The Chinese are coming, the Chinese are coming!

Last week, one of my favorite morning news programs featured Peter Navarro a business professor at the University of California, Irvine. He spoke about his new documentary, Death by China which examines the economic relationship between the U.S. and China. In his book and in a new documentary, Navarro investigates the trade imbalance between our countries and explains why China has an unfair advantage. I agree we should be seriously concerned about our trade imbalance with China, but I don't want to be fearful and withdrawn in our cultural partnerships and conversations with the Chinese.

In 2010, the Hilliard, presented an exhibition we organized titled East/West: Visually Speaking. Since then the exhibition has traveled to six other university art museums in Florida, Colorado, Oregon; and Montana and it ends the tour this fall at the South Texas Institute for the Arts in Corpus Christi, Texas.

During our opening weekend in Lafayette we were fortunate to host two of the artists from China and it was truly a delight to gain some personal insight into their lives and work.  One afternoon, before a public symposium, I had an opportunity to visit at length with Luo Weidong. Luo creates colorful sculptures out of copper and commercial factory paints that explode with Postmodern lyricism and biting sarcasm.

Luo Weidong posing with one of his sculptures titled Welcome the famous brands to China

I was surprised by what I learned when discussing artistic liberties in China. This reality was reinforce last week during the interview with Peter Navarro. Navarro said that China is not really a Communist state but "more like a Totalitarian Dynasty." In his youth, Lou Weidong was "assigned" by the Communist Party to art school. One doesn't choose a profession, "the People" make that decision for you. Contemporary artist are monitored closely in China. Another artist even told me that the police raided his studio and seized his more poignant and provocative works.

Shi Liang, Human Confusion 4, 2009, Oil on canvas 200 x 180 cm

While many of the objects included in the Hilliard exhibition conveyed negative political and social messages regarding the oppression of artists and intellectuals in China, as a whole this exhibition is more about how these artists view their evolving Dynasty and the West's influence over this new reality. The Russian philosopher and author, Leo Tolstoy, believed that "good" art is basically a reflection of society. If that is true then the exhibition East/West: Visually Speaking is a compelling example of that belief.

The public symposium

The exhibition is not only an important survey of new work by contemporary Chinese artists but it also provides an opportunity to use the proverbial Tolstoy’s mirror examining the United States’ evolving relationship with China. The exhibition Visually Speaking is also reflective of the important role of the 21st century museum as a public gathering place for engaging the people in a compelling dialogue about new art and the ideas behind the creation of provocative imagery.

The exhibition opening September 14th in Corpus Christi, in some way, heralds U.S. political, social and economic relations with China, India and developing nations in South America. A popular notion shared by some geopolitical analysts and scholars is that 19th and 20th century Democracy, enjoyed by a relative minority of the global population, was only a modest beginning of the greater free exchange of ideas and resources that will be indicative of a world where the majority populations of Asia and the nations of the southern hemisphere participate. I believe artists and art museums can serve as important emissaries as we continue to explore our economic challenges with China.

Left to right - Mark Tullos, Miami Gallery Director Virginia Miller, Ma Baozhon, Michelle Yun and Lenny Shaus with China Visual Arts Limited and local physician Jeffery Chen standing in front of a mural by Ma Baozhong titled Flux and Reflux - Story About the Riverside at Qingming Festival, 2009. The painting is 14 feet high and 40 feet long

This exhibition and the subsequent national tour, would not have been possible without the ever responsive staff at China Visual Arts Limited, all of whom patiently and good naturedly responded to our numerous requests. Both the academic essay written by our Curator of Exhibitions, Dr. Lee Gray and the critical essays included the exhibition catalogue provide valuable contextualization  Traveling this exhibition to other museum has not been an easy task. I would like to thank Lee Gray. Her commitment to this project over the past two years has brought to fruition this important and challenging exhibition.

If you're traveling in South Texas this fall, I hope you will plan a visit to the South Texas Institute for the Arts in Corpus Christi.

View the exhibition catalogue HERE

Writing in the Gallery

If you are familiar with the Hilliard Museum you know that some of our greatest strengths are in our campus and community partnerships. One of our partners, the National Writing Project of Acadiana, bring Teacher Consultants to the museum and they utilize our collections and exhibitions as the basis for this powerful writers program. Their Summer Institute toured the museum in June, and I requested excepts from the writing they did in response to our exhibitions. The following three excerpts were based on photographs by Philip Gould included in our exhibition titled Dedans le Sud de la Louisiane: le Retour. The exhibition remains on view through August 25th. I hope you enjoy these contemplative compositions as much as I do.

Pecheurs de Crevettes par Philip Gould

by Katherine F. Schexnayder

Pecheurs de Crevettes par Philip Gould

It is a way of life or a longing in the chest. At least, it used to be. Now it has to be supplemented at the end of a season with some other task which never smells as ripe with satisfaction as this haul does today. Not a word between them, the materials of their labor making the only sounds louder than the shrimp filled waters frothing around them. Each deep in his thoughts about whether this season, this haul, this solitude found in this gulf, will be his last chance to feel the same gravitational pull to these waters as his forefathers felt.

They are brothers in arms. They have chosen the same life, and even though that life was laid out for them by great-great-great grandfathers whose names they can’t remember, that still means something. It means something to withstand the solitude and early morning hauls- to crave it; their bodies syncing with the seasons. It is that certain longing only found in men more comfortable walking on water than on land, which is why the building of a house never quite resonated in them the way catching shrimp did. They are seafaring men.

