British Optical Association Museum

Appointment-only museums are a breed of their own.  Having to make an appointment automatically puts up barriers to entry that public spaces do not.  People can question whether they are qualified to visit, and it is not always easy to tell in advance why a museum is appointment-only.  While there is a range of reasons for it, the most common reasons are down to security and manpower. 

I recently visited the British Optical Association Museum that is appointment only because their display spaces are within the private offices of the College of Optometrists on Craven Street, very close to Charing Cross.  Having to book an appointment can be off-putting, particularly for a non-medical specialist, but I would urge readers to go ahead and do it.  Museum staff are always delighted to share their collections and knowledge, and the tours here are led by the curator, Neil Handley.  What’s more, the College of Optometrists seem to have enormously friendly and welcoming staff across the board so I didn’t feel like an intruder at any time during my visit.

The British Optical Association (BOA) Museum is named for an organisation that no longer exists, having been absorbed into what is now the College of Optometrists in 1980.  The BOA was founded in 1895 and the museum was set up in 1901 as a form of marketing for the profession.  At this time, members of the medical profession argued that the work that opticians do should be the preserve of medical doctors, and the BOA was organised to professionalise the workforce.  Their quest for legitimacy came to fruition with the 1958 Opticians Act, and now opticians and ophthalmologists work together amicably.

The display heavily emphasises the social history of eyewear, eye health, and optometry.  There is a display in the entryway of the building of the glasses of notable people, including Dr. Samuel Johnson, writer C. P. Snow, and Matthew Bellamy of Muse.  The bulk of the exhibitions are in the basement (accessible via lift) and the curator guides all visitors through the displays, giving narrative and additional background information tailored to his audience. 

The first item of the collection that Handley drew my attention to is a drawing of Hermann von Helmholtz undertaking the first non-invasive eye test on a young woman.  Handley explains that this was a sea change for eye health as it made it socially acceptable for women to have eye checks.  This is part of the ongoing story of the development of eyewear charted in the collections.  Glasses and contact lenses have steadily increased in popularity in modern times.  Probably invented in the 13^th century, the oldest pair of spectacles in the BOA collection dates to the 16^th century.  They were used by members of religious orders, the only sector of society that were both literate and had the funds available for eyewear. 

Glasses were an external sign of disability, and evidence of reduced stigma is evident in the 20^th century, particularly with the explosion of fashion eyewear from the 1960s onward.  Of the c. 1000 visitors per year, the museum is increasingly visited by design students looking for inspiration.  A portion of the display is dedicated to fashionable, outrageous, and innovative eyewear that ties directly to the book “Cult Eyewear” by the curator (available from a range of stockists).  A most curious fact is that sunglasses were originally invented in the 18^th century in Venice to help people deal with the glare off the water, but somehow this invention was forgotten until the 20^th century when sunglasses were reinvented by Hollywood stars shielding their eyes from the bright lights of the film studios.  Original Venetian sunglasses are on display with green tinted glass made in Murano.

There are loads of fascinating items on display, including the original 1949 range of NHS glasses.  There were initially 18 different designs on offer, but this was soon cut down as it proved to be too much choice for patients.  One of the highlights is a collection of gruesome glass eyes.  The museum founder, John Sutcliffe, was also the founder of the Army Spectacle Depot where false eyes were made during the First World War.  Many items in the collection have come from opticians closing their shops and offering old stock, display models, and optometry equipment to the museum. 

In total the collection numbers approximately 20,000 items, all of which are able to be stored on-site.  There is little space for many of the larger items, so these are mainly stored in dismantled condition.  When Handley arrived at the museum 15 years ago, there was no display space, so the BOA Museum was an early adopter of on-line exhibitions.  All of the collections are digitised and available to view through their website.  Interesting areas of the collection include eye-protection pieces, one of the first ever set of contact lenses made in Britain, some surprisingly beautiful eyebaths, opera glasses, and even cockade brisé fans with small lenses at the centre so that Georgian ladies could peep through them without appearing too nosy.

The College of Optometrists is the professional body for opticians in the UK and the museum reflects the role that the College plays in public health.  The museum has been involved in campaigns to raise awareness of the impact of smoking on eye health, as well as the dangers of using expired eye makeup.  Eye checks that opticians undertake are not just for corrective prescriptions, but can test for a range of other maladies such as diabetes.  The museum also collects items that document disability and show attitudes towards blind people.

