THE MUSEUM AS A WORK OF ART 9
Identifieur interne : 000592 ( Main/Corpus ); précédent : 000591; suivant : 000593THE MUSEUM AS A WORK OF ART 9
Auteurs : Boris ShaposhnikovSource :
- Experiment [ 1084-4945 ] ; 1997.
English descriptors
- Teeft :
- Active part, Alexei grech, Artistic creativity, Artistic organization, Artistic truth, Authentic documents, Commemorative museum, Complete life, Cultural museum, Empirical time, Epoch, Everyday life, External time, Future generations, German zhidkov, Historical novel, Impressionist painting, Lifestyle, Lively debate, Museum, Museum designer, Museum exhibits, Other hand, Particular epoch, Philosophical department, Private collection, Private collections, Same time, Separate elements, Shaposhnikov, Shaposhnikov family, Spatial arts, Spiritual mobility, Such museums, Systematic museum, Systematic museums, Temporal arts, Vital link.
Url:
DOI: 10.1163/2211730X97X00305
Links to Exploration step
ISTEX:48DF2A385BB4CD001B000FEA0FFAEA62DDCBBD88Le document en format XML
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added</change></revisionDesc></teiHeader></istex:fulltextTEI><json:item><extension>txt</extension><original>false</original><mimetype>text/plain</mimetype><uri>https://api.istex.fr/document/48DF2A385BB4CD001B000FEA0FFAEA62DDCBBD88/fulltext/txt</uri></json:item></fulltext><metadata><istex:metadataXml wicri:clean="corpus brill-journals not found" wicri:toSee="no header"><istex:xmlDeclaration>version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"</istex:xmlDeclaration><istex:docType PUBLIC="-//NLM//DTD Journal Publishing DTD v2.3 20070202//EN" URI="http://dtd.nlm.nih.gov/publishing/2.3/journalpublishing.dtd" name="istex:docType"></istex:docType><istex:document><article dtd-version="2.3"><front><journal-meta><journal-id journal-id-type="e-issn">2211730X</journal-id><journal-title>Experiment</journal-title><abbrev-journal-title>EXPT</abbrev-journal-title><issn pub-type="ppub">1084-4945</issn><issn pub-type="epub">2211-730X</issn><publisher><publisher-name>BRILL</publisher-name><publisher-loc>Netherland</publisher-loc></publisher></journal-meta><article-meta><article-id pub-id-type="doi">10.1163/2211730X97X00305</article-id><title-group><article-title><bold>THE</bold><bold>MUSEUM</bold><bold>AS A</bold><bold>WORK</bold><bold>OF ART</bold><sup><bold>9</bold></sup></article-title></title-group><contrib-group><contrib contrib-type="author"><name><surname>SHAPOSHNIKOV</surname><given-names>BORIS</given-names></name></contrib></contrib-group><pub-date pub-type="epub"><year>1997</year></pub-date><volume>3</volume><issue>1</issue><fpage>233</fpage><lpage>247</lpage><permissions><copyright-statement>Copyright 1997 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands</copyright-statement><copyright-year>1997</copyright-year><copyright-holder>Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands</copyright-holder></permissions></article-meta></front><body><p> No matter how varied the goals of individual museums of everyday life may be, no matter what interests were at play in their organization, whether a reverential atttitude towards the residence of a hero or a great man, a desire to preserve the location in which some historical event took place, or [to maintainj a house whose furnishings are permeated with the art that was typical of a given epoch, all these interests are at bottom united by a single aim: to demonstrate the lifestyle of a bygone era. This general goal or basic aim may also be expressed thus: the mu- seum of everyday life strives to show objects of the past in the setting for which they were intended. The era in which this or that work of art emerges and, for works of decorative or applied art, the ways in which they are used at a given pe- riod, leave an indelible mark on them and constitute an integral element that often defines the work's subsequent fate. However, the conditions of the work of art's intrinsic worth, its autonomy and individuality do not supercede this element, i.e., the era in which a work of art is created and the setting in which it is used. Where this factor is ignored the work of art will be torn from its original environment and deprived of its part [letters missing]. The coordination that defines its style will be erased or it will be adulterated by something that was not part of the idea behind its cre- ation, that is alien to it and foisted upon it. Therefore, seeing works in a museum of everyday life means seeing them in the setting that is most natural to them and most suited to their display, and consequently, in conditions that are as a matter of principle the best for them. The lifestyle of an era is characterized on the one hand by the objects of this era, and on the other by their interrelationship. The exhibits in a museum of everyday life act just as actors do. The pieces themselves</p><p> tend to reveal tastes and needs, while their positioning exposes the tem- perament of people and the rhythm of their lifestyle. The museum of everyday life will always be not simply a collection of objects from the past, but also part of the life of people from the past, to the degree that things always resemble their owner and a man his things, and to the ex- tent that our lives are linked to the things around us. If this were not true, then the interest in commemorative and everyday-life museums would be incomprehensible and their creation would be pointless. Essentially, systematic art museums that attempt to destroy this vital link between a work of art and the human being and to show it from a formal point of view are in part destroying the life of the works them- selves. For them new living conditions are created, different from the real- ity for which they were created, they are given the most advantageous pose for purely esthetic contemplation, and in this pose they must remain forever. Logically speaking, in the ideal systematic art museum the arts of bygone eras should be just illustrations to the catalog in which they are