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Now everyone is an insider!

In order to provide an open forum for ALL of the museum’s collection and activities, the Paper + People blog is being renamed SCMA Insider. With its expanded focus, SCMA Insider will act as a go-to place for sharing information on the diverse collections and many voices and visions that shape SCMA.

If you want to contribute to the blog, please contact the Brown Post-Baccalaureate Curatorial Fellow, Shanice Bailey, at

  • Tuesday, March 27, 2012

    Shared Inspiration

    This month saw the opening of Shared Inspiration: The David R. and Muriel Pokross CollectionShared Inspiration celebrates a generous gift from the family of Muriel Kohn Pokross, class of 1934, and David R. Pokross.  Comprised of paintings, drawings and prints by major artists of the post-World War II period, The Pokross Collection is a marvelous and exciting addition to SCMA’s collection. 

    After receiving the gift this winter, my colleagues and I spent months studying, researching and enthusing about these new objects, and looking for the correspondences between them.  Several works in the collection—a drawing and a painting by William T. Wiley, drawings by David Park and Richard Diebenkorn—were by California artists.  This concentration allowed me to learn about the contemporary art that came out of California in the 1960s and 1970s: the Bay Area Figurative Movement, of which Diebenkorn and Park were founding members (our new David Park drawing is a beautiful example of the work that came out of this movement), and the California Funk Art Movement, of which William T. Wiley was a member. 

    In this installation shot, you can see our Richard Diebenkorn (Untitled #25, 1981) on the far left paired with an Elizabeth Murray drawing. 

    The gift also includes four works by the Pioneer Valley artist Gregory Gillespie.  Gillespie is known as a Pioneer Valley Realist, but it was a designation he rejected, and when you look at the works in the Pokross Collection, you can see why: they run the gamut from the real to the strange to the absurd.  Here are two paintings from the collection:

    Gregory Joseph Gillespie. American, 1936 – 2000. Greg and Peg, 1991. Oil on wood. Gift of The Pokross Art Collection, donated in accordance with the wishes of Muriel Kohn Pokross, class of 1934 by her children, Joan Pokross Curhan, class of 1959, William R. Pokross and David R. Pokross Jr. in loving memory of their parents, Muriel Kohn Pokross, class of 1934 and David R. Pokross. SC 2012:1-8. Photography by Petegorsky/Gipe.

    Gregory Joseph Gillespie. American, 1936 – 2000. Trees and Figures (Surviving the Flood), 1980/81. Oil and collage on board. Gift of The Pokross Art Collection, donated in accordance with the wishes of Muriel Kohn Pokross, class of 1934 by her children, Joan Pokross Curhan, class of 1959, William R. Pokross and David R. Pokross Jr. in loving memory of their parents, Muriel Kohn Pokross, class of 1934 and David R. Pokross. SC 2012:1-9. Photography by Petegorsky/Gipe.

    Tune in next week to read more about the collectors, David R. and Muriel Pokross. 


  • Monday, March 19, 2012

    The Open Door

    William Henry Fox Talbot. English, 1800 - 1877. The Open Door,Plate VI from The Pencil of Nature,1843.Salt print from a calotype negative on paper. Gift of Dr. and Mrs. Perry W. Nadig in honor of their daughter, Claudia Nadig, class of 1985.

    This photograph, The Open Door,is the oldest in our collection.  William Henry Fox Talbot was the inventor of the negative-positive photograph, and one of the earliest practitioners (some say the inventor) of photography as we know it today.  This is a plate from Talbot’s series The Pencil of Nature,the first publication to explain and illustrate the scientific and practical applications of photography.

    The Open Dooris among the most celebrated images from The Pencil of NatureMaybe this is because it seems less “scientific and practical” than pictorial or aesthetic.  The photograph is a subtle play on interior and exterior.  The open door gives us a glimpse into an old barn that then gives us a glimpse back outside through two shuttered windows.  The outside of the barn is suffused with light, the interior opaque with shadow.  The broom leaning in the doorway in the foreground offsets the windows in the background.  The calculated asymmetry of the image is perfectly picturesque.

