During a long overdue field trip to Boston’s MFA (more on that below), I was struck by something I had either overlooked in the past or, in fact, is new museum policy. What I noticed was art that in the past had been labeled “Anonymous” or “Artist Unknown” were now marked “Artist Once Known.” At first pause I thought the phrasing a little odd, but upon reflection, it made me smile. Sometimes the smallest detail can project very significant change, and this, I thought, was one of those moments.
Now, as I continued through the galleries, I was on alert for this new discovery, and it soon became very obvious that most of the pieces thus marked were in the African, Native American and Asian collections. True, those pieces were often very old and would have been difficult or impossible to attribute, but many were fairly recent (in the scope of art history). Which leads me to believe that there was not a whole lot of effort by early archaeologists to identify the makers. In fact, it is usually the Anglo discoverer whose name becomes forever associated with the artifact or art piece. Not fair! How many dedicated and talented artists and craftsmen are now lost to history?
I read somewhere that a person dies three times. Once when the body stops working, the second when it is consigned to the grave and the third that moment in the future when the person’s name is last spoken. With that in mind, it made me a little less sad to see the acknowledgement that, at least, these men and women art makers that left us such beautiful and compelling gifts were “Once Known,” and recognized that they were human beings who once had families and friends—and names.
On a less philosophical note, our trip into Boston to revisit the galleries of the MFA was so very satisfying. After more than two years away, it was heartening to see that I still knew my way around the old familiar neighborhood. Seeing REAL artwork!! The texture of the paint on canvas, the ambient light reflecting off the statuary! No pixels here, dammit!! It was like hearing live music, feeling the weave in a cashmere throw and smelling fresh baked bread all rolled into one. With no agenda, plan or map, we wandered intuitively and simply ingested that which had been denied us for too long. By the time we left my eyes were as exhausted as my feet, but my soul was rejoicing.
“A Show of Hands” from 17,000 years ago - Artists once known