Braveheart sat matted and framed on his wall like it was already a relic- an outward symbol of a life already lived. I listened to them talk about the season.

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it out this season, man. I can’t cut my expenses enough to make it work. It’s all we can do to keep Daddy and Gene up.”

A salty stinging wave welled up in my heart and made its way to my throat as I stared blankly at the picture of his vessel.

“Guess, I’m gonna lay wire for NASA. I just can’t stand the thought of being inside all day and Braveheart sitting there all by herself out of the water. What am I going to do with her?” is what he said. But that is not what I heard. I heard, “What am I going to do with me?”

What are we all going to do when the shrimp come from the contaminated waters of Thailand or China? What will we tell our kids when we have traded their health and their jobs for a cheaper shrimp cocktail? Who will employ us when our trade is extinct? Who will tell the stories of the life we lived? Who will etch them on cavern walls for the descendents to see: to know these men settled here and worked and fathered sons who also worked these waters and fathered sons. What will we say to our sons when we no longer need to teach them how to cast a net? What will the family do on the first Sunday of the season? Will they still gather the way they are gathered now, waiting for the first catch to come in?

These questions weigh heavily on these brothers as they ready to cast again. The women are waiting and so are their fathers and sons. Tonight, they are warriors welcomed home from battle; their tribal cries between boats will solidify their victories. As their vessels ready to kiss the land that holds their families separate from this maritime life they lead, they will turn their faces to the sun and the shoreline to feel the full grace of a welcome return and the water under their legs for a few moments more. Tonight, they will feast and drink.

 

Still Dancing

by Bonny McDonald, inspired by Philip Gould's photograph Le Bar a Fred, Mamou Louisiana

Gallery view of Le Bar a Fred, Mamou Louisiana by Philip Gould

Stop awhile at this grandmother-face,

open-mouthed, singing.  Note the silken texture

of her fine blouse with its high, ruffled collar.

Behold her best jewelry: big ruby ring, pearls,

and the gold weave bracelet that was her mother's.

Where his hair has thinned, see the delicate make

of his head, the tenderness of his stiff shoulders

in his starched shirt. Though his face is turned away,

pressed against her cheek, imagine he is also singing.

Notice the way her hand clutches without clinging.

Can you hear the melody trembling in her throat,

the Cajun waltz they dance on a good cypress floor?

See their background--a whirl of light and music,

the silt of memory from which their love alone emerges.

See here how they hold each other up.

 

The Dance

by Carmen Bourque, inspired by Philip Gould's photograph Le Bar a’ Fred, Mamou, Louisiane

Gallery view of Philip Gould's Le Bar a’ Fred, Mamou, Louisiane

The colorful neon illuminations set the tone in this dimly lit backwoods bar

Brown glass beer bottles line it

People are gathering, listening, watching, visiting, and laughing

Admiring the beauty of the love seeming to emanate

From an elderly couple swaying in unison on an old rickety dance floor

They hold each other firmly, but ever so gently

Caught in the moment, her body language and facial expression tells a story

Her arms envelope his back and neck

Her eyes – so passionately focused – unsure if it is on the man, song, or dance

It seems as if she still feels a strong love for him after all these years

Butterflies flutter from my heart, to my stomach, to my lower essence and back again

His tight grasp is comforting, yet almost smothering at the same time

I feel so safe and secure out on that dance floor

The bar is hazy because of cigarette smoke, unlike my memory

The lights are dim - allowing for the neon beer signs to stand out

We are lost in the moment as we sway to the slow music

No one is there - yet everyone is there

This was just the beginning – never let go …

She is dressed to impress

Her coarse, white hair stays neatly in place

Her soft, wrinkled ears are adorned with greatly oversized pearls

They match her crisp, white, long-sleeved, buttoned-down, ruffle-collared blouse

I wore a crisp, white, long-sleeved, buttoned-down, ruffle-collared blouse that magical night too

I know how she feels as they waltz across the dance floor cheek to cheek

Gratitude

- thankful for that night

- thankful for that time

- thankful for that dance

- thankful for that man

I know how she feels

- Enjoying the dance

- Enjoying the trance

Never wanting that song to end.

Raising Children in Museums

The chatter sounded like a thousand summer cicadas as the children from Magnolia Park Elementary School gathered in the Ocean Springs Community Center adjoining the new Walter Anderson Museum of Art. The floor to ceiling murals by Mississippi artist Walter Inglis Anderson distinguished the large open room as a magical place.

That day the community center was even more intriguing for the children because a large and mysterious group of adults, all dressed in black and holding musical instruments, were seated at one end of the room. A traveling symphony orchestra from Michigan's upper peninsula had performed the evening before in New Orleans and I had arrange for the group to present a short children's performance in the community center. Ocean Springs was en route to the their next engagement in Mobile.

The sound of hundreds of excited children was a bit overwhelming and I recall thinking that this had been a very bad idea. We didn't have enough chairs so we decided to seat the children on the floor in front of the orchestra. Here were over 200 relatively well behaved, yet rambunctious, children jostling for the floor space closest to the feet of the musicians.  I began to wonder how I would ever get their attention for the introduction. The act would require me to wade gingerly through a sea of little bobbing heads to the front of the room. Then I noticed the conductor had moved to the front of the orchestra and was poised with arms raised and ready to administer the first down beat. The first three bars of Beethoven's Molto vivace (listen) punctured the air - stunning the children into silent amazement. Each measure of music was almost  like a scolding two syllable phrase.  Sit Down!...Be Still!...Listen!