detailed and if such museums have not yet been created, then perhaps the only obstacle is the lack of a precise, universally accepted terminol- ogy for describing works of visual art. Of course, this does not demon- strate the need and importance for systematic museums to study art, but, apart from such museums, there should also be others in which works of art would live their own natural life, in an environment that was suited to them and not artificially created by life. Art and everyday-life museums are called on to be this kind of aca- demic museum - and that is why all attempts to "enliven" systematic mu- seums are both hopeless and pointless, since their climate will always be ariificial and their mission merely to follow the most convenient cemetery plan for the dead. The complete perception of works of art in a system- atic museum is possible only by mentally isolating the work from the mu- seum. The "museum object" as a work of art is especially created for a systematic museum - a task that is impossible for an artist. The private collection, the collector's museum, can be considered a kind of museum that occupies the border between the systematic and ' the everyday-life museum. In a collection created by one individual and reflecting his personal tastes, we find united the most diverse objects from various epochs, and this diversity is often reconciled within the set- ting of the collector's home. Individual objects in such a collection, while they may find themselves in an alien setting, may be perceived with greater tranquility, since there is less of a barrier against mentally trans- porting them to their proper milieu. Their location in a collection which has always been monotonously explained by the taste of the collector is justified by the factual impossibility of simultaneously seeing each one of</p><p> them in the conditions appropriate to each. If we leave aside the private collection's degree of accessibility, then the reproach that works of art are buried in private collections is quite unjustified, since, unquestionably, in such collections they continue to live an independent life, without forcible acclimatization, except that they are in the company of other foreigners. Moreover, each of them preserves its national traits and their encounter here is determined by the collector's equal attitude towards all of them. As an example of such private collections I might mention Sir John Sloane's Museum in London, where an Egyptian sarcophagus, an an- tique gem, paintings by Hogarth and Watteau, furniture by Sheraton and Chippendale, an enormous library, and a mass of other objects are united in a small residential apartment, to which this diversity of art objects has lent not the air of an antique shop, but a physiognomy of its own, even its own style. Properly speaking, for works of contemporary art the private collec- tion is an ideal depository with which industrial art museums cannot compete, since their goal is entirely different In the commemorative museum the center of attention is the individual and the events to whose memory it is dedicated. Such museums can be of two types. First, museums that preserve a specific space in the condi- tion it was in during the era of the individual or historical events being memorialized. Second, museums that collect everything relating to a spe- cific individual, group of individuals or events. Both types preserve their exhibits "for posterity" and all the objects they contain are principally in- teresting in relation to one particular element. The completeness or in- completeness of the impression produced by such museums is defined quantitatively, not qualitatively. Of course, by some stroke of fortune, there may be a museum of great artistic and cultural significance among them, one that provides a vivid picture of artistic life, independent of the reason for the museum's creation, but this is not the main goal. We can hardly draw a sharp line between the commemorative and the art-and- everyday-life museum, but their relative difference is based on the fact that commemorative museums do not exclude the alien, modern-day world, whereas the art-and-everyday-life museum demands a mental trans- ference into its era so that we forget anything eise that came after. We can also distinguish two types of art-and-everyday-life museum - the historical and the purely artistic: the former being more like the com- memorative museum which preserves the past and demonstrates objects of the past just as they have come down to us; the latter recreating an epoch by transcending the time that has passed in its wake. In attempting to present objects in their appropriate setting and in a situation that is ideal for them, a museum of the second, purely artistic type cannot but</p><p> strive to display them in the state and condition of their epoch, i.e., to display not old-world pieces, but pieces contemporary to the epoch of the museum. The fundamental difference between an old-fashioned object and an object from the past is that the former belongs to our contemporary world and we can admire it in the state it appears to us today - old fashioned, fragile, faded, covered with the patina of time. We can even savor its grace des choses fanees, its withered beauty, forgetting that at one time it could have been beautiful and untouched by time and that at one time it was an active, everyday object of its epoch. In our attitude to objects of the past lies the fundamental question of art-and-everyday-life museums. The object of the past, in the setting of the past, should be displayed just as it was in the past and should be freed from the appearance it has acquired, tested by time. Only then will the everyday-life museum repro- duce the lifestyle of a bygone epoch faithfully and, consequently, the art- and-everyday-life museum must make immediate recourse to restoration. But more on this below. The organizer of an everyday-life museum, as it were, isolates a certain period in the past, frees