For the vast majority of last week my work at Laumeier Sculpture Park consisted of stuffing envelopes with invites for the fall fundraiser Carts and Cocktails. This work entailed sticking labels on envelopes, stuffing the invites, RSVP cards, and return envelopes into the labeled envelopes, putting stamps on the envelopes, and sealing all the envelopes shut. Now this may not seem too tasking, but it can be when done approximately 500 times in a row. It felt like my life had been engulfed by the wide, hungry mouths of so many of the envelopes that I sealed shut. There is only way to deal with this kind of letterhead-induced angst: write a poem. So here it goes...
On buzzing golf carts a fundraiser is fast approaching,
Where the tongue shall bee met with rich foods and many libations.
A hive of honeycombs alive with chatter and laughing,
And colonies of art lovers gather nectar at blossoming stations.
Yet before the pleasure of honeyed joy can bee savored,
The invitations must bee released in a liberally flying swarm.
The task is given to eager visitor services drones,
A somewhat daunting function is now theirs to perform.
With flourishing arms and dancing digits duties are assigned,
The little honey bees hastening to label, stuff, stamp, and seal.
A humdrum task that yearns for flowers to bee desired,
With the added sting of paper cuts creating a risky ordeal.
First the labels must bee affixed in deft alphabetical order,
Then invite, reply card and envelope placed by busy humming.
Next the postage stamps fastened in the upper right most part,
Last to clinch shut with tacky wax as open mouths keep coming.
When the flapping wings are exhausted and tactile feelers worn,
And the monotonous filling of combs leave the drones too tried to think.
It is then time to mail off the lovely invites and hurry up the party,
Long hours and repetition leave this honey bee in need of a drink.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Kinetic Sculpture
In relation to my most recent post concerning Raymond Duchamp-Villon's sculpture, Le cheval, I was looking up different kinetic sculptures online and found this amazing piece from Munich, Germany. In 2008 the BMW Museum displayed an artwork entitled Kinetic Sculpture (which is why it came up in my Google search). I just had to share these images and video, because this is quite possibly one of the coolest moving sculptures I have ever seen. Anyone want to go to Munich?
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Le cheval
Positioned atop a pedestal in the window corner of the Kemper Art Museum's north entrance, Raymond Duchamp-Villon's Le cheval (The Horse) hangs in (un)suspended motion. Its front legs sculpted in a forward thrusting crank, a powerful gesticulation that results from the orbit of its sun and planet gears. Connected by two reciprocating arms, a large cage gear in the torso of the animal powers the legs and rears the body forward. Its base is as solid and durable as an anvil and provides a support which keeps the machine level and prevents the mammal from running off its track. The head is fixed in a forward-facing position ready to plough through its assigned labors.
Duchamp-Villon grew up in an era where the horse was making way for the horse-less carriage and the steam engine was slowly towing farm equipment across the field with a belly full of hot coals rather than a belly full of oats. The Industrial Revolution was full steam ahead and the large quadrupeds that labored to help produce our goods and haul them to market were becoming more and more obsolete. They were being replaced by the iron beasts that for centuries had only lived in man's imagination and were finally able to break forth in the ironworks and factories of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Taking a good long look at the changing world around him, Duchamp-Villon tried to merge the idea of labor-animal and labor-machine while the two still coexisted. He is quoted in a letter as saying, "The power of the machine imposes itself upon us and we can scarcely conceive living bodies without it."
Le cheval is one of my favorite pieces in the whole museum and after doing a little research I learned more about its history. The mold and original plaster cast were created by the Duchamp-Villon in 1914, either shortly before or while he was serving as a medical officer in World War I. Unfortunately, in October 1918 he contracted blood poisoning and died in a military hospital. Le cheval many never have come to fruition if it weren't for Raymond's three artistic siblings, who were determined that his creative ideas would live on. Jacques Villon, Marcel Duchamp, and Suzanne Duchamp-Crotti took the abandoned plaster, enlarged it, and cast several bronzes in 1930-31. There are two versions of this piece, the enlarged sculpture, which is 39 3/8 x 24 x 36in., and the original plaster size, which is 16 1/2 x 13 5/8 x 12 1/2 in. At the Kemper we have the original plaster-sized sculpture.
