined museums.

There was also the conundrum brought to the profession by science centers and children's museums, mostly of the mid

twentieth century. Earlier in the century, these places had

collected and displayed objects, but by mid-century children's

museums and science centers were proliferating and creating new public experiences, using exhibition material that was built

specifically for the purpose and omitting collections objects

altogether. How were these "purpose-built" objects to be con

sidered? They were three-dimensional, often unique, many times

extremely well made, but they had no cognates in the outside

world. Much of this exhibit material was built to demonstrate

the activity and function of the "real" (and now inactive)

machinery sitting beside it.

The Adler Planetarium, applying to the AAM for accredita

tion, also caused the AAM to reconsider the definition of a

museum. The planetarium's object was a machine that pro

jected stars onto a ceiling. If institutions relied on such "ob

jects," were these places museums? Had the profession inad

vertently crafted a definition of objects that was restricted to

those things that were created elsewhere and were then trans

ported to museums? That was not the case in art museums that

commissioned site-specific work. Certainly the murals of the

depression period applied directly to museum walls were

accessionable works of art?an easy call! Portability, then, did

not define objects. In 1978, the Accreditation Commission of the AAM, citing

these three different types of noncolkctions-based institutions

(art centers, science and technology centers, and plan?tariums), wrote specific language for each type of museum and, by amending

its definition of collections for each group, declared these types of organizations to be

. . . museums! They elaborated: "The

existence of collections and supporting exhibitions is considered

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The Many Meanings of Objects in Museums 169

desirable, but their absence is not disabling. . . ."3 In response,

many museums set about creating more than one set of rules?

one for accessioned objects, and another for exhibitions mate

rial?and began to understand that the handkable material

they used in their classes (their teaching collections) should be

governed by a different set of criteria as well.

Nevertheless, there were often no easy distinctions between

the handkablity of teaching collections' objects and those oth

ers deserving preservation. The Boston Children's Museum

loan boxes, for example, created in the 1960s, contained easy to-obtain material about Northeast Native Americans. But by the 1980s, the remaining material was retired from the loan

boxes and accessioned into the collections because it was no

longer obtainable and had become rare and valuable.

Even purpose-built "environments" have, in cases such as the

synagogue models in the Museum of the Diaspora in Tel Aviv, become so intriguing or are of such craftsmanship that they, decades later, become collections' objects themselves. So, too, have the exhibitions created by distinguished artists, such as

parts of Charles and Ray Eames's exhibit Mathematical A

World of Numbers and Beyond. Dioramas were often built for a museum exhibition hall in

order to put objects (mostly animals) in context. These display

techniques, which were considered a craft at the time they were

created, were occasionally of such beauty, and displayed artis

tic conventions of realism (and seeming realism) so special, that

today the original dioramas themselves have become "objects," and many are subject to preservation, accession, and special

display. The definition of objects suitable for collections has,

therefore, expanded to include, in special cases, material built

for the museum itself.

WHAT IS REAL? IS THE EXPERIENCE THE OBJECT?

In the nineteenth century, some museums had and displayed

sculptural plaster castings and studies. The Louvre and other

museums had rooms devoted to copies of famous sculptures that the museum did not own. The originals either remained in

situ or were held by others. People came to see, study, and paint

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170 Elaine Heumann Gurian

these reproductions. They were treated with the respect ac

corded the real thing. For a long time, museums and their

publics have felt that though there were differences between

the "original" and reproductions, both had a place within their

walls.

Similarly, reconstructed skeletons of dinosaurs have long

appeared in museums. They usually are a combination of the

bones of the species owned by the museums plus the casting of

the missing bones from the same species owned by someone

else. Sometimes museums point out which part is real and

which is cast, but often they do not. "Real," therefore, takes on

new meaning. Curators recognize that the experience of seeing the whole skeleton is more "real," and certainly more informa

tive, than seeing only the authentic, unattached bones that do

not add up to a complete or understandable image.

Likewise, multiples or limited editions were always consid

ered "real" as long as the intention of the artist was respected.

Thus, the fact that Rodin and many others authorized the

multiple production of some pieces did not seem to make each

one any less real or less unique. The creation of additional,

though still limited, copies, using the same etching plates, but

after the death of the artist, caused more problems. But often, while acknowledging the facts of the edition, such works also

hung in museums and, if the quality was good, were accessioned

into their collections.

IS THE IMAGE THE OBJECT?