    To explain the picture, Talbot invoked the seventeenth century Dutch painters who were popularly hailed as masters of realism in Talbot’s time.  “A painter’s eye will often be arrested where ordinary people see nothing remarkable,” he wrote. 

    The Open Doorwas hailed by the British press for its “microscopic execution that sets at naught the work of human hands.”  As far as praise goes, I’m partial myself to Talbot’s mother’s description of the photograph: she called it the “soliloquy of the broom.”  What would the broom be saying?  Why does this picture seem so eloquent, so expressive, when all of its subjects (a broom, a barn, a hanging lantern) are mute? 


  • Tuesday, March 13, 2012

    The Last Silent Movie

    Guest blogger Karysa Norris (Dartmouth College '12) was a participant in the 2011 Summer Institute in Art Museum Studies. She also served as the 2011 Brown SIAMS Fellow, a four-week internship in the Cunningham Center for the Study of Prints Drawings and Photographs.

    White. Why. Kidney. It roasts.

    What if these were the only words left of our language? In a time when it seems new words are added to the English dictionary every day thanks to the internet and the growth of international communication it’s difficult to imagine that our language could ever dwindle down to a few disjointed, trivial phrases. For the Ubykh people of Turkey, however, this is a harsh reality – their language is extinct, only to be heard in recordings saved in anthropological databases.

    Language death like that of Ubykh is the focus of Susan Hiller’s The Last Silent Movie, a compilation of recordings of extinct and endangered languages from around the world.  As a student who grew up in Hawaii before studying at Dartmouth College, I am more sensitive to language death than most; the rehabilitation of the endangered Hawaiian language has been ongoing since the fifties and Dartmouth, an institution initially chartered to educate Native American youth, has a large population of Native American students dedicated to preserving their culture and language.  Still, I have not inherited these native languages, so I have had a fringe awareness of the topic at best.

    The first time I wandered into the Nixon gallery to see The Last Silent Movie, I wasn’t expecting very much. I rarely find digital media pieces entertaining enough to hold my attention for very long, and I was only curious about the project because I had been told that Hiller had been inspired by a recording made at Dartmouth of the Lord’s Prayer in Wampanoag, an extinct language that is currently being revived. I sat down in the darkened room and was immediately captivated by the words flashing across the screen, translating the speech playing from the speakers. As unfamiliar sounds were translated into meaningful words in front of me, over and over I found myself thinking, “What if this was all that was left of my language? What if this was the only representation left of my culture?” Even though I had an appointment to get to I couldn’t pull away, I simply had to stay and listen to these lost languages because people were speaking and someone needed to be there to hear them. When the film ended with a speaker of Comanche, a language listed as “seriously endangered,” saying “From now on we will speak Comanche forever” in her native tongue, I was overcome with a strange mixture of hope, pity, and horror, caught between wanting to believe the truth in the words and knowing their futility.

    Over the next few weeks I found myself being constantly drawn back to Hiller’s project. She also produced twenty-four etchings of sound waves from a few phrases heard in the movie, and I spent a lot of time looking at the print of the South African Kulkhassi language. The sound wave of this extinct language clearly has a rhythm, but the translation is unknown.  It’s easy for me to dismiss an untranslated voice as mere sound, but this print was visible, tangible proof that Kulkhassi wasn’t just random noise, it had a structure and meaning that is now lost.  I thought of Hawaiian and the native languages of the students at Dartmouth, and I realized that they too could soon become just sine waves on paper.

    Language death is an issue that I have been aware of for years, but it wasn’t until I experienced The Last Silent Movie that I really understood the impact it has on people. It reminded me of something that I had almost forgotten: even if you think you know all about a subject, art can reveal it to you in new ways.

    Image credits: Susan Hiller. American, b. 1952. Ubykh,plate 21 from The Last Silent Movie. Jerriais,plate 10 from The Last Silent Movie. Livonian,plate 11 from The Last Silent Movie.2007. Etching on 270 gsm Moulin de Gué (Rived de Lin) paper. Purchased with the Janet Wright Ketcham, class of 1953, Fund. Photography by Petegorsky/Gipe.