The children were entranced the remainder of the concert and vibrations from timpani, viola and flutes combined with the bright expressionistic images of animals in the mural made that afternoon very special for all of us. That experience reaffirmed for me the profound affect the arts can have on a children.

Raising a child in the museum benefits the whole child. The intellectual challenges, visual stimulation, and the unique vocabulary all contribute to shaping an engaged learner. The experience also teaches them empathy and introspection. Museum educators and docents will tell you that children have conversations in a museum gallery that they may never have anywhere else because the imagery and history behind the creation of an artwork foster new questions and provoke a response.

About a decade after leaving Ocean Springs I found myself leading an Art Center in the heart of West Palm Beach, Florida. Most of the education programming at the Armory Art Center targeted the retired adult population of south Florida and the affluent seasonal residents of Palm Beach. Offerings included all the traditional studio disciplines and the campus boasted a number of 2-D classrooms, a stone sculpture area, jewelry and metal work studio and a state-of-the-art ceramics building and kiln yard.

By the time I assumed the position in Florida, my interest in youth education had become a full-fledged passion. One of the programs we developed was titled "Picturing Success." There was, and still are, large populations of Haitian and Latino families living in the area. We selected promising gifted and talented teens from under-served schools and low income families and placed them in the adult studio class right beside the Palm Beach socialite learning how to paint. The objective was to provide the opportunity and resources for these promising students to develop a portfolio of work that might improve their chances for admission into a college or university visual arts program. I imagined a by-product of this program might be the social exchange between two disparately different worlds.

The experiment was a success. I secure financial support from our major benefactor, attorney Robert Montgomery, one of the most genuine and altruistic people I've ever had the pleasure knowing. The integration of young people into the senior adult classroom culture also went smoothly. I only wish I could have been privy to the conversations that took place in those classes between an ambitious teen and a mature and wise adult.

At the Hilliard we are also dedicated to our educational mission. The photo to the left captures a moment during the Summer Scholars Program, a partnership between the Hilliard and the Center for Gifted Education at UL Lafayette. The residential program was designed to develop the academic, leadership, and creative skills of  7th, 8th, and 9th grade students who have demonstrated high levels of ability in their school work, in the arts, or in their daily lives. Classes integrate Museum collections in the course work and are taught in the galleries and the A. Hays Town Building.

Last spring the Hilliard Museum, in partnership with the UL Lafayette College of Education Teacher Candidates, presented Creative Classroom for Young Learners (image right). Future teachers provided a series of stories, hands-on activities and lessons related to the museum's current exhibitions. The program targeted ages pre-K - 3rd graders.

Julie Fox (left) with the Lafayette Parish School System conducts her annual Art Smart professional development program for teachers utilizing our exhibitions and the museum collection. The program provided teachers training in ways to utilize museum collections as teaching tools.





For the second year the Hilliard Museum joined Episcopal School of Acadiana (ESA) in our partnership titled the International Children’s Museum (ICM). Through volunteer leadership and ESA faculty, this program integrates art and museum science into the school’s daily curriculum through exhibitions, activities and an international art exchange each year. The objectives include teaching students about the role of museums and art in society and to teach pluralism of the arts and creative thinking in the arts. This program is an effective discipline-based art education tool for faculty, students and families. In the photo above our museum preparator and registrar discuss the basic practices of art handling.

Young people across Louisiana will head back to the classroom over the next few weeks. If you are an educator I hope you will keep in mind the unique resource you have in the Paul and Lulu Hilliard University Art Museum. Within the next few weeks we will post new lesson plans and gallery guides related to our upcoming fall and spring exhibitions. Please visit our new web site hilliardmuseum.org next month for these new resources for teachers and home school parents.

The Road Less Traveled

Maryhill Museum

If you are planning travels this summer then I have a few recommendations regarding possible side trips. I've visited each of the following museums and can assure you that it is worth the journey. While exhibitions and collections available for viewing change, the museums in and of themselves will provide you with a plethora of dinner conversation.

If you are visiting Portland, Oregon, rent a car and drive a couple of hours east, past the Dalles of the  Columbia river. There you will find the Maryhill Museum of Art, an extraordinary castle constructed by Sam Hill. Old Sam was the consummate 19th century Robber Baron. Have you ever wondered about the origin of the phrase "what in the Sam Hill are you doing?" Well, this magical place is the origin of that colloquialism. You will not only discover the magnificent castle he built on the banks of the Columbia, but you will also find an amazing collection of works by the French sculptor Auguste Rodin, a fascinating 19th century American and European painting collection, Native American artifacts, stage sets and mannequins from 1946 Theatre de la Mode, and over a hundred unusual chess sets. Apparently, Mr. Hill was a charmer because you will also discover a collection of Orthodox iconographic paintings donated by Queen Marie of Romania. Her Majesty was a friend and adviser and encouraged Hill to turn his riverside mansion into a museum. She even contributed paintings and royal regalia including her crown. Another incredible female admirer was modern dancer and choreographer Loie Fuller. Maryhill's collection includes photographs, costumes and documentary films of her performances. If that was not enough, a full scale replica of Stonehenge is located adjacent to the Castle. Be sure to visit this exquisite accredited museum. Maryhill Museum of Art

