In my thesis, I am studying various theories on heritage and heritagisation, i.e. the process which transforms something in a living, active sphere of use to a historical object attached to a certain narrative and expected to never change. As mentioned in previous posts, death and fragmentising are parts of the process to build a new identity as a museum object; an identity that might contradict or prevent an identity as a living object playing a role in the world outside of the museum. The act of putting something in a museum, or give it a new context and narrative in a heritage context, is an act of power which can be used - deliberately or just as a consequence - to profoundly change things, places and phenomena in terms of use, availability and possible interpretations.
With this in mind, I get nerdy goosebumps when a public call goes out to put things in museums, and my first question is: Why? Not at all in order to question the museums or the qualified work they perform, but to understand the driving forces and the agendas behind the musealisation - because they are manifold.
After the attack on satire magazine Charlie Hebdo in Paris in January 2015, when twelve people were killed, one focus in the following debates was the role of religion in these events and in global terrorism in general. Social media exploded with opinions, while at the same time alarming news started to come from the war in Syria about strategic destruction of cultural heritage by the Islamic State. I did a random search on Twitter for the combination "religion" and "museum", just to listen in. The result was striking. Many voices called for religion to be put in a museum, but: for different reasons.
Heritage as a concept is in many aspects built on fear of loss and a sense of threat from outside, and therefore generates an urge to protect and save - a mission for which the museum is a seemingly optimal institution. Some voices on Twitter expressed a fear that religion was under threat and needed to be saved - but also a fear that ruining the material heritage would turn the religion itself into an artifact:
"My fear is that the Old Churches in Iraq are not destroyed but left to become ruins. Christianity left as a Museum religion, an artifact." (signature @AYoshia)
Others - the majority of the posts that matched my search - called for religion to be musealised in order to be separated from the living daily life, and instead become no more than a part of history and producer of artistic and other artifacts.
"Religion—no matter its form—needs to go the way of the museum. Another tragic case in point by way of Paris, France." (signature @SilvertongueCK3)
I found this most interesting, since a fundamental hypothesis for my PhD project is the domesticating role of heritagisation and musealisation of religion, and here it was: spot on! During my years working on this project, I have - with the narrow yet sharpened attention of a possessed geek - seen examples of heritagised and re-used religion everywhere: in museums, in cosmetic stores, in the streets, in commercials, in packaging for food, in theme parks, even in churches. If I may, let me share some of these impressions with you, to give some examples of the various fates of religion when entering new contexts.
One way to musealise religious artifacts is to place them in a museum (because they are outmoded, fragile, damaged or very rare and spectacular), but allow them to keep their religious status and narratives. This display can be seen in cathedral museums or, as here, in the diocese museum in Venice:
A musealised Jesus in Museo Diocesano, Venice. Worn and almost no distinguishable face, placed in a museum, but within a religious context and narrative.
Relic hand, Museo Diocesano, Venice
Life size statue of Virgin Mary, once belonging to a church and used for processions.
Now in Museo Diocesano, Venice
A similar, yet quite different, approach and display could be seen in the temporary exhibition "Himlen är här" ("Heaven is here") in Uppsala Cathedral, Sweden. The exhibition was composed to celebrate the Archdiocese's 850th birthday, and to display the cultural heritage created, used and in some cases musealised through history and denominational changes and fashions. Using the cathedral itself as room for display provides a spectacular setting, but also (as with the headless Jesus) an ambiguity: museum or religion? Cultural or cultual use - or both..?
Medieval crucifix with contemporary neon sign, on temporary display over the main altar in Uppsala Cathedral.
A striking theme in this exhibition - as in many recent exhibitions on religious artifacts and matters in Sweden - is the recurrent exposure of backsides and parts originally not meant to be seen. I see this as a deconstruction of the sacred, which is also evident in innovative and artistic designs of the exhibitions where original context and function are subordinate to stories and interpretations presumably more fitting for today's visitors.
Medieval crucifix on display in the central nave: backside clearly visible.