The twentieth century's invention of new technologies has made

multiples the norm and made determining what is real and what

that means much more difficult. While original prints of movies,

for example, exist, it is the moving image that the public thinks

of as the object rather than the master print of film. Questions of authenticity revolve around subsequent manipulation of the

image (e.g., colorization, cutting, or cropping) rather than the

contents of any particular canister.

Printed editions with identical multiples are considered origi

nals, and become more valuable, if signed; unsigned editions

are considered less "real" and certainly less valuable. In such

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The Many Meanings of Objects in Museums 171

cases one could say that the signature, rather than the image, becomes the object. Photographs printed by the photographer

may be considered more real than those using the same nega tive but printed by someone else. With the invention of digital

technology, many identical images can be reproduced at will

without recourse to any negative at all. So the notion of authen

ticity (meaning singularity or uniqueness) becomes problematic as images indistinguishable from those in museums are easily available outside the museum. It is the artist's sensibility that

produced the image. It is the image itself, therefore, that is the

object.

IS THE STORY THE OBJECT?

Of the utilitarian objects of the twentieth century, most are

manufactured in huge quantities and therefore could be termed

"examples." Which of these objects to collect often then de

pends not upon the object itself but on an associated story that

may render one of them unique or important. The objects present in the death camps of the Holocaust

were, in the main, created for use elsewhere. There is nothing

unique in the physicality of a bowl that comes from Auschwitz

Birkenau. These bowls could have been purchased in shops that

sold cheap tableware all over Germany at the time. However, when the visitor reads the label that says the bowl comes from

Auschwitz, the viewer, knowing something about the Holo

caust, transfers meaning to the object. Since there is nothing aside from the label that makes the bowl distinctive, it is not the

bowl itself but its associated history that forms importance for

the visitor.

DOES THE CULTURAL CONTEXT MAKE THE OBJECT?

As Foucault and many others have written, objects lose their

meaning without the viewer's knowledge and acceptance of

underlying aesthetic or cultural values. Without such knowl

edge, an object's reification even within its own society cannot

be understood. Often the discomfort of novice visitors to art

museums has to do with their lack of understanding of the

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172 Elaine Heumann Gurian

cultural aesthetics that the art on display either challenges or

affirms.

By accessioning or displaying objects, the creators of mu

seum exhibitions are creating or enhancing these objects' value.

Further, society's acceptance of the value of museums them

selves likewise transfers value to their objects. When museums

receive gifts or bequests from a major donor's holdings, they are inheriting?and then passing on?a set of value judgments from someone who is essentially hidden from the visitor's view.

A particular aesthetic pervades such museums because of the

collections they house and the collectors who gave the objects in the first place.

This issue of values determining choice comes into sharper focus when museums begin acquiring or presenting collections

from cultures whose aesthetic might be different. When install

ing a show of African material in an American art museum,

should the curator show pieces based on the values inherent in

the producing culture (i.e., focusing on the objects that attain

special aesthetic value within that culture), or should the cura

tor pick objects that appeal more to the aesthetic of his or her

own culture? This question, the source of much debate, arises

when museums attempt to diversify their holdings to include

works created by a foreign (or even an assimilated) culture

quite different from that which produced the majority of their

holdings. For example, the selection of which African or Latino

art to accession or show has to do not with authenticity but

with quality. The notion of quality has been sharply debated

between the scholar within the museum and the peoples repre

senting the culture of the maker. So the question becomes: who

selects the objects and by what criteria?

In material created by indigenous artists, the native commu

nity itself sometimes disagrees internally as to whether the

material is native or belongs to a modern tradition that crosses

cultural boundary lines. Some within the native population also

argue about the birthright of the artist; blood quantum, tradi

tional upbringing, and knowledge of the language sometimes

have considerable bearing on whether artists and their cre

ations are considered native. In such cases, the decision about

what is quality work that should be housed in a museum may

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The Many Meanings of Objects in Museums 173

have little to do with the object itself and more to do with the

genealogy of the producer.

WHAT IF YOUR STORY HAS NO OBJECTS OR DOES NOT NEED

THEM? IS THE ABSENCE OF OBJECTS THE OBJECT?

Most collections were created by wealthy people who acquired

things of interest and value to themselves. The everyday objects of nonvalued or subjugated peoples were usually not collected.

Often the people in the lowest economic strata could hardly wait to exchange their objects for those that were more valued,

giving no thought, at the time, to the preservation of the dis

carded material. So it goes for most peoples during their most

impoverished historical periods. Accordingly, their museums

must choose among a narrow band of choices?do not tell that

part of their history, recreate the artifacts and environments, or

use interpretative techniques that do not rely on material evi

dence.