When I first learned the history of the piece I was very touched by the familial bond that helped preserve and produce the sculpture. I love the concept of horse as machine and Duchamp-Villon's endeavor to converge animal and engine. It moves, it actually moves. I don't know if the images provided here are enough to convey that, but I feel like it is progressing forward all the time, through time, and timeless. That's what I mean with my little made-up word in the first paragraph: (un)suspended motion. Technically the piece is motionless, but it rests in such perfect harmony with the still universe that it is actually in an eternal state of rotating gears and galloping legs.
My goodness, have I gone overboard with the romantic idioms or what? What can I say? I really do love this piece. And it goes much deeper than a little girl's love of ponies. Well okay, it is a little girl's love of ponies combined with an adult understanding of artistic expression.
It is my fondness for Le cheval which caused me to feel a bit bothered by how others at the Kemper have been presenting it. On at least three occasions, I have overheard staff portray the piece in the context of "This is Marcel Duchamp's brother, who is very important for his original idea of Readymades in art." No offense to Marcel, but why don't they just leave him to his chess and focus on his brother; talk more about Raymond's contributions to art before his early demise instead? The sculpture stands very well on its own and does not need his brother's urinal to emphasize its artistic importance.
The artwork is often categorized as part of the cubist movement, and it does have many qualities that fit that classification. But after some reflection, I feel the piece is far more innovative than most realize. I would dare to state that Le cheval is quite possibly an early forerunner and experimental form of kinetic sculpture. Though the piece is literally solid and motionless, Duchamp-Villon seems to have been playing at motion with his depiction of the horse's many moving parts. In the early 20th century the idea of sculptures that move was a new one that was idealistically placed close to home for Raymond. Just a year earlier, in 1913, his more-famous brother, Marcel, had created what is credited as the first kinetic sculpture, Bicycle Wheel, which was part of his series of Readymades. Had Marcel and Raymond discussed moving art? Was Raymond trying to prove to his brother that art doesn't have to literally move to depict active motion? Had he lived, would Raymond have evolved the concept using actual gears? The answers are unknown, but I think it's something to consider. It appears that someone at the Kemper also sees a kinetic connection, unless it is by pure chance that Le cheval is placed in between the two wind-powered sculptures, Bayonets Menacing a Flower and Five Rudders, of Alexander Calder.
Le cheval is comprised of the multitude of angles that typify cubism, the engine parts of the industrial giants, the equine beasts that bore agricultural burden, family love, and the contradiction of an object simultaneously projecting potential and kinetic energy... and it's a pony. Yes, it is definitely one of my favorite pieces in the whole museum.
What do you think of the idea of a motionless kinetic sculpture? Can I make (un)suspended motion a word?
Duchamp-Villon grew up in an era where the horse was making way for the horse-less carriage and the steam engine was slowly towing farm equipment across the field with a belly full of hot coals rather than a belly full of oats. The Industrial Revolution was full steam ahead and the large quadrupeds that labored to help produce our goods and haul them to market were becoming more and more obsolete. They were being replaced by the iron beasts that for centuries had only lived in man's imagination and were finally able to break forth in the ironworks and factories of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Taking a good long look at the changing world around him, Duchamp-Villon tried to merge the idea of labor-animal and labor-machine while the two still coexisted. He is quoted in a letter as saying, "The power of the machine imposes itself upon us and we can scarcely conceive living bodies without it."
Le cheval is one of my favorite pieces in the whole museum and after doing a little research I learned more about its history. The mold and original plaster cast were created by the Duchamp-Villon in 1914, either shortly before or while he was serving as a medical officer in World War I. Unfortunately, in October 1918 he contracted blood poisoning and died in a military hospital. Le cheval many never have come to fruition if it weren't for Raymond's three artistic siblings, who were determined that his creative ideas would live on. Jacques Villon, Marcel Duchamp, and Suzanne Duchamp-Crotti took the abandoned plaster, enlarged it, and cast several bronzes in 1930-31. There are two versions of this piece, the enlarged sculpture, which is 39 3/8 x 24 x 36in., and the original plaster size, which is 16 1/2 x 13 5/8 x 12 1/2 in. At the Kemper we have the original plaster-sized sculpture.
When I first learned the history of the piece I was very touched by the familial bond that helped preserve and produce the sculpture. I love the concept of horse as machine and Duchamp-Villon's endeavor to converge animal and engine. It moves, it actually moves. I don't know if the images provided here are enough to convey that, but I feel like it is progressing forward all the time, through time, and timeless. That's what I mean with my little made-up word in the first paragraph: (un)suspended motion. Technically the piece is motionless, but it rests in such perfect harmony with the still universe that it is actually in an eternal state of rotating gears and galloping legs.