it from the stream of time, releases it from the past and the future, i.e., creates a unique present with the characteristic of permanency and immutability. But such a goal is the goal of artistic creativity. Only in art is the pre- sent secured outside of time, a "now" that continues without changing. The art product is, so to speak, an imprint of an outright "coming-to-be" of reality, which we recognize through the unity of our consciousness and this is why the staticized coming-to-be in the art product appears as out- side time, abiding. The unity of the given configuration of the present in an art product possesses stability, it is not deformed, it does not recede into the past or feed on the future, it is not subject to change, as something divorced from empirical, spatial time. A temporal event in art exists, but it does not happen. The marking on a picture of the year it was painted and the event depicted by the artist that took place in that year have different relationships to empirical time. The former "was" and the latter "is." In another category of reality [the work of art] may be excluded from empirical time, while being con- nected to absolute time. [Time is] contained in the work of art, the space of time is immanent to it, and yet at the same time, the work of art is insulated against the in- trusion of time. The conflict between time that is immanent to the closed work of art and time external to it is especially noticeable in works in</p><p> which the present has not been completely stabilized and where the work is insufficiently protected from the intrusion of external time. There- fore, these works are also devoid of esthetic value and even produce an anti-esthetic impression. The "aliveness" of snapshot photography, which reproduces a fragment of movement, does not contain and retain the present as a certain space of time - not because of the brevity of the movement recorded, but because the recorded moment will belong to the present of external time, a present which has been slightly ruptured by mechanical means. Naturally, this is why we sense a desire to see the completion of the movement. In a portrait a smile that is conveyed very naturalistically and in a mechanical snapshot fashion will "become boring," a tedium that is nothing other than waiting for the folds of the face to smooth out. This demonstrates that we do not have a work of art here, that it lacks time- lessness and a stable present, and that it is not isolated from time as change. No doubt, the desire to avoid this provides the grounds for maintaining the center of gravity in a sculptural group on a pedestal and to prevent it from falling over, i.e., from stimulating the expectation of something that is not contained within it. The same can be said of a lean- ing building or of a verse in which the last word is incomplete, even though its sense may be quite evident, the written part of the word being supported by the rhythm. The expectation of change in the condition of an art object is an indicator that the present is not hemmed in and that it is involved with empirical time. In quite another context T. Richert writes: "Nowhere is the irreconcil- able contradiction between life and the work of art so starkly manifest as in the fact that the impossibility of drawing an exact line between a work of art and actual reality is intolerable for the esthetically sensitive per- son."10 What ought to function esthetically must be torn from the vital link of reality or at least isolated so that it loses its original and vital life, al- though in maintaining this position, we are not championing the cause of esthetic "formalism." Even when an artist brings his living soul to his works of art and they shine with all the warmth of his sentiment, even then the "aliveness" has nothing in common with the aliveness of the actual life that we are living. Artistic creativity always means organization. This also applies to the works of art that are, as it were, the direct continuation of the spiritual mobility of the artist himself, something characteristic of the art of the Ex-</p><p> pressionists. Nevertheless, they will be the result of organizing this spiritual mobility, its objectification, which, inevitably, is the staticization of duree, i.e., the organization of the space of time, rea! and immanent in the work. Isolated by the artist, the space of time has its own duration, the per- manency of a separate "now," a certain completed image of the present, which cannot be mechanically isolated. Only with the help of this secret of art can an art-and-everyday-life mu- seum that fulfills its task be created. But what is this "period," this space of time, the staticization of which comprises the goal of the art-and-everyday-life museum? After all, the is- sue here is not a specific event, a single moment or date that requires re- production. Rather, it is a series of moments taken not as separate units but in some kind of synthesis that is their culmination or, as it were, the quintessence of the contents by which the given epoch is defined and represented - by a palace, a house, a church, and so on. A splendid ex- planation of this culmination is Schelling's "instant of complete life." "Every plant in nature," he writes, "enjoys just one instant of true and complete beauty and, therefore, lives a complete life for just one instant. In this instant it lives the life that constitutes its nature unto the ages, but outside this moment it is subject merely to the process of becoming and disappearing. The art that depicts this moment of a creature's life liber- ates it from time and represents it in pure being, in the eternity of its life." This moment, in which all the contents of a given epoch are present in concentrated form, is the period - the present - that is to be exposed in the art-and-everyday-life museum. Outside of this goal, the organizer of an everyday-life museum could merely collect all the artistic and cultural material of a chosen epoch