Many year ago I visited the Canajoharie Museum and Library with Judy Larsen, then Director of the National Museum of Women in the Arts. We were there on behalf of the American Association of Museums and discovered an extraordinary collection in a remote location of western New York state. Since then the museum has undergone a major addition and name change. The new Arkell Museum at Canajoharie presents that marvelous collection of paintings by Winslow Homer. That alone is worth the journey from Albany down the meandering road following the Hudson River. By the way, if you fly into Albany, be sure to visit the Shaker Museum. You'll discover the grave of Ann Lee, an amazing historical figure and founder of the Shaker faith. This was before cell phone waiting parking lots at major airports. I rented a car for the visit and had some time to kill before Judy's flight arrived. I stumbled upon this wonderful museum adjacent to the airport entrance.

Prescott with Thumb Butte in the background

A few years ago, my wife and I traveled to Prescott, Arizona (pronounced like biscuit) to consult with the staff and board of the Phippen Museum featuring the Art and Heritage of the American West. The drive from Prescott through the Dells to the museum site is stunning.

If you stay in Prescott be sure to visit the Palace Restaurant and Grill located in a cowboy era bar. You will enjoy the finest free range steak and delight in wonderful old west artifacts on display in cases around the restaurant. Be sure to ask about the ornate bar. Apparently, the building burned near the end of the 19th century. The good people of Prescott ran into the inferno, picked up the bar and carried it across the road to the courthouse square. Legend has it that they shared drinks at their new outdoor bar and watched the building burn.

I beg you - never pass up a rural road sign promoting a local museum. Four summers ago the Tullos family, minus three grown children, were headed to South Carolina to visit my wife's brother and his family. I noticed one of those brown state tourism signs indicating that the Laurel and Hardy Museum was located a few miles off the highway in Harlem, Georgia. It was late in the afternoon and we planned to overnight in Atlanta. Who needs to sit in a hotel room for an additional hour? We turned off, despite the groans of our sixteen year old daughter. Harlem boasted about a dozen buildings and we found the museum housed in the old Post Office. I peeked in a window and returned to the car shaking my head in disappointment. It was closed. "Another nice mess" I'd gotten us into. Then I heard cries from someone down the street. "Don't leave! Do you want to visit our museum?"  A charming elderly lady happily unlocked the door and provided admission, free of charge.

Oliver Hardy was born and raised in Harlem and as a tribute to their native son the community established a museum. Film props and promotional ephemera filled the small gallery. It was one of the most fascinating hours I've ever spent in such a small space. Be sure to purchase a T-shirt and make a contribution.

I've had the good fortune to spend most of my life around intrinsically valuable objects. The experience of visiting a museum is contrary to our fast paced, "Google it" world. I hope you will slow down a bit this summer and seek out something beautiful, strange and wonderful.

Also, click over to Country Roads Magazine a great regional publication. "My Favorite Objects from our Regions Museums" is featured this month.


Please share one of your unique museum experiences in the comment section of Object and Idea.

Lions, Tigers and Bears...

My first day as the Executive Director of the Museum of East Texas started with an interesting discovery. It was my first directorship and I learned the hard way that museum boards never share with a candidate the Museum's real challenges during the job interview process. In most cases they don't recognize them as problems. That was the case with the museum of art and history located in the piney woods of East Texas.

The museum was housed in an old Episcopal Church near downtown Lufkin and across the street from the city's new convention center. On the day of my interview I toured the buildings with the interim director. My cursory review of the director's office revealed a huge wooden desk sitting atop a Persian rug, a number of filing cabinets and an air mattress on the floor. When I inquired about the air mattress I was told the former director spent the last few days of his tenure camped out in his office. The only thing hanging on the wall was a peculiar and vicious looking stuffed Baboon mounted on a faux tree limb. Unfortunately, I didn't inquire about the baboon during the tour.

A image of a similar baboon

After settling into the office on my first day, my assistant, Vanessa Van Natta, gave me a basic orientation of museum operations, showing me how the phones worked, the filing systems, and a really cool index card "database" of museum members with neatly typed information and a picture of each individual, couple or family group glued in the upper left corner (this was 1987). I interrupted her presentation and asked about the stuffed Baboon hanging on the wall in my office. She replied, "Oh, they didn't tell you about the animal collection?" I was overcome by a morbid curiosity. 

During my site visit and interview with the museum's board I saw portions of the Lufkin Rotary Club Collection of Western Art, a number of works by regional artists from Texas, a very nice collection of Modern prints and works on paper, a well-organized collection of historical photographs from the 19th century, and an installation replicating the inside of a 19th century general store - a major attraction for the local schools. It was a nice beginning for a small art and history museum. No one said anything about branching out into natural science.

I believe my favorite part of any museum is the collections storage area. The careful arrangement of collections, identification labels, glicine wrappings and acid free boxes give me a sense of order.
Instead of heading for the collections storage building, Vanessa led me to the old pew-less church sanctuary which was serving as a social area for the museum. She opened two large doors leading to the choir room located behind the altar. Hundreds of glassy eyes stared back at me. It looked like an orgy of fur, claws and teeth haphazardly piled in the dark confined space. "I would turn on the light switch but it's on the other side of the room." Vanessa explained. "How many are there?" I responded in total shock. I could make out a standing Grizzly Bear in the back and near the front, a pouncing lion. I saw a myriad of deer and antelope heads and elephant foot stools with Zebra skin seat cushions. "I'm not sure, over a hundred, maybe?" she replied.