One potential issue with tour-led museum visits is there is often no opportunity for lone exploration of displays.  Handley accommodates this by allowing visitors to look around after his tour is complete, which is thoughtful.  I spent most of this time trying on the many historic pairs of glasses in the handling drawers and watching the generally hilarious fashion films from the Pathé archive of women modelling glasses in the 1950s and ‘60s (one of them features all the women emerging from behind a small potted plant, for no narrative reason).  There’s also some very interesting archival footage of the museum in the 1930s and 1960s in its previous location in Earls Court.

Because display space in the museum is limited, much of it is designed to be flexible so that items can be rotated in and out.  I was particularly taken with the creative use of the street-facing windows as display cases.  The museum is in the basement of the building, but has windows and light wells which have been protected with UV-filters and converted to a secure case.  This cleverly creates display space while respecting the fabric of the Grade II* listed building.

While an opticians’ museum may sound a bit too specialist for most people, it is actually an interesting and valuable resource for anyone interested in social history, fashion, or disability history in addition to medical history.  Definitely do not be put off by its status as appointment-only, as staff are friendly and knowledgeable.  The museum is free to visit, but donations are encouraged.

Banqueting House, Westminster

Historic Royal Palaces (HRP) is a charitable trust that is separate from present-day holdings of the monarchy.  Like many other museums and historic properties, they are under pressure to raise revenue through various streams, not least of which is renting space for private events.

The Banqueting House was designed originally for holding gala events at the Palace of Whitehall, and is now managed by HRP as a museum and site for private events.  Initially the building’s major functions were for the formal reception of foreign ambassadors and for the performance of masques, a type of theatre very popular in the early 17^th century, but the "Banqueting" of the name quickly followed.  Certainly the building's most notorious use was as the execution site of Charles I; the monarch was led up the stairs and through a window where scaffolding had been erected for public view of his beheading.  The rest of the palace was destroyed by fire in 1698 and for the next two centuries the building was used as a chapel, but in the 19^th century it was converted back into an open space and has been a popular site for formal events ever since.

The sheer volume of private events held in the space lead to some serious interpretation challenges.  Clearly it is not appropriate to have anything obtrusive and permanent in the space.  Nevertheless, the interpretation that is present is disappointing and at times embarrassing.  Visitors are instructed by the very friendly staff (and it should be noted that HRP have, hands down, the friendliest and most helpful front of house staff that I have ever encountered across all 5 of their properties) to visit the undercroft first where a video plays on a loop, and then to return to the desk for an audioguide, before proceeding upstairs.  The undercroft turns out to feel pretty much exactly like the basement of a church that is also used for functions.  There is a bar area, and some screens by the wall, and it is easy to imagine the space’s transformation into a cloakroom and cocktail reception area.  The one display case in the room is empty, and the video is in a far corner, with definitely the most elegant chairs I’ve ever seen in a museum A/V viewing area: all cream and gold.

The video is purely an embarrassment.  It’s difficult to believe that the same organisation that has developed the revelatory interpretation schemes at Kensington and Kew Palaces could allow this to continue.  The picture and sound quality are terrible, it feels interminable, and the editing is poor, cutting suddenly between a couple of different production styles.  From an access point of view, the subtitles extend outside the frame of the screen, so are very difficult to read, and the acoustics of the undercroft meant that if anyone is speaking or even whispering, the video is impossible to hear.  Particularly cringe-worthy moments are the use of shaky camera work to symbolise Charles I’s death march, and when a description of Henry VIII’s building projects notes that he completed the works while “still having time for six wives”.

The content of the video was very interesting, and part of the reason it felt like it would never end is because the site has such a rich history.  I knew little about masques and Maundy Thursday celebrations, both of which have important roles in the history of Banqueting House.  I knew more about Inigo Jones, Peter Paul Rubens, and Charles I and II, but it was interesting to have their stories contextualised at this particular site.  However, I was exceedingly disappointed to discover that the audioguide contains all the same information.  I would strongly recommend that visitors skip the video and head right to the audioguide.

This is not to say that I was particularly pleased with the audioguide either.  The handheld devices don’t work very well (I had to bring back the first one I was given, and the second one worked only slightly better), perhaps due to age.  They don’t seem to have a volume mechanism, and mine was set on volume 1million so I couldn’t put it anywhere near my ear.  Most irritatingly, though, there was no way to navigate content.  Because the guide is essentially a continuous narrative for which you have to manually change tracks, there are no visual cues within the space as is usual for audioguides.  The tour was almost as dated as the video, with someone actually declaring, with some pride, that “George Bush came here”.

