FINE ARTS SPECIAL
The business of blockbusters
Giles Waterfield on the drawbacks (and bonuses) of large temporary exhibitions
The present furore over Sensation at the Royal Academy is a fine example of exhibition fever. Practically everything on display has already been shown at the Saatchi Gallery or elsewhere, but circum- stances have created a perfect story for the press: the Hindley controversy, the attacks, the resignation of Academicians, the magi- cal names of Damien Hirst and Rachel Whiteread, the idea of the Royal Academy, Often seen as a rest home for the elderly genteel (though it has housed some of the most radical displays of the past 20 years), throwing its knickers in the air and going modern — all stimulate the sense of occa- sion which is central to the temporary exhi- bition. The suggestion that people enjoy art more if they pay to see it is less valid than the idea that they enjoy it more if they won't be able to see it tomorrow.
Temporary art exhibitions go back a long way. In their early days in the 18th century they showed the work of living artists, Offering the best way of displaying their Wares at a time when dealers preferred to sell works by the dead. It was the improve- ment of communications in the mid-19th Century which produced the huge interna- tional exhibitions that riveted our ances- tors. The Great Exhibition of 1951 and its many successors, such as the Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition of 1857, attracted millions from every social background in a way that was unprecedented. They arrived by special trains and charabancs to enjoy the staggeringly large but also staggeringly exciting displays from all over the world, Which had been arranged to delight and instruct them. These were the blockbusters of the 19th century, and, at a time when popular visual culture was undeveloped, they attracted a new, financially enfran- chised, urban population. The museums and galleries set up in later 19th-century Britain were closely linked with these exhi- Ttarankhamun Gold Mask bitions — many art galleries started as exhibition spaces rather than permanent collections.
About a century after the Great Exhibi- tion, the concept was reinvented. Tutankhamun, which toured the world in the late 1970s and came to the British Museum in 1972, was one of the first great post-war blockbusters: the dark evocative setting, the thrill of seeing something unknown for centuries (until several mil- lion people had seen it in the past few days), the lure of Egypt, created the perfect formula. Thomas Hoving, director of the Metropolitan Museum in New York from 1966 to 1977, realised that the blockbuster formula was one of the best ways to per- suade the public to return and return to his museum, which badly needed the revenue, since few could be persuaded to do any- thing so dull as looking at the permanent collections. He launched the series of mon- umental exhibitions which for years muse- ums have competed over, with the Barnes Foundation show as a notable recent example.
In many cases these exhibitions have brought together works of art by a single artist, like the recent Poussin and Vermeer exhibitions, giving an opportunity to see works of art by the same artist side by side in a way which will probably never be possi- ble again. All too often, though, the block- buster recipe is less exciting. Take a collection, if possible with royal or papal or seriously rich associations, and best of all Never Seen Before. Select a group of glam- orous images, including some or all of Michelangelo, Rembrandt, Monet, Van Gogh and Picasso. Add some not so inter- Vermeer's The Lacemaker', c.1669-70, in the Musee du Louvre, Paris.
The Vermeer exhibition in Washington and The Hague last year gave an opportunity to see works by the same artist side by side in a way which will probably never be possible again esting works (drawings come in handy) to give ballast and allow you to boast that the exhibition contains 100 masterpieces. Knock up a catalogue with one good essay by World Famous Scholar and lots of cata- logue entries which add weight but which no one will read. Make sure that the image on the poster and the catalogue cover is a wow — this is probably the most important decision. Devise a title, which must include at least one of the following words: Trea- sures, Masterpieces, Impressionist (Post- Impressionist will do), Michelangelo, Rembrandt etc., Royal/Imperial (definitely not 'Republic'), Faberge. Issue publicity which suggests mystery, scandal and exclu- sivity. If possible send everything to Japan, where they pay seriously for exhibitions. Result: a blockbuster.
So what's wrong with that? To start with, exhibitions are only a part of what muse- ums are about. Museums unite two distinct functions, one of which is to organise appealing events and the other is to look after and display permanent collections (which may be far from appealing). The problem with the blockbuster is that its demands on time and cash drive the per- manent collection into the corner — as many have experienced on arriving at some distant museum to find that what one had come to see was not on view because of an exhibition. (I encountered a good example at the Detroit Institute of Art, where the picture collection had been pushed off view by the world's biggest ever show of the Muppets.) In many museums the perma- nent galleries look sad and abandoned, while every effort is put into temporary exhibitions — where the objects can be made to look incomparably more glam- orous by special lighting.
Another problem is that our stock of great masterpieces is limited and can only to a limited extent be hoiked around the world to satisfy the blockbuster urge. It seems extraordinary that no major aeroplane incident has yet destroyed several cases of the irreplaceable — thought I am longing for catastrophe to strike a plane-load of works by Joseph Beuys or Cy Twombly, if possi- ble also eliminating the curators. • Perhaps the greatest problem with huge exhibitions is that they are so difficult to enjoy. Analysts of exhibition visitors have worked out that on average we spend sev- eral minutes in the first two rooms of a large show, rather less in each of the next few, and by the end will be moving as fast as we can towards the gift shop. And though we may have brushed up our small talk, will we generally have learned or enjoyed much?
In many cases, much the most rewarding exhibitions are modest ones. Selections which take a small number of works and study them in depth, such as the National Gallery's Picture in Focus and Making and Meaning exhibitions, provide us with as much information as we can absorb in the hour or so that we usually give to an exhibi- tion, and leave us with a new way of think- ing about the objects we have seen. There is no reason why smaller exhibitions based on objects from the museum's permanent collections should not be quite as seductive and visually memorable as the traditional blockbuster. The difficulty is that the prof- its to be made from visitors, the range of associated gift items (those Canaletto tea towels, the waterlily trays), the sponsorship opportunities, do not offer the same allur- ing financial packages to the gallery or the sponsor. Painful though it may be to our feet and our patience, and risky though it may be to the works of art, it looks as though the blockbuster will be with us for a long, long time.
Giles Waterfield is a freelance curator; he is currently joint curator for the Royal Academy's Art Treasures of England (January 1998).
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