Later that day I had lunch with the Museum Board President and he explained that the trophy collection had been given by a retired physician from the community. He was a member of the prestigious Pineywoods Safari Club, an exotic game hunting and preservation organization. Apparently his wife had given him an ultimatum and just like that the symbols of the good Doctor's manhood and virility were "out the door" and now on my doorstep.

I learned from my minister Father that you don't poke-the-bear if you don't have too, especially on your first day on the job. Weeks passed and I had quiet conversations with board members regarding my concern for the investment of time and resources in the perpetual care of what was essentially a trophy collection, not even a scientific collection.  I could handle the programs and administration of the art and the local history collections, but this was a totally different animal. My background was in visual art. During one of our first board meetings it was determined that we would pursue the construction of a new museum facility and the renovation of the existing church buildings for the purpose of education and social activities. Fortunately, during these deliberations everyone agreed we could afford to operate a bi-discipline museum, but adding a natural science collection was unreasonable. Besides, the city already boasted an accredited Zoo. The people in Lufkin were very kind. Say what you want about Texans, they are generous people, just don't cross them. No one wanted to insult the Dr. and his family but it was imperative that we find another home for the trophy collection.

The old Episcopal Church

There are occasions when the light of providence comes right down on your problem and reveals the solution. This happened one morning when the Dr. dropped by the museum. He sat in my office with his fingers laced on his stomach and a smile on his face. "I've got a proposition for you," he said.  I began listening for the catch. He bashfully explained that he had found himself on the wrong side of the law when he was accosted for trying to make his way home after partying with his golf buddies at Crown Colony Country Club. The penalty was one month community service and of course, a hefty fine. He wondered if he could serve out his community service through the museum.

I learned in Sunday School that "...all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose."  I've always said that "God looks out for fools, drunks and Mark Tullos... in that order." Well, here was evidence of that great truth. This was my opportunity. I could work on the Dr.'s perspective concerning his collection and perhaps win over a convert, an advocate for transferring the hunting trophies to another organization. Better yet, maybe he would support the idea of selling the trophy mounts, with the proceeds benefiting the museum's new building campaign and endowment.

Over the next month we became friends. We made a bargain to present parts of the collection in conjunction with a museum fundraiser to be called The Wild Game Dinner. After the event we would seek to sell the trophy mounts to benefit the museum or find a suitable home for them in the community.

The fundraiser was a huge success. The Safari Club wives and members of the Lufkin Service League presented a stunning feast including exotic water buffalo roast, baked Guinea Fowl, Kudu steaks and wild boar kabobs. We dined in the old church sanctuary by candlelight under the frozen gaze of the very creatures we were eating. Guests donned pith helmets and khaki outfits. The event was a huge success. We even secured a lead for the possible sale of all the mounts. An abatement attorney from Houston was building a huge hunting lodge in the Big Bend region of Texas. Apparently he needed some décoration appropriée for his new getaway.

An entry in the museum newsletter

Unfortunately, the sale never came to fruition. The attorney flew into Lufkin regional on his private plane, spent about 15 minutes with the trophy mounts, and said abruptly, "not interested, they're not shot right." He left. I remember looking at our Board President and asking, "Not shot right?" He just shrugged.


Months later we finally came up with a solution.The Superintendent of the Lufkin Independent School district was a big sportsman. He even provided his elementary cafeterias with venison from his fall hunting trips. The trophy collection was to be installed on the cafeteria walls of the local schools. I can imagine that after nearly three decades there are a lot of animal rights activists who forged their convictions in the school cafeterias of Lufkin, Texas.

By 1989, we established a formal collections policy and accessioned every artwork and local history object into the permanent collection. We also raised the funds needed for the new museum and renovation of the old church facilities and opened the new MET in Lufkin on a beautiful September day, sans trophy mounts.

Groundbreaking for the new museum.

The new Museum of East Texas we opened in 1989 with the renovated church in the background.

The Apparition of Madam X

I believe one of the reasons I'm devoted to our work in museums is that we teach people to truly see and make important associations between objects and ideas. My life has been richer because I can read both word and imagery. My teachers were Nancy Foil, my high school art teacher, Edward Pramuk, Harvey Harris, Joe Bova, Susan Baker and many other professors at university who guided and challenged me. They instructed me in the craft of making the right associations. They taught me how to see.

We rarely make conscious associations regarding what we see, but for me, one night twenty years ago, it was different. The night was perfect. No breeze, no moon. Luke, my eleven year old son, and I grabbed the nets and lantern and headed for the beach. Soft shell crabs are easier to see beneath the water's surface with the absence of moonlight reflection and movement on the surface. I love balmy nights on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. The brackish inter-coastal waterways between the barrier islands and the coast are teaming with shrimp, crabs and red fish. Fried soft shell crab is never better than when it is served within an hour of the catch.

Luke and I began pacing, knee deep in the tide, shuffling our feet side by side. We didn't want to step directly on a sting ray. Most of the crabs we caught were lazily crawling along the bottom. If you're quick with the net you can scoop them up with little effort. It was peaceful and we were enveloped in total blackness, no sound, only the hiss of our Coleman lantern. After an hour, Luke and I caught a half dozen and headed for the shoreline when a ghost like image appeared in the periphery of my vision. A tall white figure was standing in the water just beyond the edge of our lantern glow. I held the lamp higher...I will never forget the sound of our tandem gasps...there she was, pale as moonlight, naked and elegant. She didn't move and neither did we.