and arrange it as was customary in that period. On the one hand, there is a great deal that is impossible to reconstruct, for the reason and logic of specific interrelationships of objects escape our contemporary under- standing. On the other hand, the moment of history that has been elabo- rated for the museum and our own time are the limits of a differing quan- tity of the past, and if it is easy to remove from a given location works that are later than the chosen moment, then it is not at all easy to forget the existence of these withdrawals and to exclude our contemporary consciousness, when the everyday-life museum wants to force us to reenter the same stream and a previous place. In addition, complications arise from a phenomenon of the past that are determined by develop- ment and growth; for example, the small cedar planted by Empress Josephine at Malmaison in memory of Napoleon's victory, which in our day has grown into a large tree and lost that sense of expectation it possessed when it was planted.</p><p> All these problems have yet to be resolved, but, to a considerable de- gree, they can be overcome in the museum as a work of art. Armed with documentary, historical material and artistic intuition (once the style of an epoch has been established), the creator of an everyday- life museum can display his achievement and consolidate it in the mu- seum - and, like any creative artist, display an understanding of the world in his creativity. Then the everyday-life museum becomes not only a col- lection of objects from a specific epoch, but also an organized, self-con- tained whole, reflecting the moment of flowering that Schelling described. The artist equips the visitor to view such a museum with the spectacles of the past, and the quality of the museum will be defined by their quality, assuming that from the documentary and historical viewpoint the museum is impeccable. Perceived as a whole, as a work of art, and being documentary and authentic in its constituent parts, the everyday-life mu- seum should produce a cohesive impression based on the art objects and, if this cohesion impedes any potential diversity of impressions, then by the same token it protects the viewer from a number of possible in- correct impressions. The artist regulates the optical picture, he establishes scales, leading the viewer to a sufficient distance for all the parts to act proportionately on the perceiver and for the separate elements, on the strength of their vari- ous innate properties, to act within the concert of the whole. Since, if these separate elements are not regulated, they will assume the arbitrari- ness of an autonomous influence, unconnected with the general picture, they can elicit chance impressions and rupture the logical connection of the whole. Left to themselves, the separate elements would distort their true significance and their historical role for the viewer, something that can be illustrated by the following example: let us imagine one of Claude Monet's landscapes in the setting of a Paris apartment of the 1870s and, furthermore, that this was the only Impressionist painting in the apartment, which is furnished with luxury items typical of the era, in the style of the Palais Royal store. Naturally, for a Parisian of the 1870s this painting would have seemed quite absurd in its surroundings and would have evoked amazement; it would have "stuck out." Of course, it could have been hung as a curiosity, as a gift that could not have been refused or something of the sort, and, in relation to the owner it would have been completely alien, a chance object in his apartment. Entering the room, therefore, one could not help focusing attention on it. Let us recall that the presence of a painting by Monet in an 1870s apartment is not an anachronism. Now let us imagine that a Parisian who is our contempo- rary enters this same apartment, where everything is as it was before, a Parisian who has experienced Cubism, Futurism, Dadaism, and countless</p><p> other trends in recent painting. Undoubtedly, he will notice the disparity between Monet's painting and the rest of the interior, but the painting it- self will not have the impact that it produced on the Parisian of the 1870s. Suffice it to cite the opinions of people who, later on, accepted Impressionist painting - at first they regarded this as an outright mockery of the public by artists. If the goal is to reconstruct an accurate and balanced impression of such an apartment with a painting by Monet, we will need to ensure that it acts with the same force of contrast and confusion with which it acted upon contemporaries in the 1870s. But this can[not] be achieved simply by preserving the whole environment just as it was in the 1870s, because the proportionality would not be preserved and what had stuck out so persistently and loudly will now seem to be a mere disruption of the overall style. Let us take other examples. Kant's Critique of Pure Reason on the book shelves of Goethe and Schiller had different meanings for its re- spective owners, although the editions of this work in and of themselves could have been identical. Or the now-cancelled 1921 100,000 ruble denomination, which during its initial circulation enjoyed the reputation of being a large sum of money to be carried in a special compartment of ones wallet, but which, ultimately, served as small change that got lost in the pockets of ones coat. In order to convey this or that meaning, these objects (in one instance a book, in another a bank note) have to be made to function and, as with the Monet painting, have to be character- ized in a corresponding direction. If left to their own devices, they are powerless to insist upon a specific treatment or resist fortuitous, uncon- trolled associations. Can the task of correctly reproducing reality be achieved? In art this question is resolved by the thesis that art does not even aspire to this and, what is more, the esthetically valuable object is the one that