The Museum of the Diaspora in Israel, struggling with this

issue more than twenty-five years ago, decided to tell the

complete story of five thousand years of Jewish migration without using a single authentic artifact. It elected to create

tableaux that reproduced physical surroundings in an illustra

tive manner based on scholarly research into pictorial and

written documentation of all kinds. The museum did so because

its collection could not accurately or comprehensively tell the

story, and a presentation of settings that appeared "like new"

honored the history of Jewish migration more than an assort

ment of haphazard authentic artifacts showing their age and

wear. The experience, wholly fabricated but three-dimensional, became the object. It presented a good public experience, many

argued, but still did not qualify as a "museum." Ultimately, this

total re-creation was accepted as a highly distinguished mu

seum. The Museum of the Diaspora also presented movies,

photos, and recordings in a publicly accessible form, arguing that a comprehensive presentation required material that was

non-artifactual.

The U.S. African-American and Native American communi

ties have suggested, in the same vein, that their primary cul

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174 Elaine Heumann Gurian

tural transmission is accomplished through oral language, dance, and song?vehicles that are ephemeral. Their central artifacts, or objects, if you will, are not dimensional at all, and museums

that wish to transmit the accuracy of such cultures, or display historical periods for which material evidence is not available,

must learn to employ more diverse material. It may be the

performance that is the object, for example. And the perfor mance space might need to be indistinguishable from the exhibit

hall. As museums struggle to do this, one begins to see videos

of ceremonies and hear audio chanting. Such techniques, for

merly thought of as augmentation rather than core interpreta

tion, have increasingly taken on the role and function previ

ously played by collection objects. Even in museums like Cleveland's Rock and Roll Hall of

Fame or the soon-to-be-opened Experience Music Project, it is

the sound and performance of the artists that is the artifact

much more than the stationary guitar that, say, Jimi Hendrix

once used. Indeed, musical instrument archives at the Boston

Museum of Fine Arts and other places have long struggled with

the proper presentation of their "artifacts." "Silent musical

instruments" approaches an oxymoron.

HOW IS THE OBJECT TO BE PRESERVED?

IS THE OBJECT TO BE USED?

The museum, in accepting an object for its collection, takes on

the responsibility for its care. In doing so, collections managers follow rules organized for the safety and long-term preserva tion of the objects. Climate control, access restrictions, and

security systems are all issues of concern to those who care for

objects. Institutions devoted to music or performance transform

the notion of collections and certainly the notion of preserva

tion, because while it is true that most things are preserved better when left alone, some musical instruments are not among them. They are preserved better if played, and so, for example at the Smithsonian's Museum of American History, they are.

Likewise, many native people have successfully argued that

accessioned material should be used in the continuance of cer

emony and tradition. Artifacts, rather than being relinquished

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The Many Meanings of Objects in Museums 175

to isolated preservation (and losing their usefulness), are stored

in trust waiting for the time when they must again be used. In

the 1980s, when native people from a specific clan or group asked for an object to be loaned for a short-term use, this was

a radical notion for most natural history museums. That re

quest now is more common and often accommodated. For ex

ample, at the end of the 1980s, the Dog Soldiers of the Northern

Cheyenne requested their pipe, which the Smithsonian's Na

tional Museum of Natural History holds, and used it in their

ceremonies, after which it was returned to the museum.

Now, native museums and, less commonly, some general museums that hold native material accept objects into their

collections with the express understanding that they will be

loaned out and used when needed. The notion of a museum as

a storehouse in perpetuity has, in these instances, evolved into

the museum as a revolving loan warehouse. A long-standing and easily understood example predates this relatively new

development. The Crown Jewels of the British monarchy, which

are displayed in the Tower of London, are worn by the monarch

when he or she is crowned. And so it has been for many centuries.

WHOSE RULES ARE USED FOR OBJECT CARE?

There are other fundamental rules of collections care that are

successfully being challenged worldwide by native people's involvement. Collections care has been predicated on the basic

notion that objects are inanimate. Though some objects were

once alive, they now are no longer, and most had never been

alive. Thus, collections-care policies proceeded from the as

sumption that objects should be preserved in the best manner

possible, avoiding decay from elements, exposure, and use.