I enjoy this U.S. Coastal Survey Map done in 1866, before the Casinos and oil platforms.

Later, I had to paint her. Sometimes you just need to record a moment or experience whether it be through art, music or writing.

Great Egret, Ocean Springs 1992

Standing there in the Mississippi sound I made an immediate association, one that moved me to paint, a motivation I've not enjoyed in nearly a decade. When I saw that egret I recalled the first time I saw John Singer Sargent's Madam X. While a great white egret stood in front of us in the tepid waters of the Gulf, it was the epitome of that elegant and graceful woman portrayed in Sargent's masterpiece.

John Singer Sargent, Madame X (Madame Pierre Gautreau), 1884, oil on canvas, 234.95 × 109.86 cm, (92.50 in × 43.25 in), Manhattan: Metropolitan Museum of Art.

For the past eight years I have had the privilege of serving on our Parish Public Library Board of Control. I'm always delighted and surprised when reviewing the library usage statistics. Even with the advancing digital age, libraries continue to be an important resource for the community. Libraries and museums are siblings. We both collect, preserve, and make these collections accessible to the public.

Yet, there is an important difference between libraries and art museums. In most cases library patrons know how to read. As for art museums, particularly in rural communities where few people have ever been exposed to museums or the visual arts, we have to teach our patrons how to read art work. One comes to understand and fully appreciate art by spending time in museums and art galleries. This requires looking at a lot of art, reading the exhibition labels and asking a lot of questions and challenging the artist's intent or the curator's assumptions.


Just like an early reader in a preschool classroom, individuals learning to understand art, must begin by knowing the history and meaning of rudimentary imagery. "Reading" an exhibition of Modern or Contemporary art requires basic mastery of the visual lexicon of art. With a little study one can recognize and recall the meaning of symbols, compositions, color use and imagery. I've never seen "new" art. I've seen great contemporary art that owes its origination to the annals of preceding forms and ideas. All imagery is built on the foundation of creations by preceding artists. Representations from earlier artistic efforts are reused, recycled and translated in some way to create a different image or object. A wonderful example of how powerful a visual heritage can be is found in the work of Deborah Grant. Watch a video interview with Grant presented on NewArtTV.

Cave Paintings

Cave paintings in Lascoux, France

Some anthropologists and art historians claim our visual language began over 50,000 years ago in places like the caves of Lascoux, France and the deserts of Australia. Early man discovered that mark-making was an effective way to communicate ideas and record events, either real or dreamed. Our first language was a visual language, not a written language.  Many scholars suspect that these paintings and their associative meaning held tremendous power over the future of the people who created them.

 "Paint the antelope and they will appear in the fields tomorrow."

When I have an opportunity to speak with students visiting the museum, I try to impress upon them the importance of mastering both the written and visual language. I tell them to expand their visual reference library with works of art from every age and culture and to enrich their vocabulary with new and old words.  Don't be afraid to associate words and begin to create stories and poems. Don't hesitate to make associations between imagery and meaning.


While some people may have reservations about the deductions of anthropologists and art historians regarding the beliefs of primitive man and his mark making, I know that Virginie Gautreau (Madame X) appeared to me in the form of an egret that warm July night in the shallows of the Mississippi sound.

Put Yourself on Trial

As a force of habit, I usually pass through the galleries when I return from a meeting away from the museum. It's always interesting to see who is visiting and occasionally strike up a conversation with a guest with the hope of gaining some insight into the experience we are providing. Recently, I've seen a lot of head scratching and indifferent facial expressions, particularly in the gallery hosting the work of mid-century abstract expressionist, Cora Kelley Ward and the beautiful time-based sculpture by Grimanesa Amorós. This is a good thing. I've always believed that visitors should be moved emotionally, challenged intellectually or enlightened in some way. If a visitor is questioning the value and significance of an object, we're doing our job.

I came to understand, during my first years in the profession, how an art museum exhibition could shape an individual's point-of-view. After finishing art school at L.S.U., my expectant wife and I moved with our three-year-old son to Alexandria, Louisiana. I landed a position as a museum Registrar at the Alexandria Museum of Art. During my interview weeks earlier, I discovered a progressive little art museum in the heart of rural central Louisiana. Alexandria was a community of both generational wealth and desperate poverty. Located near the Mississippi Delta and in the heart of the state, the community was, and still is, a divergent breakwater where Catholic Acadiana to the south and Protestant hill country to the north converge. The Museum was housed in the tastefully remodeled Rapides Bank and Trust building located between Main Street and the Red River levee.

Shelia Stewart Leach, the Museum Director and my new boss, helped me understand early on that no matter the size of the museum, well-known scholars, curators, and artists are willing to share their time and expertise, especially if it is in what is often perceived to be exotic Louisiana. Shelia expected excellence in everything we presented. She understood that our mission was to bring the world of art and new ideas to the doorstep of our community. 

The Alexandria Museum also enjoyed the support of a progressive, well healed and well traveled, Board of Trustees. These wonderful people wanted to share what they enjoyed in the global community with their neighbors back home, an effort not easily facilitated through other social and religious organizations such as the church, synagogue or even a municipal program. Their private non-for-profit Art Museum was the perfect vehicle.