Medieval saint, seemingly in a discussion with other saints standing around him, but also trapped in musealisation: glass case, iron band, and with his back and ownership label clearly displayed. Disenchantment, or a way to new understandings of sacred matter?
All at once! Altarpieces with panels for different times of the year and different feasts are often, as here, displayed with all the panels side by side. This is an efficient way to show the artwork to the visitor, but from a content point of view the experience for a visitor - originally taking place in weak light, during a religious service, in a time where pictures were rare - is quite different from the intended one, now that all days of the year occur at the same time.
Hagia Sofia in Istanbul, which I have touched upon in a previous post, is yet another form of heritagised sacredness. Starting out as a byzantine church in 6th century, then turned into a mosque during the Ottoman rule, then converted into a museum in 1930's, and now subject to discussions of re-conversion to a mosque - something which has caused objections from Orthodox Christians claiming the building as originally theirs. Here, religion is - temporarily, at least - domesticated in the shape of a museum: a status which can, however, obviously be re-negotiated at any time.
Hagia Sofia museum, Istanbul
A concrete Buddha head in fake decay among the tigers in a zoo in a Swedish forest. Kolmårdens Djurpark
Buddha figure and masks greeting the visitors who exit the funicular railway safari, Kolmårdens Djurpark.
Buddha head and constructed decay, Kolmårdens Djurpark
The Swedes' love for heritage and decay, in part perhaps explained by the luxury of living in peace and material wealth for a long period of time, is expressed also in the appreciation for ruined sacred matter. The worn and broken statues of saints, visible as art objects in museums in many parts of the world, are in Sweden equally used in churches for devotion - regardless of condition or lack of colors or limbs. Ruined churches are cherished as romantic, but even spiritual, places since the 18th century, and many couples who declare themselves to be non-religious still choose to get married, with or without a priest, in a church ruin. This brings up, again, the strong connection between heritage and religion - or, maybe, even heritage as religion, for a (post)secular time..?
St Catherine's church ruin, former Franciscan convent church. Visby, Gotland, Sweden.
While examining religion's (after)life as heritage, I can't resist to once again turn back to the Swedish Christmas gingerbreads (yes: gingerbread IS a big issue for Swedes. Just visit the IKEA store next to you from December 1st if you don't believe me!). The gingerbread men that mysteriously accompany St Lucy in the Lucia procession up here have no religious connection that I know of, but many of the cookie forms actually have either Christian or pagan origin. Here, the gingerbread version of St Stephen's horses (yes, I made them myself, along with space shuttles, dinosaurs, pagan sun symbols and giraffes. Life as a Swede.):
At the end of the recycling of religion food chain we find not only jewelry, t-shirts and toast stamps to make Virgin Mary miraculously appear on a toast (called: Holy Toast. What else?), but also Jesus as action hero, as band aids, and the magnetic set What Would Jesus Wear? (the latter in Uppsala Cathedral shop). Apart from expressing a sense of humor, whether shared by all or not, this also shows that the religious images have been fragmentised from their original context to such an extent that they have become aesthetic symbols - but charged and slightly forbidden to play with, and therefore useful for light provocations and humour.
Jesus' magnetic wardrobe, Uppsala Cathedral, Sweden.
Jesus heals - through bandaids. Uppsala Cathedral.
Loading all these images on my cerebral hard drive, I am left reflecting on many angles of my topic: Material sacredness, authenticity, and the Western understanding of material preservation (on which an interesting article was published in Financial Times recently); Musealisation of religion as blessing or hibernation; Is it easier to experience sacredness in decayed heritage than in sparkling new holy objects?
And, inevitably: what is the future for the Western European self-image and narratives, so essentially based on a Christian history? What role will be given to the religious heritage on display for a growing number of global tourists, and how will it serve and be relevant to a population becoming more and more religiously and culturally heterogenous? To me in my on-going PhD project, these are questions tightly linked to the future of museums in general and religion on display in particular. Preserving, saving or domesticating religion in museums, we still have to take into account that we are dealing with values of the past for some, but alive for others. A revised self-image, not least for Europe, is taking shape. Or, as Eddie Izzard brilliantly puts it:
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