Protective coverings and storage cases were designed to do just that. Extremes in the exposure to light and temperature, and all

manner of pest infestation, were to be avoided. But when the

museum was recognized to be neither the only nor the absolute

arbiter of its material holdings, accommodation to the beliefs of

the producers of the materials or their descendants became

necessary.

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176 Elaine Heumann Gurian

These beliefs often included a lack of distinction between animate and inanimate. Thus, spirits, "mana," fields of power, and life sources could live within an object regardless of the

material from which it was made. And that being so, the care

for these living things, it was argued, is, and should be, quite different from the care of dead or never alive things. So, for

example, bubble wrap, while an excellent protector of objects, does not allow for breathing or "singing and dancing at night." Those working with native populations in good faith have come

to respect native understanding of their own objects and now

provide for the appropriate life of the object. Some objects need

to be fed, some need to be protected from their enemies, some

need to be isolated from menstruating women. Collections are

no longer under the absolute province of the professional

caregivers. Storage facilities that accommodate the native un

derstanding of their objects require new architectural designs that allow for ceremony for some and isolation from the curious

for others.

WHO OWNS THE COLLECTIONS?

This change in collections use and care alters the notion of the

museum as owner of its collections and opens the door to

multiple definitions of ownership. These new definitions have

far-reaching implications. If tribal communities can determine

the use, presentation, and care of objects "owned" by muse

ums, can the descendants of an artist? Can the victims or

perpetrators of a war event? In the recent Smithsonian Na

tional Museum of Air and Space Enola Gay exhibition contro

versy, it was the veterans who flew the plane and their World

War II associates who ultimately controlled the access to,

presentation of, and interpretation of the object. Ownership or

legal title to an object does not convey the simple, more abso

lute meaning it did when I began in the museum field.

The notion that if you buy something from a person who

controlled it in the past, then it is yours to do with as you wish

is clearly under redefinition in a number of fields. What consti

tutes clear title? Under what rules does stolen material need to

be returned? What is stolen, in any case? Do the Holocaust

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The Many Meanings of Objects in Museums 177

victims' paintings and the Elgin Marbles have anything in com

mon? The issue is so complex and varied that countries forge treaties to try to determine which items of their patrimony should be returned. Similarly, museums in countries like New

Zealand, Canada, and Australia have developed accords that, in some cases, give dual ownership to collections. Museums and

the native populations then jointly control the presentation, care, and even return of the objects, or museums give owner

ship to the native populations, who, in turn, allow the museum

to hold the objects in trust. Ownership has developed a complex

meaning.

IF I OWN IT CAN I HAVE IT BACK, PLEASE?

Some of this blurring of ownership began with native people

maintaining that some items should not be in the hands of museums regardless of their history. That this would be claimed

for human remains held in collections was easy to understand.

Almost all cultures do something ceremonial and intentional

with the remains of their people, which, in almost all instances, does not include leaving bodies for study in boxes on shelves. So

when native people started to call for the return of their ances

tors' remains, there was an intuitive understanding of the prob lem in most circles. This, however, did not make it any easier

for the paleontologists and forensic curators whose life work

had centered on the access to these bones, nor for the museum

goer whose favorite museum memories had to do with shrunken

heads, mummies, or prehistoric human remains. The arguments that emanated from both sides were understandable and diffi

cult to reconcile. It was a clear clash of world views and belief

systems. To the curators it seemed that removal of human

remains within museum collections would result in the unwar

ranted triumph of cultural tradition and emotionalism over

scientific objectivity and the advancement of knowledge. As it turned out, the Native American Grave Protection and

Repatriation Act (NAGPRA)4 made clear that Native Ameri can tribes had rights to the return of their sacred material and to their ancestors' remains and associated grave goods, regard less of the method by which museums had acquired the mate

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178 Elaine Heumann Gurian

rial. However, the emptying of collections into native commu

nities, as predicted by the most fearful, did not happen. Rather, museums and native communities, working together in good

faith, moved into an easier and more coll?gial relationship, as

between equals. In most cases, the objects returned are care

fully chosen and returned with due solemnity. Some tribes have

chosen to allow some forensic samples to be saved, or studied

prior to reburial, and some have reinterred their ancestors in

ways that could allow for future study should the native com

munity wish it.

NAGPRA struck a new balance between the world view of

most museums and their staff (which endorsed a rational and

scientific model of discourse and allowed for access to as much

information as could be gathered) and the spiritual interests of

traditional native peoples. A variety of museum practices were

broadened, and visitors began to see the interpretation of exhi

bitions changed to include multiple side-by-side explanations of

the same objects. For example, Wolves, an exhibition created

by the Science Museum of Minnesota, presented scientific data, native stories, conservation and hunting controversies, and

physiological information together in an evenhanded way. An

argument for multiple interpretations began to be heard in

natural history museums whose comfort level in the past had not permitted the inclusion of spiritual information in formats

other than anthropological myth.