My goodness, have I gone overboard with the romantic idioms or what? What can I say? I really do love this piece. And it goes much deeper than a little girl's love of ponies. Well okay, it is a little girl's love of ponies combined with an adult understanding of artistic expression.
It is my fondness for Le cheval which caused me to feel a bit bothered by how others at the Kemper have been presenting it. On at least three occasions, I have overheard staff portray the piece in the context of "This is Marcel Duchamp's brother, who is very important for his original idea of Readymades in art." No offense to Marcel, but why don't they just leave him to his chess and focus on his brother; talk more about Raymond's contributions to art before his early demise instead? The sculpture stands very well on its own and does not need his brother's urinal to emphasize its artistic importance.
The artwork is often categorized as part of the cubist movement, and it does have many qualities that fit that classification. But after some reflection, I feel the piece is far more innovative than most realize. I would dare to state that Le cheval is quite possibly an early forerunner and experimental form of kinetic sculpture. Though the piece is literally solid and motionless, Duchamp-Villon seems to have been playing at motion with his depiction of the horse's many moving parts. In the early 20th century the idea of sculptures that move was a new one that was idealistically placed close to home for Raymond. Just a year earlier, in 1913, his more-famous brother, Marcel, had created what is credited as the first kinetic sculpture, Bicycle Wheel, which was part of his series of Readymades. Had Marcel and Raymond discussed moving art? Was Raymond trying to prove to his brother that art doesn't have to literally move to depict active motion? Had he lived, would Raymond have evolved the concept using actual gears? The answers are unknown, but I think it's something to consider. It appears that someone at the Kemper also sees a kinetic connection, unless it is by pure chance that Le cheval is placed in between the two wind-powered sculptures, Bayonets Menacing a Flower and Five Rudders, of Alexander Calder.
Le cheval is comprised of the multitude of angles that typify cubism, the engine parts of the industrial giants, the equine beasts that bore agricultural burden, family love, and the contradiction of an object simultaneously projecting potential and kinetic energy... and it's a pony. Yes, it is definitely one of my favorite pieces in the whole museum.
What do you think of the idea of a motionless kinetic sculpture? Can I make (un)suspended motion a word?
Saturday, August 25, 2012
No Postage
Ladies and gentleman, as a precaution please never mail your Rembrandt. Norwegian gallery loses a Rembrandt in the mail.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
White Dove
Early on Tuesday morning, as in very early, as in 6:45 in the morning kind of early, I was monitoring the work of a painting crew at the Kemper Art Museum. As a security guard, I was there to make sure the painters didn't wander into any spaces they shouldn't and see that they followed some standard safety rules. The morning passed with many yawns and without much indecent, aside from my asking one gentleman not to drink his soda in the atrium. So as I watched paint being applied, I had time to reflect on a subject foremost in my mind: the color white.
Throughout the 20th century, there has been a strong tradition of displaying modern or contemporary artworks on white walls. At the Kemper we use what is probably one of the most popular shades of white in the museum world, Benjamin Moore's White Dove. It also appears to be one of the most popular whites for home interiors, shown here as number one on a list of the top ten shades of white.
Just as it is fairly common for contemporary art to be displayed on white walls, it is also normal practice to display pre-20th century artworks on walls with colored paint. In some older institutions or house museums, the wall decor may even be more opulent with patterned wall papers or rich fabrics. The color of the wall often depends on the artworks themselves and what paint best compliments the colors in the paintings.
So as three men applied White Dove to the atrium walls with long rollers, I began to wonder why the turn-of-the-century switch from color to white took place. Who made that decision that 'white is right'? Where and when did this trend catch on? Well, to the best of my Googling, I believe that in the United States this trend took hold at the modern/contemporary art epicenter of the country, the Museum of Modern Art in New York City.
In a blog written by Eleonore Hugendubel back in 2010, she discusses MoMA's recent shift from white walls to a slightly larger variety of color in some of the temporary and permanent exhibit galleries. She then presents a brief history and suggests that the trend of white walls was brought over from Europe in the 1930s by none other than Alfred H. Barr, Jr., MoMA's founding director. He began by dressing the gallery walls with beige monk's cloth, because it was “the most neutral thing he could get.” Since it was very common in Barr's day to canvas gallery walls with cloth, his selection of a plain cloth was probably an attempt to coalesce his innovations with tradition. Eventually, though, he completely removed the cloth and just painted the walls white, beige apparently not being neutral enough. All this because Barr believed that plain walls were the best backdrop for avant-garde art, "their unadorned surfaces drawing attention to the objects rather than the surrounding architecture..."