If I seem relentlessly negative, it’s because this is a fascinating site and as an HRP member and visitor to their other sites, I know they can do better.  There are some gestures at this in the graphically interesting display in the staircase, which (very) briefly summarises the Civil War.  The undercroft also displays an amazing hidden gem: the proposed seating plan for the wedding of Edward VIII and Wallis Simpson that was to take place at the Banqueting House, had other matters not intervened.  What I really don’t understand is why more isn’t made of the Rubens ceiling in their marketing and interpretation of the site.  The designers of the audioguide do take advantage of this interpretation method’s capability of allowing people to listen to multiple in-depth descriptions or to skip them as they choose, but the tracks about the symbolism and techniques of Rubens’ work here are the runaway highlights.  Also buried deep in the audioguide was just how significant Inigo Jones’ Palladian design was when it was built; Classically influenced architecture doesn’t really phase anyone walking around London today, but the Banqueting House was one of the very first buildings in this style to appear in London in modern times, and the contrast must have been shocking.

I don’t know what actual visitor numbers are, but it is abundantly clear that the Banqueting House is the least popular of the sites managed by HRP.  This is evident both in the ticket price (£5, substantially lower than for the other sites) and from the number of visitors present when I visited (there were approximately 30 other people there during peak tourist season).  Considering the location in the tourist hub of Westminster and the quality of the attraction, the place should be teeming.

Despite the low price, I’d find it very difficult to recommend visiting if you are not a member of HRP and have to pay separately.  Nevertheless, I highly recommend an HRP membership, as the price is an absolute steal if you plan on visiting even three of the palaces within a year.  I hope that HRP are able to find interpretation solutions that bring the presentation of the Banqueting House more in line with their other sites without interfering with the site’s importance as a revenue stream through private events.  Banqueting House deserves better.

Textiles Tour of the Tate Modern

Large museums can be totally overwhelming for visitors- they don’t call it “museum fatigue” for nothing.  So often when I visit large museums I like to go in with a particular theme in mind.  On a recent visit to the Tate Modern I decided to check out what textiles they have on display.  The Tate Modern is, of course, an art gallery rather a craft or design museum.  However textiles still play an important role in modern and contemporary art, so I was interested to see how textiles are represented in their permanent exhibitions, and I’ve created a minitour around the works that incorporate textiles.  I’ve excluded the temporary, though it looks as though both Ellen Gallagher and Saloua Raouda Choucair do work with textiles, and I’m looking forward to both of those.

I can’t decide whether textiles are noticeably absent or strikingly present.  In total, I found just 11 works involving textiles across the several hundred on display.  Textile works are present in only two of the four galleries: Poetry and Dream, which centres on the Surrealist movement, and Energy and Process, which focuses loosely on art from the 1960s to ‘80s.  I did find it odd that Structure and Clarity had no textile works on display, given that artists and craftsmen often utilise textiles in their work precisely because of their structural possibilities.

I suppose I could include all works on canvas, but this seems to me to miss the point of what textiles can offer as a medium in their own right.  Nevertheless, one piece does express the dual use of canvas as both a background material and a structural form.  Pinot Gallizio’s Industrial Painting (1958) is in Room 4 of the Poetry and Dream exhibition on the 2^nd floor.  It was created using a quasi-mass production technique of a painting machine, and portions could be sliced off and sold as individual pieces.

Industrial Painting, Pinot Gallizio

 

Poetry and Dream’s emphasis on the Surrealists presents opportunities for display of textile pieces informed by found objects and tactile juxtaposition, and most of these are displayed in Room 2.  The most striking of these is perhaps Box (1963) by Lucas Somaras.  Inspired by Somaras’ childhood in his family’s tailor shop, it contrasts soft wool, rope, and thread with shards of glass.

Box, Lucas Somaras

 

Two of the sculptural works by Man Ray incorporate textiles.  The Lovers (1933) uses a thick coil of rope that the Tate curators interpret as reminiscent of a noose.  This work was created in the aftermath of Ray’s split from Lee Miller.  Elsewhere, L’Enigme d’Isidore Ducasse (1920) is a sewing machine wrapped in cloth.  The use of textile equipment is directly inspired by Surrealist thinker Isidore Ducasse, who wrote under the nom de plume Comte de Lautreamont.  

The Lovers, Man Ray

 

L'Enigme d'Isidore Ducasse, Man Ray

 Cloth wrapping that both obscures details and highlights the solidity and form of the concealed object is a central feature of Man Ray's works above.  It also informs Joseph Beuys’ Campaign Bed (1982) next door in Room 8.  Felt blankets are a theme across Beuys' work, said to be inspired by their aid in his survival during an incident when his plane was shot down during the Second World War.