main- tains a certain distance from reality. Art engenders relationships and con- tacts completely different from those that occur in empirical reality. Artis- tic truth expresses the truth of empirical practice on another plane and at a broad spatial or temporal remove. If in this latter thesis we substitute "historical truth" for "artistic truth," then we obtain a formula from which it follows that the historian and the artist face the same difficulties. More- over, they overcome them not by establishing specific relationships and contacts corresponding to the relationships and contacts of "what really was," but by observing them from a great distance. The artist and the historian create their works not from objects and phenomena, but from their observed totality. This is why their works will always be a reflection by the observed and unitary personality of totality,</p><p> although the actual means of expression will remain as authentic docu- ments and objects. An investigation into the degree of objectivity in personal judgement and into its typicality would divert us too far from our theme. What we have to demonstrate is that the typicality of this judgement will corre- spond to a specific historical form, something to which we will return when we discuss the fate of the art-and-everyday-life museum as a mon- ument. The lifestyle of a given epoch, its formation, i.e., the degree to which it is conditioned by the contents of its time, is always engendered by life embodied in its expression and form. But this new formation differs from the reality that produced it, the stream of which, constantly altering, en- croaches on the predetermined artistic design as something foreign to it. The inner logic, coordinated style, and regularity of artistically shaped real- ity correspond to the logic and laws of reality itself, although only at a certain potential moment of its past, which can never again be experi- enced by itself and exists only through art. However much we might try to capture the style of a given epoch by means that lie outside art (and this constitutes the meaning and justifica- tion of the art-and-everyday-life museum), the results will always be unsat- isfactory. Not only would it be impossible to preserve the true relation- ships everywhere, but, more importantly, it would be impossible to ap- prehend the actual content of these relationships. It is significant that the purpose of revealing style is not attained by the mechanical reproduction of a complex monument from a given period, for example, by pho- tographing it. External relationships would be partially observed, but the content of these relationships would remain crystallized. Even the castle of Sleeping Beauty, where all relationships that took place at a given moment in the past have been preserved and where life itself has stopped as if in mid-stream, this castle, which at first glance seems to be the ideal of the cultural museum, would not satisfy the demands we are making of the art-and-everyday-life museum (demands that are quite justi- fiable). Above all, this would be a chance moment from real life, no dif- ferent from the moment mechanically isolated from the stream of life and consolidated by a snapshot. In other words, the picture it presents would lack duration, being merely one moment between the preceding and the following, i.e., would not possess the immanence characteristic of the work of art. In addition, the actual relationships that have been preserved of the mechanically recorded life of this castle would be deprived of the authentic character of the epoch. Otherwise, we would have to ac- knowledge that the moment of the eruption of Vesuvius was characteris- tic of Pompei and Herculaneum in the first century A.D., when these</p><p> cities were covered with lava. For if by some impossible effort archaeol- ogists succeeded in completely removing the layers of earth and lava that now cover Pompei and even in reconstructing the houses and objects, the relations that we would observe would correspond to the relation- ships of a unique dies irae and not to those that characterized the life- style of Pompei in 79 A.D. Examples of the fantastic image of Sleeping Beauty's castle and of the potentially real picture of Pompei show that, where life has been halted mechanically and where time has been crystallized, style is not manifest, because its revelation is accessible only to artistic creativity. One more conciusion follows: we cannot for the good of future gen- erations build museums of our own modern culture and we cannot estab- lish the relationships that will characterize the lifestyle of our epoch. Of course, nothing prevents us from repeating the story of Sleeping Beauty's castle, i.e., from suddenly locking up this or that room, interesting from our perspective, and preserving it until future generations wish to examine this monument to our culture. But such an authentic document of our real- ity will in many ways deceive our decendants, since everything that has been said about Sleeping Beauty's castle will be valid here, too. In order to capture style, a creative elaboration, a distancing from current reality, is needed. Perhaps an artist or more likely a foreigner, but, in any case, not a participant in this life, could translate our reality into the language of art and from this work, as from a model, it would be possible to construct a museum of our life, one that would reflect the style of modern life. For style belongs to a content that can be gleaned from reality as from art; it is immanent to them both. If it is impossible to assimilate this con- tent from our immediate reality (as in our relation to the past), it is just as natural to cull it from a creative, independent, and cohesive elaboration - from a reality that has been shaped in art. Methodologically, the latter has advantages over the former and for the reasons indicated above. Cre- atively shaped, enclosed in its own regularity, the work of art is already cut off