With this explanation, it would appear that modern art is displayed on white walls because it was an innovation of one of America's earliest and leading modern art museums. This may also explain why the trend does not usually extend to pre-20th century art, since MoMA's primary concern at that time was collecting modern artworks and nurturing contemporary artists. Thus pre-20th century art continued to rest against rich, traditional hues in such old world art temples as the Metropolitan Museum of Art, while the new and avant-garde pushed forward and challenged the viewing audience's pre-conceived notions against a white and distraction-free background.
The trend took such a strong hold that now a Mid-Western university museum building, that opened in 2006, stands firm by the 'white is right' rule. Even so, it appears that not all hold to that code. Despite the longevity of Barr's innovation, it appears that more and more people are questioning whether or not white is the best backdrop for all 20th century art, or 21st century art for that matter. There also appear to be debates over what is the best shade of white. With 100+ shades of white paint, many argue that the wrong white could bring about a catastrophe while the proper shade will help an art show soar. You can read more about both of these issues in a 2010 ARTnews article by Nicole Lanctot here.
On the pro-white side of the debate, there are those that argue white is still the best because it allows patrons, "to be able to see the painting, appropriately lit and without distractions." In a post on his art blog from 2011, Jonathan Jones is willing to concede that colored walls, if not too overpowering, can enliven an art viewer's experience. Even so, Jones still feels that white is the best backdrop for art, even pre-20th century art.
I am personally on the fence of the white vs. color debate. I am still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that there are 100+ shades of white... I mean, that's a lot of white. Who knew there could be so many shades for one of the plainest colors in the spectrum? I think whether a museum should go with white or colored walls is situational and every institution should choose what is best for itself. At the end of the day, though, white may prevail in use not because of the importance of the man who began the trend or due to any rule guided by aesthetics. 'White is right,' I believe, has as much to do with budget, time constraints, and simplicity in execution as it has to do with anything else.
Do you think white is the best color to backdrop 20th century art? Do you think it should also backdrop pre-20th century art, or should the tradition of color be maintained? What shade of white do you use in your museum?
Throughout the 20th century, there has been a strong tradition of displaying modern or contemporary artworks on white walls. At the Kemper we use what is probably one of the most popular shades of white in the museum world, Benjamin Moore's White Dove. It also appears to be one of the most popular whites for home interiors, shown here as number one on a list of the top ten shades of white.
Just as it is fairly common for contemporary art to be displayed on white walls, it is also normal practice to display pre-20th century artworks on walls with colored paint. In some older institutions or house museums, the wall decor may even be more opulent with patterned wall papers or rich fabrics. The color of the wall often depends on the artworks themselves and what paint best compliments the colors in the paintings.
So as three men applied White Dove to the atrium walls with long rollers, I began to wonder why the turn-of-the-century switch from color to white took place. Who made that decision that 'white is right'? Where and when did this trend catch on? Well, to the best of my Googling, I believe that in the United States this trend took hold at the modern/contemporary art epicenter of the country, the Museum of Modern Art in New York City.
In a blog written by Eleonore Hugendubel back in 2010, she discusses MoMA's recent shift from white walls to a slightly larger variety of color in some of the temporary and permanent exhibit galleries. She then presents a brief history and suggests that the trend of white walls was brought over from Europe in the 1930s by none other than Alfred H. Barr, Jr., MoMA's founding director. He began by dressing the gallery walls with beige monk's cloth, because it was “the most neutral thing he could get.” Since it was very common in Barr's day to canvas gallery walls with cloth, his selection of a plain cloth was probably an attempt to coalesce his innovations with tradition. Eventually, though, he completely removed the cloth and just painted the walls white, beige apparently not being neutral enough. All this because Barr believed that plain walls were the best backdrop for avant-garde art, "their unadorned surfaces drawing attention to the objects rather than the surrounding architecture..."
With this explanation, it would appear that modern art is displayed on white walls because it was an innovation of one of America's earliest and leading modern art museums. This may also explain why the trend does not usually extend to pre-20th century art, since MoMA's primary concern at that time was collecting modern artworks and nurturing contemporary artists. Thus pre-20th century art continued to rest against rich, traditional hues in such old world art temples as the Metropolitan Museum of Art, while the new and avant-garde pushed forward and challenged the viewing audience's pre-conceived notions against a white and distraction-free background.
