Isabelle Imbert

Tag: Exhibition

  • The Splendours of Uzbekistan’s Oases in the Louvre (blog)

    The Splendours of Uzbekistan’s Oases in the Louvre (blog)

    Being in Paris for two weeks before Christmas, I had the opportunity to see the latest Louvre exhibition dedicated to a region of the Islamic world, Uzbekistan. Friends previously gave me feedback regarding the exhibit, but I went with an open mind, and left with conflicting thoughts.

    Entrance, first text panel, object and stairs

    The exhibition is installed in a small space of the Richelieu aisle, after a flight of stairs that create a dramatic entrance. The first text panel is placed at the bottom of the stairs and gives the chronological limits of the exhibit, as well as the ambition of the project: 3rd c. BC- 16th c. AD, but the first object displayed is dated from the 3rd millennium BC. The whole exhibition is set in two rooms, a small first and a larger second, separated by a narrow. The installation is quite minimalistic, with a sober teal blue scheme colour and barely visible geometrical patterns repeating on the walls (This is beside the point, but every time I see geometrical patterns in connexion to Islamic arts, the wise words of Miranda Priestly come to mind: “Flowers, for spring? Groundbreaking.”1). There are a few explicative panels on the walls, which I’m not too mad about, but creates a bigger issue I talk about below, and the exhibition includes a small screen and a massive projection in the second room.

    I realise, writing this blog, that I took very few pictures during my visit, as I wanted to “take it in” and not spend the entire time stuck to my phone. I’ll do my best to describe from memory, but you can also buy the exhibition catalogue for all the reproductions.

    View of the entrance from the top of the stairs

    Splendours of Uzbekistan from Uzbekistan

    “Object with harpy”, Termez, 11th -12th c., localisation and accession unknown

    The exhibition biggest quality is the display of artworks from Uzbek collections, especially Tashkent and Samarkand. I don’t recall ever seeing these pieces in a French exhibition before, and I probably won’t have the opportunity to go to Uzbekistan right away, so it is a real chance to see these artworks displayed. The choice of the objects is thoughtful, some having been picked for their historical and /or emotional values, such as the original door of the Gur-i Mir in Samarkand, the mausoleum where lies the conqueror Timur. Other objects, also from Uzbek institutions, are simply stunning, such as what appears to be the plate of a larger bowl, in an alloy of copper casted, showing an inscription and a “harpy”. This piece really caught my eye.

    The exhibition is very ambitious, aiming at covering 14 centuries in two rooms, and I enjoyed the diversity of chronological eras. The route starts with impressive sculptures mixing Buddhist and Chinese influences, followed by the virtual reconstitution of Bukhara oasis put next to the Varakhsha fresco to highlight its original setting. Other portions of the fresco come on the screen following the reconstitution, as well as a third portion on the wall opposite the screen. This put this gorgeous fresco back in context in the best way possible. The chronology then moves forward to the first centuries of Islam, best exemplified by two folio of the “Katta Langar” Qur’an, a masterpiece amongst the earliest known copy of the text. Other pieces are more expected, such as Samanid dishes from 10th century Samarkand, but here again the selection is very qualitative. A bowl decorated with an incredibly elegant inscriptions that reads “Renunciation of desire is the noblest of riches” is particularly striking.

    Varakhsha fresco (right) and virtual reconstitution (left)

    The second room offers a nice selection of medieval textiles and metals, as well as illustrated manuscripts from 16th century Bukhara, most from the Bibliotheque nationale de France in Paris. The exhibition closes with a large screen showing videos of the Shah-e zende in Samarkand, the necropolis of Timur and his descendants. Overall, the viewer will leave with the impression to have spent a nice hour or so amongst rarely seen treasures.

    A final touch, the informed visitor can then go to the Islamic art department to south portion of the extraordinary “Paintings of the Ambassadors”, a fresco from the middle of the 7th century found in the ruins of Afrasiyab (north of Samarkand), landed by the Republic of Uzbekistan to the Louvre. I assume the large section couldn’t fit in the exhibition space with the required distance, but the signalling could have insisted more on its location, I only saw one sign at the beginning of the exhibition and nothing after.

