Sonia Boyce
In: Peep: Sonia Boyce. London: Institute of International Arts, 1995.
I'm not sure if it was a casual visit to the Museum of Mankind in London, or whether it was one of those occasions when I was looking for direction and inspiration for my work.
Anyway, I remember that there was an exhibition about South America. As usual the galleries in the Museum of mankind were very dramatic; dark, plush and with spectacularly lit cases.
While browsing through the exhibits I came to a case that had some small objects, in particular some shrunken heads. I'm not sure why this case intrigued me, but I decided to read the information about the objects.
Imagine my surprise when I realised that these shrunken heads came from Guyana, where my father is from. Immediately the space between me, the glass and these objects collapsed.
All sorts of crass 'Hammer Horror' images came to mind. What could these exhibits have to do with me?
This incident happened several years ago, and for a while I found it quite difficult to go into museums.
I realise now that I am seduced by the highly constructed settings of the museum. The sense of quiet 'learned' assurance.
Yet all these objects have been taken from their 'natural' habitat and the context of their 'normal' usage. They have travelled, and so by implication, could we.
In the museum there exists a faint promise of adventure and discovery. One of distance, the 'exotica' of other people, other times, other places.
When I was first invited by Anthony Shelton to work with the exhibits in the Cultures gallery, it was equally important for me to look at the variety of ways the museum interprets these objects through the use of labels, information boards, mounts, cases, light and the spatial mood, as well as look at the objects on display.
I began by drawing some of the objects, but quickly realised that there were over a hundred items in this small space, and with only 10 working days (over a 10 week period) I wasn't going to get around the entire gallery.
A complementary solution was needed.
I had already planned to take some photographs of the displays, particularly where strong shadows were cast by the objects.
It was a student at college who gave me the idea that changed the direction of the project. Fran had been doing some very simple but beautiful wall drawings where she traced the outline of the shadow of a window on a bright sunny day. Immediately I wrote to Anthony.
Anthony Shelton
Keeper of Non-Western Art and Anthropology
Dear Anthony,
I've been thinking about the shadows cast by the objects in the cases. Would it be possible to have access to the inside of the cases so that I can trace these shadows? I'm not quite sure where this is leading, but I suddenly like the idea of capturing the intangible.
Tracing paper seemed like a logical solution. Cutting out the outline of the tracings and placing what was left on the inside of the glass then seemed like the next step.
Organising entry inside the cases seemed to take forever. Wednesday is the only day the museum and library are closed, so that alarms could be turned off, etc. Because the glass fronts are so heavy and awkward they require at least two people to remove them.
One of the things that I noticed while working inside the cases was how ordinary the objects seem. Of course some were extremely beautiful or powerful, but they didn't have the same mythical quality they appeared to have on the other side of the glass.
The other thing that clarified the direction of the project, occurred on my first day.
While sitting in the gallery drawing the Female Minsere figures, a group of adolescent school kids were being taken around by their school teacher.
I wasn't paying much attention at first, they were making hushed noises in groups. Eventually I noticed that there was a large group gathered in the corner giggling. After they'd left I saw that they had been looking at the Maori Ancestor figure, a large wooden sculpture of a male figure with quite intricate carvings on its face, and a rather prominent erection.
Of course, it's so subliminal one takes it for granted. Where else but in a museum or a public gallery could one see such explicit displays of sexual objects. How long had these figures and others like them, been on display in the museum? Since the 1920s, I was later told by Anthony. Generation upon generation of school children encountering such illicit pleasures from educational trips.
But what of the objects themselves, and the cultures that they come from? One isn't given a sense of how these objects are used, or what they are for, or even how one might encounter them.
After several discussions with Anthony about the nature of museums, which seems a vast and complex area hotly debated at this moment in time and after asking him some impossible questions like what are museums for, or why do people collect, I decided it might be useful to ask some questions to the other members of the museum staff, via a questionnaire. Fourteen people replied: