How do we present history? In museums and through art in galleries? In archives inaccessible to most of us? What ‘truths’ are contained in these curated and archived versions of history? Joan Gibbons looks at how artists challenge conventional forms of presenting histories in her chapter The Ordering of Knowledge from her book Contemporary Art and Memory (Tauris, London and New York, 2007).
She looks at Mark Dion’s work The Delirium of Alfred Russel Wallace in which Dion creates an imaginary expedition campsite of Alfred Wallace. Wallace was a natural scientist and a contemporary of Charles Darwin. He was said to have formulated ideas about natural selection before Darwin. His research was not so heavily scientifically recorded and more intuitive than Darwin’s – in fact his ideas about natural selection were said to have been based on a delirious insight whilst suffering from malaria. Dion proposes that “Darwin gains the authority (for the theory of natural selection) because of his rigorous methodologies, which clearly reflected the work ethos of the nineteenth century”. Gibbons says of the artist “Dion reminds us that there is not only more than one way of knowing but more than one way of remembering knowledge.”(p125.pp1)
Gibbons poses the question “who controls the knowledge to be passed from generation to generation….(and) who is authorised to do it”. (p125.pp1)
This gives me a feeling of ‘history’ as something intuitive and that history is evident in non-spoken ‘silent’ form in the shape of objects. I’m considering embarking on a period of research after graduation that explores the tangible weight of history that lies within the object.
My brother Robb has been collecting agricultural implements and machinery for forty years. The hundreds of objects that he has amassed have been carefully curated and hang in an old farm building and sit outside in the yard. The objects do not gleam with new paint and are not adorned with explanations – they rust and gather cobwebs as my brother works on his tractors. Stepping into his shed feels like a spiritual experience – this seems to be a shrine to toil and the land now changed. I wonder what triggered his fascination and his need to collect? There are lots of conversations I need to have with him. Unlike the labelled museum artifact that has been detached from its roots these objects are full of their history – unspoken, unwritten but palpable – tools made by hand for hands to use; names stamped deep into metal; wooden handles worn with use.
This feels to me like a very liberated, authentic collection that speaks for itself, gathered and kept alive by my brother. ( I wonder how many more collectors and personal collections there are like this?). There is so much about the land and agriculture in this country that is misunderstood and overlooked, being a farmer’s daughter I feel a strong need to bring some of this life to view.
My late father practiced husbandry – his physical and emotional attachments to the land and to his livestock were profound. He didn’t appreciate my brother’s fascination with ‘old’ implements as he remembered using some of them as a young man and the hard toil that this involved. A farming life is often a quiet one but not without its joys and tragedies. If this does become my next area of work I will endeavor to show it the respect it deserves.