    Door of the Gur-i Mir, 15th c. (National Museum, Samarkand, acc. 699)
    Detail of door of the Gur-i Mir, 15th c. (National Museum, Samarkand, acc. 699)

    I should have bought the catalogue

    However, there were a few problems with the exhibition that made me twitch a little. The main one is the impression that the display of objects is only one half of a whole. I will preface by saying that I went through the exhibition catalogue very rapidly to check who participated in it, and no much more. This was a mistake I quickly regretted after leaving the room. Though I enjoyed the diversity of the exhibition, I left with the feeling that I was missing some crucial information regarding artworks I knew less about, as well as the main key to understand the intention and the coherence of the exhibition. Indeed, what is the link between the Paintings of the Ambassador and the door of the Gur-i Mir, beside their geographical location? Is there even a connexion? That answer might be in the exhibition catalogue, for which I would have to pay an additional €39, while I already paid €17 to see the exhibition. Some will say that all is not about money, but in this economy, I disagree. I am not saying exhibitions should be free, because Museum personnel need to eat, but an exhibition should be contained within itself and not depend on additional material. I understand that the reduced exhibition space allocated to the exhibit forced to make choices, but maybe more explicative panels, or a clearer route would have helped.

    Two folios from the Katta Langar Qur’an, 1/2 half 8th c. (Tashkent, Uzbekistan Islamic Council, acc. 179)

    An inconsistent museography

    I’m going to try not to be too picky here, but I must admit I was a little disappointed by some very avoidable mistakes. This is the Louvre, one of the leading museums in the world, so rigour should be key. Some labels have mistakes in their description, some are missing accession numbers and localisation (such as the harpy mentioned above), but one of the main issue was the absence of numbered references between the labels and the objects. Some displays hold several objects, but their labels are grouped on the side, so the viewer has to play “who’s who” to retrieve the reference. The displays are very minimalist and sleek, but it is detrimental to the readability.

    Cordon separating the viewer from the display

    As well, someone needs to explain why there is a security cordon 1 meter from the glassed displays in the first room; are people in the Louvre afraid of finger marks? This makes the objects barely visible and the labels unreadable.

    The exhibition offers information on historical figures such as Marco Polo and al-Biruni, but they are difficult to see, being placed on the opposite wall or pillar of the display. This comes from the main issue of the installation: the division of spaces and the overall route. The two rooms and the corridor that compose the spaces are each divided in two halves, each half corresponding to a chronological period. It is particularly clear in the second room, where the display at the immediate left of the entrance is dedicated to the 11th to 13th centuries, and the display at the immediate right focuses on the 15th-16th centuries. In front of the entrance is placed the 15th c. door of the Gur-i Mir. Entering the room, the viewer would need to ignore the door, go left and to the back of the room, then cross in front of the giant screen toward the right where 15th-16th c. manuscripts are displayed, walk their way back toward the entry, then check the door in the middle and finish by the 15th-16th c. display at the right of the entrance, turn around and leave. This is a bit complicated but doable, except there is no indication that this is the most logical route and none of the objects are numbered. Entering the room, I went immediately to the display on the right, then realised the exit was next to it so turned around and went to see the door, then turned around again to the display left of the entrance, it was overall confusing.

    Conclusion: Is it worth a visit?

    If you’re in Paris and planning to go to the Louvre, go see this exhibition but also do manage your expectations and maybe get ready to invest in the catalogue. The absence of objects from Russian collections is regrettable but understandable and independent of the Louvre’s will, and could have been better filled from more objects from the Louvre, but overall the artworks displayed are worth the visit, especially those coming from Uzbekistan.

    South wall Funeral procession led by King Varkhuman, in honour of his predecessor Shishpir. Afrasiyab, 648-651 AD (Afrasiyab Museum, Samarkand). (image from Wikipedia)
    1. From the film The Devil wears Prada.
  • Cartier et les Arts de l’Islam, between Darkness and Sparkles (blog)

    Cartier et les Arts de l’Islam, between Darkness and Sparkles (blog)

    This January, for the first time in three years, I was able to fly back to Paris. I lived in the city for nine years before moving to the UK, so coming back is always a moment I treasure. I get to see old friends, walk through the lane of my 20’s memories, and catch up on current affair, namely, this time, getting to the Musee des Arts Decoratifs to see the exhibition Cartier et les Arts de l’Islam.

    I initially intended to do an Instagram live through the exhibition but I had too many conflicting feelings about its content, and promptly decided to write them down in a more structured fashion.

    Two remarks between jumping in: First, I only saw the exhibition and haven’t read the catalogue (hard-cover sold for 62€ in the museum store, I almost chocked), so my opinion is solely based on the exhibition rooms. Secondly, the pictures below have not been edited or altered in any way. The reader will excuse the absence of information on the objects depicted such as accession numbers, my intend here is merely to give an opinion, not redraw the exhibition.

    The fine line between intimate and hazardous

    Two years ago, I wrote on this blog an article about the way Islamic arts are displayed in museums, with a section titled “The literal darkness of Islamic arts” in which I was questioning the common choice to install displays in particularly dark rooms. The Louvre and the British Museum, with their newly refurbished Islamic arts departments, are particularly relevant examples of this trend.