After my second year with the museum, Sheila left to assume another Directorship in Texas. The Museum Board President, Marilyn Wellan, approached me about serving as the interim director during the national search for a replacement. Since the new role paid and additional $3,000 a year, advancing my salary to $13,000, there was no question that I would take the job. All I needed to do was monitor the finances of the museum, oversee the activities of our small staff of three, and report monthly to the Board of Trustees. Program plans were set for the next two years, so "maintaining" was the operative word. I enjoyed that year as interim director so much I continued in this profession for the next 26 years.

An important moment in my Interim Directorship was the opening of the exhibition Gaston Lachaise: The Man and His Work, traveled by the Mitzi Landau Traveling Exhibitions Service. For the occasion of the opening, our Curator of Exhibitions, Audrey Hammill, asked Dr. Herschel Chipp, Professor Emeritus of art history at U.C. Berkeley, to visit central Louisiana for the exhibition opening. Chipp's book Theories of Modern Art was a central text during my graduate studies a few years later. Dr. Chipp would attend the opening reception Friday evening and provide a public lecture the next day. Of course, Audrey coaxed him with promised side trips to hear Cajun Music at Fred's Lounge in Mamou and local culinary delicacies. This tactic continues to be effective.

Gaston Lachaise (1882-1935)

Preparations for the exhibition opening had come together nicely. I was prepared for the regular crowd of Trustees and museum members. These affairs were usually brief cocktail parties with wine and hors d'oeuvres  provided by a local caterer and entertainment by a musician from the Baptist College located across the river in Pineville. Dr. Chipp and his assistant were staying in the historic Hotel Bentley across the street from the museum and they arrived a few minutes early to view the exhibition. I had an opportunity to visit with him and discuss his impressions of our presentation of the Lachaise sculpture. He had a pensive nature, almost bashful with long thoughtful pauses during conversation. He donned a beret which was sure to distinguish him as a unique guest that evening.

Before long, the small gallery was filled with guests chatting, pointing and mumbling with coffered palm about the explicit nature of the Lachaise tributes to his muse, Isabel. Some of the bronze sculptures were nearly pure abstraction with cratered orifices crowned with powerfully extended appendages. Now I was born in Louisiana and raised in the Southern Baptist tradition. My wife and I married in First Baptist Church, Baton Rouge upon the very podium where the late Governor Earl Long lay in state after his death. I understood how challenging this imagery could be for many of our visitors that evening. Most Protestants, especially Baptists, are traditionally apprehensive to place real value on beauty or the visual arts. Perhaps this can be attributed to our county's early Puritan influence, which placed more value on practical activities than artistic or decorative extravagances. Regardless of the fact that most of Lachaise's work was over 50 years old and venerated by the great museums in Europe and the United States, I still noticed dismissive glances and the backs of guests turned in awkward conversation while attempting to ignore the passion and life force indicative of Lachaise's sculpture.

Woman, 1912 by Gaston Lachaise

Over a sea of heads crowding the gallery I heard a familiar voice.  Harold “Catfish” McSween was a well-known character in Alexandria. No, I’m not making the name up. McSween was an accomplished Democratic politician who served two terms from 1958 to 1962 in the now dissolved Louisiana 8^th Congressional District. He made his first and most memorable run with a vigorous campaign against incumbent Earl Long, the brother of Huey P. Long. Even though he lost the party primary, "Uncle Earl" died a few days later from heart failure and the Democratic State Central Committee certified McSween the party nominee for the November election.

Looking back, I realize young people do not suffer their elders with grace and patience. While always respectful, I never really took the time to get to know some of the remarkable people I met in my first few years in museum work. Harold McSween was one of those men I regret not really getting to know.

Mr. McSween, as I referred to him then, because we had more familiar interactions years later, was bombastic, full of good humor and above all brutally outspoken. I saw him spot our guest from Berkeley across the room and head straight for him. Now I admit I was young and inexperienced, but anyone could recognize the potential disaster. I made it to Dr. Chipp's side about the time McSween arrived with a mischievous smile. I said, "Dr. Chipp, I would like for you to meet one of our celebrated politicians and a good friend of the museum." Before I could get further into the introduction, McSween leaned in close to Dr. Chipp and whispered, "Now come on...you call this art?"

Of course panic and embarrassment began to crawl up my spine and I couldn't find an appropriate segue to parry the question. Then, I noticed something change in Herschel Chipp. A cleaver twinkle came to his eye, and a smile came over his face, and he responded, "Mr. McSween, this artwork has already been judged by generations of art critics. They endure. Now you are on trial!"

I've always used the term "visual literacy" when trying to explain why many of our visitors spend scant seconds in a gallery and at times become insulted, expressing disdain or outrage over an exhibition of, for example, non-representational art. Why doesn't this make sense? Why does this please me? The most important skill one can bring to an art museum is introspection. Ask the right questions and, as Dr. Chipp suggests, put yourself on trial.

Tale of Two Seekers

I was overcome with a strange sense of déjà vu this summer. Our exhibition of paintings by Eunice, Louisiana native and mid-century New York abstract expressionist, Cora Kelly Ward (1920-1989) brought back memories of another artist and poet involved in a life-long process of discovery.

