The Magdala Stone and What We Think We Know

Happy Chanukah!  As I help my family celebrate their holiday, I am aware of the intense variation in experience that art brings to our experience of religion.  Coincidentally, the NYTimes had a large article about the Magdala Stone yesterday (subscription limited so if you want to read about the find in detail, you can check here and here as well).

The Magdala Stone was found in the remains of a 1st century synagogue in Magdala.  The important context is that the Second Temple was still active in the period between 50 BC-100 AD that this dates to; from coin evidence it may date to 29, and most likely predates the 70 CE destruction of the Temple by the Romans under Titus.  The area was a hotbed of revolutionary fervor against the Romans and it was actually razed (partially? fully?) by the Romans when they conquered Migdal (Magdala). The synagogue was decorated with a mosaic floor and frescoes on the wall.  This large block is decorated on the top (a large rosette, ringed with petals), and the sides, with the most notable side showing a seven-branched menorah, flanked by 2 large amphorae.

Magdala Stone, 1st c. BCE-1st c. CE

One of the striking things for archaeologists and historians is the way this stone calls into question what role the synagogue might have played in this late Second Temple period.  What strikes me is the reminder of how far away the Temple in Jerusalem was, and that a stone like this might be carved with deliberate symbols and suggestive architecture to evoke the holiness of the Temple, to bring it in to the local experience.  There are plenty of medieval Christian examples where round buildings evoke the Holy Sepulchre as a way of connecting the two sites spiritually.  There's no reason not to suggest that the importance of the synagogue as a place of study and assembly is enhanced by an object that connects the viewer to the holiest of places.

A consistent fallacy of Jewish art is the idea that it didn't exist in the pre-modern period, that the Second Commandment prohibiting graven images (Exodus 20: 4-6) prohibited making imagery and displaying it in holy contexts.  Sufficient discovery of mosaics, frescoes, etc. from catacombs and synagogues, especially in border towns like Dura Europas, have long argued for the production of Jewish art in religious contexts.  It seems important to me to specify that these works exhibit a lot of what we consider outsider traits in production and that we see them here on the Magdala Stone: very flat, linear carving style of what are three-dimensional objects (perhaps countering the false naturalism of Greco-Roman idols), tremendous shifts in scale (amphora as large as the architecture) and perspectives (often showing profile and aerial views mixed together).  When the NYT writes:

Ms. Talgam concluded that she was looking at a three-dimensional depiction of the Temple of Herod, including its most sacred inner sanctum, known as the Holy of Holies.

I think it's really important to spell out what we mean.  The Stone itself is a three-dimensional altar-like or table form.  The decoration is emphatically not.  It resists the context of the mainstream artistic style of the oppressors.

I do wonder about function here.  We know mosaics and frescoes jazz up those plain stone walls while serving a potential didactic function.  Was this a spot for sacrifices which we thought only happened in the Temple? Could we set the Torah here for reading and studying?  Was it a podium for speaking from? 

Ultimately, I think the point of this stone is to remind us that religious experience is fluid in space, time, and audience.  What a good message for Diaspora Judaism at Chanukah.  What a good message in a time of religious fundamentalism, prejudice, and fear.

The life of museums

I was struck today by an article in the New York Times by Graham Bowley, "Smithsonian's Renwick Gallery Reopens with a New Focus" (subscription limit on free reads; go to the Museum link--following--if you don't want to waste your free reads), on the redesign and reopening of the Smithsonian Museum's Renwick Gallery.  The Renwick is the part of the American Art museums that deals with "craft and decorative art".

These are loaded terms--CRAFT and DECORATIVE.  They imply less impressive circumstances of commissioning and viewing, less expensive materials, not within the Salon hierarchy of value placed on "fine arts", less skillful artists whose names we often don't know.  We picture baskets and grandfather clocks and silver table settings.  You've been to those nearly empty galleries with dusty roped off chairs and brocade settees and been frustrated because all you'd like to do is sit down for a moment.  We're not taught well how to look at these objects because we see them every day.  We "get" the idea that these are nicer bowls than what we eat cereal in just from the context that they are in a museum but we don't know how to think about them in the place of history.  

There's more than one aspect of this discussion going on.  There's clearly the preservation mission of the museum.  To recognize the traditions of making an object that link it to a regional or period way of working with the materials is what leads us to understand colonial American silver or Gullah baskets.  These are styles and methods that will disappear with time, new social priorities and aesthetics, globalization/cross-pollination.

Gullah Fanner Basket, Lynette Youson, 2002

Tea kettle, Kierstede, 1710, silver

But the Renwick focuses on 20th and 21st century works, and there's a duty here to bring viewers into the issues of contemporary art as applied to these media.  To realize that when we understand the traditions of silversmithing in America, we can see a work like Tea for One, by Jeffrey Clancy, 1976 and maybe see the commentaries on silverwork, on tea as a social phenomenon, on gun ownership in America, the blend of "ornament and utility" that this is part of the artist's series.  There's a beauty and a danger here.