Campaign Bed, Joseph Beuys

The final two works on this floor, both in Room 2, are psychosexual sculptural pieces that use velvet and animalistic shapes to convey desire.  Cathy de Monchaux’s Erase (1989) combines velvet, denim and metal in a work that hints at fetishism.  Meanwhile Dorothea Tanning’s Pincushion (1965) is even more overtly fetishistic, despite simultaneously looking like an adorable baby elephant.  In both these works textiles are used to symbolise the concealment of hidden urges, as well as to lend the pieces tactile interest.

Pincushion, Dorothea Tanning

Erase, Cathy de Monchaux

Several works in Energy and Process, on the 4^th floor, incorporate textiles; this exhibition is heavily weighted towards craftsmanship and sculptural works, so this is unsurprising.  Perhaps the most striking is Pino Pascali’s 1968 work, Trap in Room 6.  Made from braided steel wool, the work takes the form of a primitive trap normally made from vines or rope.  It is given its own room which serves to emphasise the scale of the work.

Trap, Pino Pascali

 

Other works in this section include the monumental Untitled (2008) by Robert Morris and Direction (1976-8) by Giovanni Anselmo, both in Room 3.  Morris works with industrial felt cut in strips and hung from a height to allow the textiles to create delicate flowing tendrils that contrast with the thick coarse material.  It is a vibrant and playful work, far more so than most of the other textile works on display, and my personal favourite across this tour.  

Untitled, Robert Morris

Meanwhile Anselmo’s work is inspired by compass points; the apex of the white drapery on the floor points towards geographic north.  This again uses textile as a sculptural medium, and particularly highlights an understanding of the unique forms that fabric can take.  The wide spread of the fabric at the ends of the V and its narrowing to a point is possible because of the nature of the material.

Direction, Giovanni Anselmo

   

The other piece that makes pointed use of textiles for their structural capabilities is by Paule Vezalay, whose Lines in Space 34 (1954) uses string pulled taut in different directions within a small frame.  This expression of spatial awareness is an interesting use of the most basic unit of textiles: thread.  Apologies that I could not get a decent image of this one due to glare from the glass, but it is in Room 2 of Energy and Process.

Lines in Space 34, Paule Vezalay

 

The final textile piece is O Penelope (1993) by Leonilson in Room 5.  This is the only example presently on display that specifically embodies subversion of feminine associations with textiles.  This has become one of the most clichéd themes in modern craft, and is based on a spurious history of textiles as a female-only domain, so I am pleasantly surprised that it is not given more attention.

O Penelope, Leonilson

 

The Tate Modern by no means aims to tell all the narratives of modern and contemporary art simultaneously, so it is not a surprise to find that textile works are not a focus at any point.  However the textile works that are incorporated represent an interesting range of uses that textiles have been put to in non-representational art over the past century.  It would be nice to see more textile works in the permanent display, and perhaps more attention paid to the significance of the medium.  However I look forward to returning for the temporary exhibitions mentioned above, both of which seem to feature some interesting contemporary textile work.

The permanent exhibitions at the Tate Modern are free, as protected by the current coalition government agreement.  Donations of £3 are strongly encouraged if you enjoy your visit and are financially able.

Garden Museum

Photo ripped shamelessly from website of Dow Jones Architects

Last week, threatened green space catalysed national protests in Turkey, underscoring the importance of parks and gardens to wellbeing.  In the same week I was fortunate enough to appreciate a range of parks and gardens around London: Hilly Fields, Kensington Gardens, and Bonnington Square (alongside religious and political freedom, but that’s another story).  So it was fitting time to visit the Garden Museum.  I had (shamefully) not been since prior to their subtle but spectacular refurbishment in 2008, when it was still the "Museum of Garden History".

The new “space within a space” is practically perfect; I’m a big fan of creative uses for redundant churches and the setting remains quirky, but staff now have a multifunctional space that better fits its range of programming.  The Garden Museum has consistently affirmed its commitment to sustainability (even hosting a sustainability internship) so it is no surprise that the materials have come from sustainable forests, and that the utmost sensitivity to the historic environment was emphasised in the architectural designs.  The one slightly disorienting result of the spatial organisation is that the main centre of the space feels curiously empty, with displays and permanent functional areas moved to the margins.  This is undoubtedly a necessity wrought by use for public and private events, and it does allow a permanent children’s activity space.

The real coup is the temporary exhibition, Green Fuse: The Work of Dan Pearson, on until 20 October. There is a new self-contained gallery space (again, new in a relative sense – it has been 4 years!) that separates visitors totally from the main space.  The effect is stunning, at least for this particular exhibition, as the experience is totally immersive.

