Updated: Watch my conversation with Victoria Reed, moderated by the marvelous Sarah Chicone, here: https://youtu.be/Eb8oWlJpnPk?si=HOr8plVI4xsNzJhj
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I started teaching in the Johns Hopkins MA in Museum Studies program in 2011. The first course I taught, Curatorship, introduced students to the work that museum curators do. One of our lessons had to do with provenance research, finding out the life story of an object. (Sound familiar?) There are thousands of objects in museums whose previous lives remain, all or in part, a mystery. Sometimes those mysteries are easy to solve; the older an object is, though, and the more it has traveled, the more difficult the solution. Sometimes those solutions are an intellectual question, and sometimes those solutions have to do with righting historical wrongs.
This week I heard from a man whose great-grandfather, a German Jewish banker, owned a Gauguin in the 1930s. The family was persecuted; we all know the story in one form or another. When they fled Berlin the painting stayed behind. It was seized and sold by the German authorities in 1941. Their Gauguin disappeared; the descendants of the owner are looking for it and seeking restitution and belated justice. My correspondent had seen the title of my book and wondered if my disappearing Gauguin had a similar story.
He wrote to me to learn more--and because he wanted to meet Victoria Reed, Curator of Provenance at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Reed was one of the first--maybe the first?--curators of provenance to be appointed by a major American museum. Here's how the New York Times describes her job:
I have used her work in my Curatorship class for years. (All of my students covet her job.) My correspondent wanted to compare archival sources and lost trails with Reed. I connected them and went on with my day.
Before I connected them, though, I sat over my laptop and wondered how I had become someone who could make a connection between an heir to Nazi looted art and one of the most prominent curators in the field. I am still learning how to step into this new space. I say that without any sense of grandeur: I know the size of my pond. But my own disappearing Gauguin has lived inside my head and around our dining room table since 2017, and now it is out in the world. Strangers know about it. And that, well, that takes some adjustment.
I could connect this heir with Victoria--Torie--Reed because she read my book when it was in page proofs. She liked it. She had terrific questions. Torie agreed to talk with me about the book, online, as part of the Johns Hopkins Museum Studies webinar-lecture series. She's going to ask me questions about my book and we're going to talk about provenance issues more broadly. There will be time for questions from the online audience. I'm going to put on my pearls.
It will be The Case of the Disappearing Gauguin's first public event, and it will be this Wednesday, August 28, at 7pm E. Attendance is free. I'd love for you to come, and bring your questions and thoughts. Since it's online, I'm sorry to say that we cannot host a reception afterwards. We encourage all attendees to treat themselves to a cookie or some cheese and crackers, whichever is your reception preference.
You can register here:
and I hope you do.
PS: I'm still happy to send out signed book plates! Email me thedisappearinggauguin@gmail.com with your address and I'll put one in the mail.
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