from reality and, therefore, can no longer assimilate it. The work of art is eliminated from the constantly changing reality that surrounds it, a reality already different from the one that engendered it. This is why a museum of contemporary everyday-life can be con- structed only according to a model, i.e., to a reality that has already been translated into another category and that has assumed an artistic elabora- tion (but one that is contemporary to us.) A comparison of the art-and-everyday-life museum with the theater comes to mind, for, to a certain extent, the theater is also a translation of reality into the language of art. Theater produces a selection from reality, presenting only what "represents" reality for a given spectacle. We have</p><p> indicated above that, in a cultural museum, the exhibits "act" the way ac- tors play out in the theater. From this perspective, museum exhibits not only "represent" reality, but also are reality themselves. True, actors and props are also reality, but without, however, being the reality they "represent." And if the reality represented by museum exhibits is not exactly the one they relate to at the present time, it is, nevertheless, a previous reality that only by chance can be connected with the actor and never to the sets and props. It would be more accurate to say that the theater, to the extent that it is art, uses those same forms of expression as do all the arts, including the art of the museum - which is the closest in the same sense that architecture and music are related. Another possible comparison is that between the art-and-everyday-life museum and the historical novel, especially the historical novel whose center of gravity lies not in a freely chosen fabula (that develops against the background of an historical epoch as in Flaubert's Salambo), but in an attempt at a precise historical reconstruction on the basis of monu- ments, archival documents, and the literature of a given period. If we want to stretch it, then an example is Lev Tolstoi's great epic [I�Var and Peacej or, among recent works, [Dmitrii] Merezhkovsky's trilogy [Julian the Apostate, Leonardo da Vinci, and Peter and Alexis] and [Valerii] Briusov's stories set in the fourth and sixth centuries. But it must not be forgotten that in all these literary works historical facts only regulate, only serve as a theme, and are accommodated to the author's task, whereas in the everyday-life museum the theme serves the documents, it regulates them, and all interest is focused on authentic documents (materials), placed as they were or might have been. In the everyday-life museum, the object being displayed in the envi- ronment most appropriate to it enables the viewer to perceive it from a perspective which, if it is not entirely corresponding to that of the muse- um's contemporaries, should come as close as possible. Thus, the most important issue with exhibitions in the everyday-life museum is whether the designer or curator has succeeded in neutralizing any contemporary response which may be alien to the epoch of the museum in question. I demonstrated above that the art-and-everyday-life museum should make recourse to restoration. But nothing scares museum people so much as restoration, particularly the kind that envisages the total renova- tion of a work of art. People are more willing to accept an anachronism [illegible] conditions of works from the same epoch, so long as the object is not deprived of its patina (forgetting that, in an everyday-life museum, patina is as foreign to the museum as it would be to an object of a later period). As a palliative, a sham piece is produced, correspond- ing in appearance to the condition to which restoration ought to have</p><p> brought the original. Of course, this is quite unacceptable for the art-and- everyday-life museum (inasmuch as it wants to be a museum) and can be tolerated only in exceptional cases. The museum designer must be an archaeologist and even an archaeologist-restorer. Whether everything can be restored and to what extent the complete- ness of an impression can be realized in an everyday-life museum - this is, of course, a question that can be answered only by each individual art- and-everyday-life museum and depending on its collections. Like any work of art, the everyday-life museum must one day reach its finite state, and with the passing of time the condition of its objects must be maintained as it was when the construction of the museum was com- pleted. Otherwise the museum loses its physiognomy as private collec- tions often lose theirs after the collector's death, since the private collec- tion is essentially also the work of art of its collector. The question arises: in what measure does a particular art-and-every- day-life museum (as the work of an artist of a particular epoch, whose in- tuition of the past established the relationships between actual objects and was nurtured by documents) represent its appointed lifestyle for people of another epoch? After all, the past itself, the boundary of which is the epoch of the museum, now encounters another boundary of the past - the moment of the museum's creation, a difference that has to be resolved. But from the moment it is resolved, the past ever swells and the spectacles on the past, once fashioned by the museum designer for a particular epoch, prove to be inadequate to another. So here we have an opposition between the art-and-everyday-life museum as a work of art and as a monument. As a work of art, the museum remains outside of time, possessing that immanent present tense which characterizes it as a work of art and, just as in a work of art, the style of the epoch that it rep- resents will come to life. On the other hand, over time the expression of this style in the museum will become a historical form. Invariably, another era will demand other forms of expression. But such is the fate of all works of art - timeless and, therefore, eternal in their ontological essence, they participate in historical time by their empirical being. Alexander Cabrichevsky: In general the speaker's theses are accept- able. However, a museum can hardly be a work of art, i.e., the latter in- cludes both the past and the future. A museum contains not only the past. Alexei Grech: A museum should be snatched from time. lt should be the "castle of Sleeping Beauty." German Zhidkov: A work of art is determined not only by form, con- struction, and composition.