HOW OLD IS AN OBJECT?

The scientific dating of artifacts used in religious practices often holds little relevance to the believers. When an object such as the Shroud of Turin, for example, is carbon dated and

shown to be insufficiently? old, the problem of writing its mu

seum label becomes complex. An object held in TePapa, the

Museum of New Zealand, was returned to an iwi (tribe) that

requested it, with all the solemnity and ceremony appropriate. So too went records of its age and material composition, at

variance with beliefs held by the Maori people. But if, as the

Maori believe, spirit or mana migrates from one piece to it's

replacement (rendering the successor indistinguishable from its

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The Many Meanings of Objects in Museums 179

more ancient equivalent), then what relevance is the fact that

dates or materials are at variance? The object's cultural es

sence is as old as they say.

Similarly, when restoration of landmarks includes the re

placement of their elements (as is routinely the case in Japanese

shrines), the landmark is said to be dated from its inception even though no material part of it remains from that time. That

does not upset us. So even something so seemingly rational and

historical as dating is up for interpretation.

THE OBJECT IS OFF-LIMITS. IT IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS

Museums, even in their earliest incarnations as cabinets of

curiosities, were available to all interested eyes or at least to

those allowed to have access by the owners of the cabinets. In

fact, part and parcel of conquest and subjugation was the

access to interesting bits of the subjugated. This assumption that everything was fair game held currency for a long time.

Though the notion of secret and sacred was also understood

(for example, no one but the faithful could enter Mecca), this

concept did not attach to museums nor to the holdings thereof.

If a museum owned it, the visitors could see it if the curator/

staff wished them to.

So it came as a surprise to some curators that contemporary native peoples began to make demands on museums to return

not only human remains but material that was sacred and once

secret. Accommodations negotiated between the museums and

the native people sometimes led to agreements to leave the

material in the museum but to limit viewing access. The notion

that one people, the museum curators, would voluntarily limit

their own and others' access to material owned by museums

came initially as a shock to the museum system. But under the

leadership of sympathetic museum and native people and, fur

ther, under the force of NAGPRA, museums began to under

stand that all material was not to be made available to all

interested parties. It was the beginning of the "It is none of your business"

concept of museum objects. It held that the people most inti

mately concerned with and related to the material could deter

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180 Elaine Heumann Gurian

mine the access to that material. In many cultures sacred cer

emonies are open to all, and the objects in use are available for

view in museum settings, but that too may change. For ex

ample, in Jewish tradition, Torahs once desecrated are sup

posed to be disposed of by burial in a prescribed manner. Yet

some of these are available for view, most notably at the United

States Holocaust Memorial Museum. There may come a time

when such artifacts are petitioned to be removed for burial

even though the statement they make is powerful.

WHO SAYS ALL OBJECTS NEED TO BE PRESERVED?

Ownership is not always an issue; sometimes it is the preserva tion of the object itself that needs examination. Museums have

felt their most fundamental responsibility extended to the pres ervation of the object, yet in returning human remains to the

earth, artifacts are being intentionally destroyed. That was

difficult to reconcile for those trained in preservation. Even

more difficult was the belief that not all things made by hand were intended to be preserved; perhaps some should be allowed

to be destroyed. The Zuni war gods preserved by museums

were returned to the Zuni tribe when it was successfully proven that these could only have been stolen from grave sites. But

even more difficult was the Zuni's assertion that these objects were created to accompany the dead, and that preservation of

them was therefore anathema. The war gods were returned to

the Zuni, who watched over the gradual decay of these objects as they returned to the earth. In effect, the Zuni were entitled

to destroy the objects that the museums had so carefully preserved. The notion of preservation has, therefore, also been blurred.

Museum personnel began to wrestle with the notion that all

people do not hold preservation of all objects as a universal

good. The Tibetan Lamas who create exquisite sand paintings

only to destroy them later would certainly understand this.