Even before visiting the temporary exhibition, I was drawn to a sculpture associated with Pearson on display in the choir area of the church.  Rosa Nguyen’s “Tree Folly with Cercis” is a transformational work, playful and spectacular.  It dresses the branches of a dead tree from Pearson’s former garden in Peckham with ceramic shapes of garlic, gourds, birds, oakgalls and more, creating a miniature wonderland.  Sadly my phone battery was dead, so no pictures, but all the more reason to go discover it for yourself.

I was struck by the parallels between the representation of Pearson’s life and work and that of another artist featured elsewhere in South London: the exhibition “A Life in Colour” about textile artist Kaffe Fassett at the Fashion and Textile Museum.  Both chart an awakening awareness of colour and nature, and illuminates the personal interactions that influenced the subject’s life and work.  While Fassett’s career in textiles grew out of a series of chance encounters (including learning to knit on a train from Scotland to London), Pearson’s experiences with gardens began in early childhood at the delightfully named family home of “Upyonder” on the borders of Hampshire and Sussex.

As a curator, my biggest personal challenge is that I don’t naturally have a good eye for spatial design and layout, so I am always particularly impressed with exhibitions that do something innovative with layouts.  Despite the gallery being quite a small space, the curatorial team managed to cram in Pearson’s entire education and career, four video and photographic displays, and an installation of a Hanasumi garden (charcoal gardens native to Japan), without the space feeling, well, crammed.  The collage of notebooks, school reports, photographs, newspaper articles, and photographs was a work of art in itself.

If I have one complaint about the exhibition, it is that the videos are too long to enjoy on even my relatively good attention span.  I admit to not catching if the text gave the full length of the individual films, but I must have sat for at least 10 minutes through just one of the films, and it wasn’t even over when I moved on.  This is only a shame because the films alternate between two different gardens, one of Maggie’s Place in Lambeth and one of the Millennium Forest in Hokkaido, Japan, and the full length of the two must be about 30 minutes.  Few museums show films this long, with the exception of contemporary art pieces, but I don’t think for a moment that this was curatorial self-indulgence.  Rather it seems in keeping with Pearson’s own views on his work.  The third and final video is an interview with the horticulturalist himself, along with a tour of his own garden in Somerset.  He says “I think it’s important that we don’t overwhelm” and that gardens are places that “should be discovered gently”.  The beautiful raw wood Adirondack chairs did make this a highly comfortable experience, but visitors should be warned to schedule the time into their visit, and be prepared to be patient.

Also on display are a permanent exhibition and – crucially – a garden.  The Garden Museum became such because of its connection to the Johns Tradescant Elder and Younger.  The first famous modern gardeners were also founders of the Britain’s first museum, with the “Ark” displayed in their home in Lambeth forming the nucleus of Elias Ashmole’s collection (now the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford).  The permanent display resides in a lofty balcony space, and is not quite as good quality as the temporary exhibition, unfortunately.  The captions are a bit messy in terms of spelling and grammar, and as a non-gardener, I was frustrated by the lack of explanation of certain terms and names for tools.  What on earth is the thing that looks like a cheese grater and is captioned as a “sweet pea counter”?  Nevertheless, the draw of all specialist museums is that they illuminate the quotidian with curatorial insight.  My favourite display was of Edwardian photographs showing people posing formally with their lawnmowers.  Here the captions point out that, of course, lawnmowers were expensive and high profile consumer goods, so naturally people wanted to show them off.

The garden is both a display and teaching tool.  It was a pilgrimage to the graves of the Tradescants in 1976 that caused Rosemary Nicholson to found the museum on this site, the former St. Mary-at-Lambeth.  The refurbished grave is spectacular and plays on the travels and curious collections of the Tradescants, from the Pyramids to a six-headed dragon.  The garden also highlights the sustainability offer of the museum; a sign informs about a partnership with the Royal Parks who are able to compost the debris from large plane trees that line the garden, in exchange for historical training for their own horticulture interns.

The café was shutting early for a private event, and I had just had a big lunch, so I have not visited myself, but I have on good authority it is one of the best museum cafés in London.  The shop has a sad lack of indoor gardening equipment that matches my sad lack of an outdoor gardening space.  Surely missing a trick, but a lovely selection of quirky gifts and practical items all the same.

The Garden Museum is planning even further developments, including the refurbishment and use of the crypt, and I have no doubt that this, one of the most progressive and ambitious small museums in London, will be worth many return visits.

Green Fuse: The Work of Dan Pearson is on until 20 October.  The Garden Museum is an independent trust and charges an entry fee.  Worth it.

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