    The Cartier exhibition follows the fashion, but takes it a step further by plunging the rooms in pitch black, to the point where I saw people bump into each other.

    The benefit of such a display is the contrast with the exposed pieces, in particular the jewellery that was very cleverly lighted. Now, I am not particularly familiar with jewellery exhibitions, and maybe this kind of “non-lighting lighting” is common practice, but I struggle to understand this trend with Islamic art display. It seems to me that Islamic arts are purposely kept into dark rooms to signify a sort of mystery, somehow linked to the notion of Orient as seen by 19th century orientalists, fascinated by harems forbidden to men, and palace intrigues hidden behind musharabieh. Delicate Persian paintings and princely cups made of semi-previous stone were, after all, not intended to be seen by a large public, and current trends might be trying to emulate that idea of privacy. My interpretation might completely be off, it might just be a particularly annoying museography trend that will eventually be replaced by another, I just cannot help but wonder.

    The contrast with the dark rooms make the jewels sparkle even more

    A point not completely made

    The ambition of the exhibition is to show the close connection between the Maison Cartier and Islamic arts. For this, it is divided in two halves. The first one treats of different thematics, for instance the Persian taste in French decorative arts at the end of the 19th century, the diffusion of non-European decorative patterns through ornament books such as The Grammar of Ornament of Owen Jones, etc. The second half of the exhibition is more centred on iconography, juxtaposing Islamic or Indian artefacts bearing particular patterns (such as botteh, mandorla, cintamani etc.), with Cartier pieces ornamented with the same patterns.

    In the first place, it is important to note the disproportion of Cartier jewels and Islamic pieces. I fully appreciate the fact that this is a Cartier exhibition, with many pieces coming from the private Cartier collection, but I do believe more Islamic pieces would have brought more clarity. Showing only one Mamluk wood panel carved with 8 pointed stars seems like a missed opportunity. Some choices also seem odd, though commendable, mainly for the lack of justification, which left the visitor to read between the line. For instance, the life-size portrait of Fath ‘Ali Shah Qajar, Iran’s ruler from 1797 to 1834, has been landed by the Louvre for this exhibition. The painting is installed between the tiara-aigrette reproduced above and a pearl necklace. Neither piece appear on Fath ‘Ali Shah’s portrait, which was produced almost a century earlier than the two jewels, so what is the point made, beside showing that the ruler was dripping in pearls? Another example is the first room of the exhibition, titled “A Persian taste”, in which the very first object is a Mamluk glass lamp.

    Two direct inspiration sources for Cartier

    Here lies my main issue with the exhibition: the absence of nuance. The entire display seemed like a juxtaposition of pieces that share common patterns. This is fair, the ambition is clearly stated in the title, however it would have been beneficial to push the analysis further. The “Islamic” patterns presented to the viewers are just there, with no explanation on where they come from, how they were developed, what is their function and what is their meaning. All these motives are transposed to Cartier jewels without much critical analysis. The first two or three rooms attempt to contextualise the passion of aristocratic Europe for Islamic arts and the taxonomical effort of ornamentalists and travellers, but it remains unclear what those ornament books are used for, beside for Cartier creations, and what is the real impact on the knowledge of Islamic arts and cultures in Europe. The beginning of the 20th century is an important moment in Islamic arts history in Europe, which the exhibition recognises by mentioning Gaston Migeon, but the explanations are not sufficient for a non-specialist to really connect the dot. They will have to buy the catalogue to understand.

    What have I learned?

    A Mughal emperor (?) as an ashtray, refined

    At the end of each exhibition, I always ask myself this question: what have I learned that I didn’t know before? In other words, what was the point of the exhibition? With Cartier et les arts de l’Islam, I learned about the history of the maison Cartier that I didn’t know, and I learned that between the end of the 19th century and the 1940’s, the house created luxury items inspired by or copied from Islamic arts. One could say mission accomplished, but I can’t help feeling like something is missing, and I remember leaving with a slight feeling of frustration. Maybe was it the overall darkness, the too minimalistic display for the main part, or the confusing museography, or maybe am I just tired to see Islamic arts presented like a block of objects out of time and out of space, mixing together Timurid architectural tiles and Mughal paintings, minbar carved panels and Iznik beer-mugs. Cartier used bits of Islamic arts indifferently, and this is how Islamic arts are presented in the exhibition, interchangeable, anonymous and confusing.

    In conclusion, the exhibition treats Islamic arts exactly like Cartier did: a collection of pretty things that can be extracted from history and reused to make more pretty things.