Jeffrey Clancy, Tea for One, 2002

The Renwick is showcasing some new galleries with works like Jennifer Angus's In the Midnight Garden that draw attention to our lived environment (and for me, the traditions of wallpaper under William Morris and the Victorians/Edwardians).  Her use of cochineal dye, made from insects, and the careful patterns of flowers, whirls, and skulls create a vibrant and vivid space.  The materials are bugs themselves--drawing attention to our natural world and our interdependence. “Our mortality is closely linked to the environment,” she said. “The fact of the matter is we can’t live without insects.” (from NYT article)  What draws me to this work is that it is part of our space; it shapes our whole experience. 

Jennifer Angus, In the Midnight Garden, 2015

Craft and Design are immersive--because we experience them in our daily lives.  So to see them as art, we have to break that habit of dismissiveness, but also see these works as part of our cultural discussion.  “It’s not enough to update the building,” said Elizabeth Broun, the Renwick’s director. “We have to rethink.” (NYT article)  Also: The museum wanted art that “looks out,” she said. “It is not a precious object in a studio. It engages the world in a broader way.”

This is somewhat a false distinction as artists are still working in the studio, some with fine materials, some with delicate and technically intense methods.  BUT...the sense that "decorative" art is conversationally engaged with its audience, in a way that the "high" arts of painting and sculpture have always been acknowledged to be doing, is an important change.

Take a moment to watch their 2 minute video on the upcoming show and opening, Wonder.  You'll be amazed at where contemporary "craft" is going:

Lying to ourselves: Plagiarism

Wearing my academic, non-art-historian hat today...

In my work as a professor and now as an academic dean dealing with cases referred by other faculty, I have seen a lot of plagiarism.  It comes in all forms: most usually out of laziness and further out of procrastination.

Today what I'm writing about is our "intent to deceive" and rationalizing.  I actually think very little plagiarism (as opposed to some other forms of academic dishonesty like looking at someone else's test, etc.) comes out of a real intent to pass off words as one's own, in order to take credit for the idea or phrase.  Some is a process of immediate rationalizing, and it happens as quickly and easily as the cutting and pasting. 

"I read it and it's clearly right because that's what I would have said too."
"I couldn't say it better."
"This person's an expert and I'm just a student."

But when caught, there's a whole other level of rationalizing that happens:

"I didn't take that much. It's like 2 sentences."
"I didn't take any exact words.  I wrote each paragraph in my own way."
"I thought that I only had to use quotes and citations if I took the words directly."
"I thought if I cited it at the end, it would be enough."
"I didn't know how to cite it."
"If I had meant to plagiarize, would I have taken it directly from SparkNotes (or some equally easy source)?"

Of the rationalizations that make me angriest are the ones that actually do suggest that the speaker is completely aware of the rationalization:

"I e-mailed you my notes copy by mistake. It wasn't what I meant to submit."
"I left off the citation page."
"I didn't think you would notice. I did it on my last paper and you never said anything." 
"I didn't think it would matter that much.  This isn't a big assignment."

Lying is apparently a very normal developmental thing we do to cover ourselves when we commit a wrong.  (a nice discussion that summarizes our childhood lying is here in Slate.)  Rationalizing and lying seem to be hand and hand here.

Repeatedly comes the advice that parents (read here teachers) should not give the child the opportunity to lie.  In the Slate article the example is: rather than saying "Did you take the cookie?", react with "I know you took the cookie and now you're full and the consequence is no cookies tomorrow night."  So the advice to professors is often--give assignments that don't encourage the behavior. I often do this--choosing artists and artworks about whom there is little written (and I often have students who say "I couldn't find anything on the internet" to whom I reply, "yes, I know").  Choosing assignments that directly require synthesis of ideas and new applications of ideas is a lot of work and it doesn't always get at what we want the student to learn.  There are reasons why certain assignments are commonplace--they get at the heart of the matter for understanding.

Also repeatedly comes the advice to separate the lie from the misdeed.  I had a case where the student had not done the assignment for a professor within the parameters of the assignment but then had lied and said that he had done it as she had asked.  This happened twice.  The student was reluctant to separate the lie from the misdeed, in part because he didn't feel he had committed a misdeed.  

Also repeatedly comes the advice to create a culture of honesty.  If every professor discusses plagiarism as clearly and fully as possible...If every assignment were set up so as to encourage specifics and synthesis...If every student valued the interaction with professors, tutors, and peers enough to use their resources well and wisely...If every infraction were dealt with swiftly and clearly according to agreed upon policies...If we model right behavior in our own public lives/words....If we encourage students to value honesty...

I'm doing these things.  I'm creating new assignments often.  I discuss plagiarism in my class.  I have writing examples up on Blackboard and I walk students through them before the first paper.  I could do more peer review so as to have them catch each other...They use SafeAssign (a version like Turnitin which helps catch plagiarism).  I make it clear that there are consequences for not including citations.  I try to warn them repeatedly of due dates, extra help resources, etc. so that I am not encouraging situations that force them to panic and plagiarize.  We do lots of in-class writing to hone their skills (and so I know who they are as writers).  We have multiple paper assignments.  I extensively comment and review plagiarism offenses when they occur; I penalize them and follow through on what I have stated on the syllabus.