The trend took such a strong hold that now a Mid-Western university museum building, that opened in 2006, stands firm by the 'white is right' rule. Even so, it appears that not all hold to that code. Despite the longevity of Barr's innovation, it appears that more and more people are questioning whether or not white is the best backdrop for all 20th century art, or 21st century art for that matter. There also appear to be debates over what is the best shade of white. With 100+ shades of white paint, many argue that the wrong white could bring about a catastrophe while the proper shade will help an art show soar. You can read more about both of these issues in a 2010 ARTnews article by Nicole Lanctot here.
On the pro-white side of the debate, there are those that argue white is still the best because it allows patrons, "to be able to see the painting, appropriately lit and without distractions." In a post on his art blog from 2011, Jonathan Jones is willing to concede that colored walls, if not too overpowering, can enliven an art viewer's experience. Even so, Jones still feels that white is the best backdrop for art, even pre-20th century art.
I am personally on the fence of the white vs. color debate. I am still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that there are 100+ shades of white... I mean, that's a lot of white. Who knew there could be so many shades for one of the plainest colors in the spectrum? I think whether a museum should go with white or colored walls is situational and every institution should choose what is best for itself. At the end of the day, though, white may prevail in use not because of the importance of the man who began the trend or due to any rule guided by aesthetics. 'White is right,' I believe, has as much to do with budget, time constraints, and simplicity in execution as it has to do with anything else.
Do you think white is the best color to backdrop 20th century art? Do you think it should also backdrop pre-20th century art, or should the tradition of color be maintained? What shade of white do you use in your museum?
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Poland's Lost Raphael
In relation to my most recent post concerning the documentary The Rape of Europa, I was very excited to find an article today that claims that a long-lost Raphael portrait has been rediscovered in a European bank vault. The painting, Portrait of a Young Man, is featured in the film as one a Poland's most valuable Nazi-stolen artworks. It's the most astounding coincidence that just days before I finally sat down to watch the film this amazing artwork was finally found. You can read more about it here. Oh, how I love happy endings!
Friday, August 3, 2012
The Rape of Europa
Nearly a month ago, on July 6th, the Kemper Art Museum hosted one of their regular summer events, Friday Nights at the Kemper. This series occurs one evening each month and consists of a gallery talk, live music on the sculpture plaza, and then a film screening. On July 6th, the film presented was a 2006 documentary entitled The Rape of Europa. It chronicles the cultural destruction and looting of precious artworks committed by the Nazis before and during World War II. It includes interviews with art historians, soldiers, and eye-witnesses who recount events of cultural evacuation, destruction, personal sorrows, and restitution.
On that day I was scheduled to work from nine to four, and I remember feeling relieved that I would not have to work until midnight. Even though I would not stay, I was still very interested in seeing the film and intended to watch it during my own leisure time. Since I rarely actually get days off, the plan was put in the back of my mind and I kept moving forward with work, applications, babysitting, dog sitting, blogging, exercising, interviews, family dinners, social gatherings, and all the other little bits that comprise everyday life. The plan came springing back the the forefront of my memory yesterday when I noticed two books for sale in the Kemper gift shop; The Rape of Europa and The Monuments Men. Both books focus on the Nazi looting and the eventual repatriation of stolen art. I started reading a couple pages from each book and decided I wanted to buy them, but first, I thought, I should watch the film. So today, about a month later, I finally had some free time and decided to make some popcorn, grab a Diet Coke, and watch the movie alla streaming on Netflix.
The film begins with the story of Maria Altmann and her struggle to regain five Gustav Klimt paintings that were seized from members of her Jewish family by Nazis prior to World War II, and eventually ended up in the ownership of the Austrian government. Altmann argues that the paintings belong to the heirs of her family and Austrian officials argue that Altmann's aunt, Adele Bloch-Bauer and owner of many of the artworks in question, had always intended to donate the paintings to the National Museum, whether they had been illegally seized or not. I call this repatriation issue Case III, because it is Intriguing, Infuriating, and Interesting. You'll have to wait to the end of the movie to see if Altmann is successful or not.
The film then goes on to state that Altmann's case is just one of many that resonate into the 21st century as a result of the massive art thefts and crimes of the Nazi regime. The nearly two-hour film recounts many tales of stolen Jewish artworks and art seized from famous European museums and packed away to Germany on trains. All because Hitler and many in his regime fancied themselves cultured and wanted to make Germany the arts and cultural center of the world. It also tells the stories of those brave citizens and soldiers who attempted to save, hide, and record events so that artworks would not fall into German hands, or if they did, so they could eventually be recovered. The movie does a great job of showing the industrial scope of the damage the Nazis did to the visual arts world and how many artworks to this day are either still missing or disputed.