</p><p> CAN THERE BE TIME IN THE SPATIAL ARTS? IF SO, WHAT KIND OF TIME? (THESES),1</p><p> 1) Time is a characteristic and property of conscious life. It possesses the reality of everyday life and an unconditional actuality, independent of our subjective and sensual imagination. 2) Time can be understood as a sequence of more or less defined and precise moments - what normally we call movement and what, essen- tially, is not even time, but a spatial serial or a unity of past, present, and future. In the former case, we have a time which can be measured - a clock symbolizes this. But time as unity cannot be measured and exists only in our consciousness. 3) Time-movement can be sensed as a sequence of phenomena in a causal interdependence. Time-consciousness can be sensed as the pre- sent, as now, and is outside the sequenüal line of moments as if perpen- dicular to it.</p><p> 4) Two forms of time can be observed in the spatial arts (painting and sculpture) and, in fact, time as the present tense is an essential condition of every work [of art], whereas time-movement is incidental. 5) A work of art does not register a mechanically isolated moment of external time (e.g., a photograph or a geometric point). Rather, it records a kind of organized multiplicity of the present. 6) The unity of a given configuration of the present tense in a work of art possesses stability. It is not subject to deformation, does not recede into the past, and is not nurtured by the future. It is not subject to change. 7) Like an organism or an independent consciousness, a work of art possesses its own time (present tense). Temporal events in art exist, but do not come to pass. 8) The time of art (and art is without present or future) is a state of ex- tra-temporality continuing into eternity. 9) If we understand time as a present tense, then there is no real dif- ference between time in the spatial arts and time in the temporal arts (poetry, music). In both instances time would be a sequential multiplicity of a melodic nature. In any case, in the spatial arts time is objectivized in space (simultaneity), while in the temporal arts it lies in external time. CLASSICAL TENDENCIES IN CONTEMPORARY PAINTING (THESE)12 1 ) Certain artists who have still not joined up with a particular group feel that the reason for the contemporary crisis in painting is the extreme subjectivism of the art of modern times, its divorce from tradition, and its enthusiasm for individual formal researches. 2) Severini summarizes the "plastic tendencies" of contemporary art in his book From Cubism to Classicism. 13</p><p> 3) What we identify at the moment as "Classicism" in painting is not a synthesis, even if we have the thesis - Impressionism (the naturalistic ex- treme of Realism in the media used in the artistic organization, plastic phenomenalism, emphasis on the isolated visual impression of nature, di- visionism of color, painterly anti-traditionalism) and its anti-thesis - Cu- bism (the abstract extreme of Realism in the media of artistic organiza- tion, impressionistic Constructivism, emphasis on the "comprehension" of nature, divisionism of form, representation as anti-traditional). Rather, Classicism here is a "figurative" variety of Cubism that is attempting to coordinate the formal attainments of Cubism in the field of pictorial composition and construction with the traditions of the Classical period of Italian painting. 4) By Classical art we understand a harmonious art based on propor- tionality and coordination, one in which all the media of expression are subservient to the immanent development of the idea of the whole. All the signs are in correct correlation with what they signify. 5) What we know of the Neo-Classical artists indicates that they are slaves to something that is very common today - the "making" of art, i.e., the extension of an isolated experiential content into this or that ready- made artistic form. 6) Just like Cubism, Neo-Classicism insists that, above all, a painting is a planar surface of specific dimensions covered in paint. Organizing this surface is the basic task of the artist. 7) Neo-Ciassicism defends the premise that a picture should not be painted "in nature." 8) Neo-Classicism aspires to restore to painting its essential and origi- nal figurativeness, its "truth to nature." At the same time, Neo-Classicism affirms that, for the painter, nature is not a ready-made component, and that the painter should know how to rework it by eye and intellect as applied to the media of painting; he should also obey the laws of paint- ing that have been tested by the traditions of yore. 9) The laws of art have become transparent - the fruit of the spiritual labors of the avant-garde, and this would seem to have been done so that art, in ceasing to be art, would be preserved and restored within its own laws. The Futurists were seeking these "laws of art."</p></body><back><ref-list><title>Footnotes</title><ref><note><p> 9. Shaposhnikov gave his paper entitled "Muzei kak khudozhestvennoe proizvedenie' to a joint meeting of the Philosophical Department and the Section of Spatial Arts at RAKhN on November 5, 1923. His ideas stimulated a lively debate in which Alexander Gabri- chevsky, Alexei Grech, German Zhidkov, and others took an active part and some of their responses are included here after the main text. This translation is made from the typescript entitled "Muzei kak proizvedenie iskusstva," in the collection of the Shaposhnikov family, Moscow. Other copies are in RGALI, f. 264 (Pavel Sakulin), op. 68, ed. khr. 8; and f. 941 (GAKhN), op. 14, ed. khr. 5.