In 1989, I moved to Ocean Springs, Mississippi to assume a new position as the first Director of the Walter Anderson Museum of Art. Walter Inglis Anderson (1903-1965) was an American Van Gogh, a gifted visionary and troubled soul who saw more in the natural world in one day than most of us do in an entire lifetime. During my first week on the job, I went to visit with W.I. Anderson's dear wife Sissy and his enchanting daughter, Mary. The Anderson family had agreed to give the new museum a number of objects from the family's collection. They would also lend a number of works on a long-term basis with the intent of giving them over time.

Ms. Sissy was sitting on the front porch of her home when I arrived. Mary came through the screen door with graciously open arms and bearing a warm smile. After a rather lengthy chat on the porch, Mother and Daughter escorted me across the crushed oyster shell roadway to a small cottage nestled in a grove of magnolia and old slash pine. I had read about this house in Sissy's book "Approaching the Magic Hour." Walter Anderson lived the final years of his life as a recluse, living under the shelter of his trusty rowboat on Horn Island, or in this modest three-room cottage. Nothing had been touched. Anderson's rowboat remained stowed under the pier and beam porch.

Mary Anderson removed the padlock, which secured the front door, and we entered what I would describe as the surreal haunt of a hermit genius. Carved chests, ceramics, lyrical furniture supported by animal and bird figures, and shelves loaded with books and drawings, filled the main room.

Mary opened a wooden chest with Elephants carved in relief on the top and sides. She began removing notebooks and drawings rendered on common typewriter paper. I recognized the voluminous echoes of an artist's process, a mania that great painters, musicians and writers suffer through in loneliness. These were the remains of the act of "working out" an idea, repeating a notion or a concept over and over again until the "realization" comes. For Anderson, “realization” was a product of process. The process might require standing chin deep in a pond for hours on end observing the patterns created by diving bell spiders on the water's surface. It could also be re-reading classic poems, holding the book in one hand, and pen and paper in the other, all the while illustrating your impressions with a subconscious hand. Anderson did not believe in accidents. He identified with specific incidents, those happenstance moments when accident and intent rhyme. Nature, he wrote, was “only too glad to have assistance in establishing order.” The artist's role was to be attentive and empathic, a patient observer, prepared for the moment when true meaning is discovered.

W.I. Anderson Journal Entries found in Cottage

W.I. Anderson Watercolor on typewriter paper

In 2007, I received a telephone call from a Professor of Sociology at Southeastern Louisiana University in Hammond, Louisiana. Maurice Badon told me his late sister had been an artist in New York. He was left with her remaining works and was looking for "a home" for the collection. I asked him to send more information and images. I came to discover that she worked within a circle of friends including renowned art critic and historian Clement Greenberg. Enclosed in the material Badon provided was a small catalog published in 1989 for Ms. Ward's memorial exhibition in Manhattan. In the introduction Greenberg wrote, “Ward is an exemplary case of the artist who wins out by persistence...Subconsciously, she was waiting for her vision. It came in her last decade."


There was indeed cause for further investigation into the artist and her work, but I was in the process of hiring a new Curator of Exhibitions and had little time to make a site visit to view the collection. After Dr. Lee Gray joined the Hilliard staff in 2008, we finally made the journey to Hammond, Louisiana to visit a climate controlled storage unit located near I-10. Dr. Badon opened the rolling metal door revealing wall-to-wall rolls of canvas, boxes of drawings and framed paintings.

Some of the rolled canvases from the Ward estate. Most were labeled with gallery names and exhibition dates.

A figure drawing by an unknown artist found in the Ward estate.

The first object I pulled from the stack was a charcoal drawing of a female nude. In the bottom right hand corner was an inscription in red crayon "For Cora from Clem."

The nature of this investigation suddenly became very interesting. It was obvious that Ward and Greenberg had a deep friendship. I informed Dr. Badon that we would be interested in cataloging and surveying the entire content of the storage room. He explained that he and the rest of the family were not interested in the collection and they would donate the artwork and contents unconditionally. Through the skilled efforts of the Museum volunteers under the direction of Museum Registrar Joyce Penn, the museum completed a survey of over 1,100 objects included in the collection.

A painting cart loaded with framed canvases by Ward.

A museum volunteer sewing an identification tag on a Ward canvas.

Eventually, the Hilliard accessioned in perpetuity a select number of paintings and drawing for the permanent collection. We also distributed a number of paintings to sister museums in Texas, Mississippi and Alabama, and the balance was shared at public sale last spring with the proceeds going to the collections preservation fund at the UL Lafayette Foundation. The outcome of this nearly four year effort is the current exhibition, Cora Kelley Ward: A Work in Progress.

This exhibition reveals a unique spirit, one that Walter Inglis Anderson would recognize. Both artists worked in different genres and lived in opposing environments. One was influenced by nature, philosophy and classical literature, the other was influenced by Modernist ideals and criticism. Both Anderson and Ward were creative souls possessed with passion for process. They were both seekers of the "realization."  Ward's obsession with Twombly-esque doodles on paper or the Color Field painters meditative color bleeding on un-primed canvas is evident in the hundreds of repetitive drawings, paintings and studies discovered in her Manhattan studio. Our Curator has recreated the semblance of Ward's studio in the museum beside a display of the works lauded by Greenberg.

Cora Kelley Ward ink on Paper, 1960

Cora Kelley Ward, watercolor on paper, 1954

Surely spending some contemplative time in the Hilliard Museum with her work will bring one closer to an understanding of what it truly means to be a passionate and intuitive seeker of a personal realization.