THE OBJECT SPEAKS

I would be remiss if I did not also acknowledge the power of

some objects to speak directly to the visitor, for example, in the

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The Many Meanings of Objects in Museums 181

sensual pleasure brought about by viewing unique original

objects of spectacular beauty. But the notion that objects, per

se, can communicate directly and meaningfully is under much

scrutiny. The academicians of material culture, anthropology,

history, and other fields are engaged in parsing the ways in

which humans decode objects in order to figure out what infor

mation is intrinsic to the object itself, what requires associated

knowledge gleaned from another source, and what is embedded

in cultural tradition.

In some ways, it is because of this parallel contemporary

inquiry into the "vocabulary" of objects that I can inquire into

the object's changing role in the definition of museums.

WHAT ARE MUSEUMS IF THEY ARE LESS OBJECT-BASED?

Museum staff intuitively understand that museums are impor tant?an understanding that the public shares. However, espe

cially for the public, this understanding does not always revolve

around the objects, though objects are, like props, essential to

most museums' purposes: making an implicit thesis visible and

tangible. The nature of the thesis can range from explanation of

the past to advocacy for a contemporary viewpoint to indica

tion of possible future directions?in each case through a me

dium that presents a story in sensory form.

Museums will remain responsible for the care of the objects

they house and collect, but the notion of responsibility will be, and has already been, broadened to include shared ownership,

appropriate use, and, potentially, removal and return.

The foundational definition of museums will, in the long run, I believe, arise not from objects, but from "place" and

"storytelling in tangible sensory form," where citizenry can

congregate in a spirit of cross-generational inclusivity and in

quiry into the memory of our past, a forum for our present, and

aspirations for our future.

Coming back to definitions, the current definition of muse

ums used by the Accreditation Program of the AAM encom

passes all museums and no longer separates them by categories.

Museums, in this definition, "... present regularly scheduled

programs and exhibits that use and interpret objects for the

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182 Elaine Heumann Gurian

public according to accepted standards; have a formal and

appropriate program of documentation, care, and use of collec

tions and/or tangible objects. . . ."5

For the visitor, it is the experience of simultaneously being in

a social and often celebratory space while focusing on a multi

sensory experience that makes a museum effective. Virtual

experiences in the privacy of one's home may be enlightening

but, I think, are not part of the civilizing experience that muse

ums provide. It is the very materiality of the building, the

importance of the architecture, and the prominence that cities

give to museum location that together make for the august

place that museums hold. Congregant space will, I believe, remain a necessary ingredient of the museum's work.

The objects that today's museums responsibly care for, pro

tect, and cherish will remain central to their presentations. But

the definition of "objectness" will be broad and allow for every possible method of storymaking. These more broadly defined

objects range from hard evidence to mere props and ephemera. I hope I have shown that objects

are certainly not exclusively real nor even necessarily "tangible" (even though the AAM

uses that word). For it is the story told, the message given, and

the ability of social groups to experience it together that pro vide the essential ingredients of making a museum important.

Museums are social-service providers (not always by doing direct social-service work, though many do that), because they are spaces belonging to the citizenry at large, expounding on

ideas that inform and stir the population to contemplate and

occasionally to act.

Museums are not unique in their work. Rather, they share a

common purpose with a host of other institutions. We need

museums and their siblings because we need collective history set in congregant locations in order to remain civilized. Societ

ies build these institutions because they authenticate the social

contract. They are collective evidence that we were here.

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The Many Meanings of Objects in Museums 183

ENDNOTES

luFor the purposes of the accreditation program of the AAM, a museum is de

fined as an organized and permanent non-profit institution, essentially educa

tional or aesthetic in purpose, with professional staff, which owns and utilizes

tangible objects, cares for them, and exhibits them to the public

on some regu lar schedule." American Association of Museums, Museum Accreditation:

Professional Standards (Washington, D.C.: American Association of Muse

ums, 1973), 8.

2". . .owns and utilizes tangible things animate and inanimate." Ibid., 9.

3An art center "utilizes borrowed art objects, cares for them and maintains re

sponsibility to their owners . . . [its] primary function is to plan and carry out

exhibitions." Ibid., 12. A science and technology center "... maintains and

utilizes exhibits and/or objects for the presentation and interpretation of sci

entific and technological knowledge. .. . These serve primarily

as tools for

communicating what is known of the subject matter. ..." Ibid., 12. A

planetarium's "... principal function is to provide educational information

on astronomy and related sciences through lectures and demonstrations."

Ibid., 11.

4Native American Grave Protection and Repatriation Act (25 U.S.C. 3002).

5American Association of Museums, A Higher Standard: The Museum Accredi

tation Handbook (Washington, D.C.: American Association of Museums,

1997), 20.

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