</p></note></ref><ref><note><p> 10. T. Rikhert IRichertl, Tsennosti zhizni i kulturnye tsennosti,' Logos (M), No. 1-2 (1912- 13), pp. 1-35. Richert repeats the same ideas in his book <italic>Filosodia</italic> <italic>zhizni</italic> (P: Academia, 1922).</p></note></ref><ref><note><p> 11. Shaposhnikov gave his paper entitled "Kak i kakoe vremia vozmozhno v pros- transtvennykh iskusstvakh" on May 9, 1922 to the Visual Arts Section at RAKhN which contained a special Commission for the Study of Time. Gabrichevsky also spoke on time, i.e.,"On Temporal and Spatial Form; on September 15, 1921 (at which Vasilii Kandinsky was present; see <italic>Dekorativnoe</italic> <italic>iskusstvo</italic> [M], No. 2-4 [1996J, p. 40), "Time in the Spatial Arts" (April 25,1922), and 'The Problem of Time in the Art of Rembrandt" (October 16, 1922); Alexander Shenshin discussed "T'ime in the Space of Art" in May 1922; Natalia Kovelanskaia spoke to the Physico-Psychologicai Department "On the Meaning of Time and Space in Visual Art" (November 22, 1922), Matvei Kagan spoke 'On Space and Time in Leftist Painting" (December 22, 1922), while Shaposhnikov continued his enquiry with a re- port on "Absolute and Relative Time' on November 28, 1923 for the Philosophical De- partment in the same session that Kazimir Malevich spoke "On Artistic Fundamentals: On Color, Light, and Pointillism in Space and Time." According to Akim Kondratiev's history of RAKhN (see his contribution in this volume), Shaposhnikov also spoke on 'The Possible Ex - pressions of Time in Art" and Boris Vipper on "Time in Art' to the Spatial Arts Section during 1922 or early 1923. Presumably, as Kondratiev indicates, all these presentations were con- nected with 'the publication of a collection of articles under the title The Question of Time in Art' which would include five articles - the result of a collective research by The Theory of Spatial Arts' group." 11�e intense interest in time and the arts at RAKhN expanded the dis- cussion that Kandinsky had initiated in the Monumental Art Section at INKhUK in 1920. See S. Khan-Magomedov, "V. Kandinsky o vospriiatii i vozdeistvii sredstv khudozh estvennoi vyrazitelnosti (iz materialov arkhiva Sektsii monumentalnogo iskusstva INKhUKa)," <italic>Trudy</italic> <italic>VNIITE</italic> (M), No. 17 (1978), pp. 92-95. This translation is made from the typescript in the collection of the Shaposhnikov family, Moscow. Another copy is in RGALI, f. 941 (GAKhN), op. 14, ed. khr.</p></note></ref><ref><note><p> 12. Shaposhnikov gave his paper entitled "Klassicheskie tendentsii v sovremennoi zhivopisi" on December 18, 1926 at a joint session of the Spatial Arts and Philosophy Sec- tions at RAKhN for the Subsection for the Study of Contemporary Art. His ideas stimulated a lively debate in which Mikhail Fabrikant, Alexei Sidorov, Boris Ternovets, Nikolai Zhinkin, and others took an active part. This translation is made from the typescript in the collection of the Shaposhnikov family, Moscow. Another copy is in RGALI, f. 941, op. 3, ed. khr. 35, <bold>I. 24</bold> 13. The reference is to Gino Severini's book <italic>Du</italic> <italic>Cubisme</italic> <italic>au</italic> <italic>Classicisme</italic> (Paris: Po- volotzsky, 1921). ).</p></note></ref></ref-list></back></article></istex:document></istex:metadataXml><mods version="3.6"><titleInfo><title>THE MUSEUM AS A WORK OF ART 9</title></titleInfo><titleInfo type="alternative" contentType="CDATA"><title>THE MUSEUM AS A WORK OF ART 9</title></titleInfo><name type="personal"><namePart type="given">BORIS</namePart><namePart type="family">SHAPOSHNIKOV</namePart></name><typeOfResource>text</typeOfResource><genre type="other" displayLabel="N/A" authority="ISTEX" authorityURI="https://content-type.data.istex.fr" valueURI="https://content-type.data.istex.fr/ark:/67375/XTP-7474895G-0"></genre><originInfo><publisher>BRILL</publisher><place><placeTerm type="text">Netherland</placeTerm></place><dateIssued encoding="w3cdtf">1997</dateIssued><dateCreated encoding="w3cdtf">1997</dateCreated><copyrightDate encoding="w3cdtf">1997</copyrightDate></originInfo><language><languageTerm type="code" authority="iso639-2b">eng</languageTerm><languageTerm type="code" authority="rfc3066">en</languageTerm></language><relatedItem type="host"><titleInfo><title>Experiment</title></titleInfo><titleInfo type="abbreviated"><title>EXPT</title></titleInfo><genre type="journal" authority="ISTEX" authorityURI="https://publication-type.data.istex.fr" valueURI="https://publication-type.data.istex.fr/ark:/67375/JMC-0GLKJH51-B">journal</genre><identifier type="ISSN">1084-4945</identifier><identifier type="eISSN">2211-730X</identifier><part><date>1997</date><detail type="volume"><caption>vol.</caption><number>3</number></detail><detail type="issue"><caption>no.</caption><number>1</number></detail><extent unit="pages"><start>233</start><end>247</end></extent></part></relatedItem><identifier type="istex">48DF2A385BB4CD001B000FEA0FFAEA62DDCBBD88</identifier><identifier type="ark">ark:/67375/JKT-C6S5DHBK-X</identifier><identifier type="DOI">10.1163/2211730X97X00305</identifier><accessCondition type="use and reproduction" contentType="copyright">Copyright 1997 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands</accessCondition><recordInfo><recordContentSource authority="ISTEX" authorityURI="https://loaded-corpus.data.istex.fr" valueURI="https://loaded-corpus.data.istex.fr/ark:/67375/XBH-56W3KPD5-3">brill-journals</recordContentSource><recordOrigin>Copyright 1997 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands</recordOrigin></recordInfo></mods><json:item><extension>json</extension><original>false</original><mimetype>application/json</mimetype><uri>https://api.istex.fr/document/48DF2A385BB4CD001B000FEA0FFAEA62DDCBBD88/metadata/json</uri></json:item></metadata><serie></serie></istex></record>Pour manipuler ce document sous Unix (Dilib)
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