I know I have colleagues who do these things, more who do than do not.

So is it just human nature?  Is this an intractable problem?  Do we just cut it down as small as we can and deal with the instances as they inevitably come? 

What do your institutions (past, present, future) do that's working?

Posted with comment: Art in Island Museum and the Viewing Experience

Recently, Hyperallergic (an art website) published an article, An Art Museum Designed for Taking Selfies, about the Art in Island Museum in Manila.  The gallery is set up with high-res posters of great masterworks from museums all over the world with the express purpose of taking selfies.  I'm going to use Jean Francois Millet's 1857 painting, The Gleaners, to talk about the pros and cons of this experience.

Visitors at the Art in Island

Millet, Gleaners, 1857, oil on canvas

Part of the difficulty for me comes with the idea of the AUTHENTIC EXPERIENCE.  If we're talking about this painting we want to acknowledge that the Selfie-Gleaners is a very different work than the Millet-Gleaners.  It is larger, both in the canvas (the actual painting is 33x44") and in spatial representation where the women come forward from the canvas.  The color is substantially different (based on the original, which I have seen, the green is far too vibrant both in the field and the dress, the blue cap too light/acidic).  A high resolution image can never really replace the tonal and textual variants of the brush work; it is far flatter than what you see in person.  And heck, Michelangelo's Pieta is a sculpture, not an artificially perspectivally rendered picture.

But am I being fair to the Selfie-Gleaners when I have to admit that relatively few people see the Millet-Gleaners in person at the Musee d'Orsay in Paris?  Admittedly, the Musee sees about 3 million viewers annually (based on 2009 figures) but that seems like a drop in the bucket when you consider the internet exposure.  There isn't necessarily an AUTHENTIC viewing experience going on for most folks.

My major objection here is the subject change that the Art in Island folks have affected on the painting.  Millet-Gleaners is about the societal reality of the mid-19th century which left some in such poverty that they gathered the wheat remains in the fields just to have a small amount to eat.  It was back-breaking work with poor reward and subject to the field owner's directives of how clean to gather in the crop.  And critics at the time felt the stress of the Socialism--Millet's painting spoke to the current social realities of the 1848 Revolution, with its labor and food riots, and harkened to the upheavals of the 1793 Revolution; Marx and Engels would publish the Communist Manifesto in 1848.  It is impossible to see this as anything other than a glorification of the value of Work, with a class emphasis on the foregrounded poor and the distant and inaccessible wealth.  Unlike his contemporaries, Daumier and Courbet, who both ended up in political trouble (jail, exile) for their leanings, Millet denied the political interpretation of his work, arguing that he was painting the honesty of the human condition.  It was not possible in France of the mid-19th c. to extricate the work from its Socialist reception.

The Selfie-Millet gives the women paintbrushes.  It changes the narrative completely.  While there is a referential element of "What Makes Art?" implicit here, it gives a false impression of the work, taking it completely out of its creative and historical contexts.  It denies its history.

The Selfie-Millet also circumscribes what you experience in the art.  You take your places amidst the scene.  You are encouraged to catch the shoe of Fragonard's swinging woman (but from a position that is not that in the painting--of the lover looking up her skirts while her husband unknowingly pulls her on the swing). Napoleon crowns you, not Empress Josephine.  But you aren't allowed to BE the woman on the swing or Napoleon.  It is NOT a neutral experience.

To some extent, that's what a selfie is about.  Selfies put the individual into the context of the work.  They are documentary--a record of being at a place or event.  But that documentation is fundamentally present centered and a historical--it pulls the work of art forward into the moment of time belonging to the viewer.  The museum experience--with its neutral walls and quiet atmosphere and extensive wall-text or audio tour--is about putting the viewer into the history of the art work (or at least a neutral space out of time).

If the viewer thinks they have gone to an art museum, then the Art in Island space is bad.  It is not a museum.  It is not even a real experience of the artwork.  But it certainly exists in the context of novelty entertainment--cardboard beach cutouts of musclemen and bikini girls, rodeo cowboys, families in WWI airplanes (all photos in this book before 1930 so you have a sense of this phenomenon).  To that extent, perhaps it's good that the Selfie-Millet is SO out of context--you cannot mistake it for the real work or the real experience. I'd clearly prefer it if all of the works were significantly different from their originals.

Perhaps the Art in Island experience makes it sufficiently fun to interact with art that a viewer would be more likely to go to a real museum and see the art.  I don't buy it.  To be successful as entertainment, Art in Island must crop paintings, change their size, rearrange their space so as to make the viewer to interact with them.  The Art in Island experience is about shaping your self with art as a backdrop.  An art museum seems sterile and flat if it it is specifically set up to NOT direct your experience in the most individualistic/self-centered way.  Maybe this is the distinction folks made for years with television--that it was the dumbing-down, passive experience of theater or live story-telling.  We could argue whether that is true (now or ever) for television, but I do think this is making the experience of artworks EASIER, less complicated, more accessible for the viewer.

If human beings aren't always easy animals, I see no reason why we should expect our experience of the culture we make to be easy.