Two hours, one crushed aluminum can, and an empty bowl of popcorn later, I was stunned by the statistics of stolen art and celebrated the small triumphs of artworks finding their way home. I highly recommend this film because it does a great job of organizing and explaining a massively complicated series of events. It shows that the Nazis didn't just commit war crimes but also cultural crimes, all in their attempt to purge the world of races and cultures they deemed degenerate.
Since I enjoyed the film so much I definitely plan on purchasing both books, which present a much more detailed account of the Nazi art theft stories and those who fought back against it. I am also seriously considering attending (if I am not already working) the next Friday Nights and the Kemper event, which will focus on Jackson Pollock. Events like these are great because they allow the opportunity to learn about art in a very laid-back and recreational way. And I find that when it doesn't feel like learning, sometimes that's when you absorb the most.
Have you ever seen this film or read the two books mentioned above? Have you or your museum ever encountered issues with Nazi stolen artworks? Have you ever hosted an event to educate about Nazi art theft and current repatriation issues?
You can read more about regulations for museums concerning Nazi stolen artwork here on the American Association of Museums website.
On that day I was scheduled to work from nine to four, and I remember feeling relieved that I would not have to work until midnight. Even though I would not stay, I was still very interested in seeing the film and intended to watch it during my own leisure time. Since I rarely actually get days off, the plan was put in the back of my mind and I kept moving forward with work, applications, babysitting, dog sitting, blogging, exercising, interviews, family dinners, social gatherings, and all the other little bits that comprise everyday life. The plan came springing back the the forefront of my memory yesterday when I noticed two books for sale in the Kemper gift shop; The Rape of Europa and The Monuments Men. Both books focus on the Nazi looting and the eventual repatriation of stolen art. I started reading a couple pages from each book and decided I wanted to buy them, but first, I thought, I should watch the film. So today, about a month later, I finally had some free time and decided to make some popcorn, grab a Diet Coke, and watch the movie alla streaming on Netflix.
The film begins with the story of Maria Altmann and her struggle to regain five Gustav Klimt paintings that were seized from members of her Jewish family by Nazis prior to World War II, and eventually ended up in the ownership of the Austrian government. Altmann argues that the paintings belong to the heirs of her family and Austrian officials argue that Altmann's aunt, Adele Bloch-Bauer and owner of many of the artworks in question, had always intended to donate the paintings to the National Museum, whether they had been illegally seized or not. I call this repatriation issue Case III, because it is Intriguing, Infuriating, and Interesting. You'll have to wait to the end of the movie to see if Altmann is successful or not.
The film then goes on to state that Altmann's case is just one of many that resonate into the 21st century as a result of the massive art thefts and crimes of the Nazi regime. The nearly two-hour film recounts many tales of stolen Jewish artworks and art seized from famous European museums and packed away to Germany on trains. All because Hitler and many in his regime fancied themselves cultured and wanted to make Germany the arts and cultural center of the world. It also tells the stories of those brave citizens and soldiers who attempted to save, hide, and record events so that artworks would not fall into German hands, or if they did, so they could eventually be recovered. The movie does a great job of showing the industrial scope of the damage the Nazis did to the visual arts world and how many artworks to this day are either still missing or disputed.
Two hours, one crushed aluminum can, and an empty bowl of popcorn later, I was stunned by the statistics of stolen art and celebrated the small triumphs of artworks finding their way home. I highly recommend this film because it does a great job of organizing and explaining a massively complicated series of events. It shows that the Nazis didn't just commit war crimes but also cultural crimes, all in their attempt to purge the world of races and cultures they deemed degenerate.
Since I enjoyed the film so much I definitely plan on purchasing both books, which present a much more detailed account of the Nazi art theft stories and those who fought back against it. I am also seriously considering attending (if I am not already working) the next Friday Nights and the Kemper event, which will focus on Jackson Pollock. Events like these are great because they allow the opportunity to learn about art in a very laid-back and recreational way. And I find that when it doesn't feel like learning, sometimes that's when you absorb the most.
Have you ever seen this film or read the two books mentioned above? Have you or your museum ever encountered issues with Nazi stolen artworks? Have you ever hosted an event to educate about Nazi art theft and current repatriation issues?
You can read more about regulations for museums concerning Nazi stolen artwork here on the American Association of Museums website.
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