Marbles & Stones

The British Government line for why they have maintained a relatively passive role in deciding the fate of the stolen Parthenon Marbles (I’ve always said “Elgin Marbles” – me thinks that ain’t exactly p.c. these days!) has always rested strongly on the reasoning that the spectacular artifacts were removed from the Acropolis and brought into the UK by Lord Elgin in the 19th century – that is, it was a historically private initiative, unhindered by the Greek officialdom and following international and diplomatic protocols in place at the time, and over which the Government had little to no influence then and presumably no legal liability now. In the light of this, a report in The Guardian a couple of days ago about research suggesting that the foreign secretary of the day, Viscount Castlereagh, was, in fact, very much involved in the initiative and in facilitating the import of the marbles, offers an interesting new angle in what must be one of the longest and most famous disputes concerning stolen antiquities.

My own photograph, British Museum, 2012.

The publication of these findings comes at a particularly timely moment it has to be said; coming on the back of a renewed campaign by the Greek government, partly inspired by the sudden change of stance by The Times at the beginning of the year and public opinion in the UK in general, and the British Museum showing signs of a willingness to explore compromise solutions (talk for instance of a so-called “Parthenon Partnership” and a new Parthenon Project.).

Staying at the British Museum: There is the matter of the Rosetta Stone – famously, the engraved artifact with which Jean-François Champollion went about his decoding of the hitherto puzzle of hieroglyphs. The physical object of course is one thing, but just as important, perhaps, is the way in which the astounding work of Champollion and others shone new light upon the richness of ancient Egyptian civilisation – their society, customs and belief systems. In recognition of Champollion’s scholarship there is a major exhibition Hieroglyphs: unlocking ancient Egypt at the British Museum through to 19 February 2023 (and I note an extended blog piece by the curator, Ilona Regulski). And another at the Louvre satellite in Lens, Champollion: La voie des hiéroglyphes (the webpage is only in French, but the objects can be looked at) until 16 January.

My (not very good!) photo of the Rosetta Stone, British Museum, 2012

Not quite as loudly as Greece, but Egypt too has called for the return of their “lost” heritage over the years. The loudest, though no longer in a governmental role, has been the renowned (and publicity savvy) Egyptian archaeologist Zahi Hawass who regularly pleads for the Stone’s restitution (as he likewise does for Nefertiti’s return from Berlin). In some ways this case is more complicated, in that the Rosetta Stone was amongst the many artifacts that were handed over to the British in a formal agreement as a result of the capitulation of Napoleon’s army in Egypt. Though one could conclude: Okay, so the French excavated, confiscated – maybe nicked – all this stuff and the Brits just help themselves to the spoils? What!

I admit to being a convert tending more to the ‘return’ side of the argument. Way back whenever I was amongst those (many, I believe) interested observers of the mounting controversies who just sort of presumed western museums (located in democratic countries, in more moderate climatic regions – both factors remain good – but not defining – arguments) had the space, financial and technical resources, expertise to best ensure the preservation of some of the treasures of world civilization. Unfortunately, it has to be said, many of these institutions (mostly led by an older generation and with the tacit support of their governments) have over decades been too reluctant to seriously engage with the claims made by the nations and peoples from whence many cultural objects have originated and, even when, have confronted the claimants with a sometimes patronizing, often impatient and nearly always paternalistic attitude. Ultimately, I think, one has to be prepared to accept the good will and intentions of those who seek restitution of their property and their right to make decisions that they deem in the best interest of the preservation and continuity of their cultural heritage. There are enough examples of how that may happen – with partnerships, exchanges, even new museums.

It seems, then, after years of bulwark tactics, the British Museum may be finally progressing towards an inclusive and respectful course of cultural and intellectual exchange. And it is not alone, for younger generations are taking on leadership roles at many other of the world’s great institutions; generations that are more diverse and with broader cultural visions. This, I think, is good news (something at a premium these days!) for the many nations that are reorganizing their cultural legacy in a post-colonial world.

The Great Wave

In the digital magazine, Aeon (very accessible and very much to be recommended) “Great Art Explained” series: the famous Hokusai work, The Great Wave off Kanagawa (circa. 1830) in a short video (also on YouTube and embedded below) explained.

And, exceedingly well explained in my opinion; especially informative is the greater look at the rigid class hierarchy of the Edo period from which ukiyo-e (simplistically put: the traditional Japanese wood block prints of the time) sprung, and evolved – from its folkloric, hedonistic beginnings to a broader range of subjects that, with Hokusai, would find inspiration in the landscape. Mount Fuji would replace the Kabuki actor as the star of the popular print.

The video, then, is not just about one work, nor one artist, but offers a glimpse at an art form rooted in the traditions – cultural and technical – of Japan but, with a nation’s opening up to the world after two centuries of self-imposed isolationism, that was to be influenced from without (for instance; away from the human form as prime subject, Prussian blue ink, perspective techniques), and then, in turn, to make its own mark on movements elsewhere, especially on the impressionist and post-impressionist movements in 19th century western Europe. (This Wikipedia article on ‘Japonisme’ is informative in this respect.) Not dissimilar to the to and fro of waves – both great and small – falling upon shores – near and far- in a continual rhythmic exchange; dislocating silt and sand from one place and depositing it in the next.

This latter observation reminded me of a – to then be sought out again – stunning interactive piece last year from Jason Farago, and still on the NYT website (for those with access). Linked to here and headed A Picture of Change for a World in Constant Motion, Farago investigates another Katsushika Hokusai print, “Ejiri in Suruga Province” from his renowned cycle “Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji.”. Without the iconic appeal of “The Great Wave”, Farago does however excavate from this work an awful lot of stuff that feels contemporaneous, and connects our fast and furious times to the frenetic pace of life on the brink of modernity at the turn into the last century; in disparate regions of the world with cultural traditions in opposition only when considered under a purely chauvinistic gaze.

“Ejiri in Suruga Province” Katsushika Hokusai – Donated to Wikimedia Commons as part of a project by the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

In this tenth print of the series, the wave metaphor has been blown away by the wind – the winds of change perhaps; more than fishing vessels on high seas threatened, their crews bowed, praying in unison, the mighty Mount Fuji made minute, this landscape, while treacherous still and with a winding path difficult to traverse, it is well-peopled by those taking their destiny in their own hands, doggedly facing down the head-winds.

And, if all that was not enough, the master is to feature in an upcoming exhibition at the British Museum; Hokusai: The Great Picture Book of Everything (30 September 2021 – 30 January 2022) – a recently acquired collection of small drawings, rarely before seen. The exhibition website is a wellspring of information, and includes an online look at the entire collection.