Augmenting the Exhibition: Augmented Reality (AR)

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“Manhua + Manga” exhibit in the University of Maryland Art Gallery. Chinese and Japanese comics and cartoons on display. Photo by John Consoli/University of Maryland.

Augmented reality is a constantly trending hashtag on twitter. It seems that most museums are trying their hands at it these days, and if they are not, they are talking about it. Thanks to the presence of the Michelle Smith Collaboratory for Visual Culture in the Department of Art History and Archaeology at UMD, the Gallery has been able to experiment with it as well– to some amazing results.

When I began planning my show, I knew I wanted some sort of augmented reality component to accompany the exhibition. In my previous position as a Graduate Assistant in art history, I had the opportunity to experiment with various platforms and apps in the name of research and pedagogy. I have not been a graduate assistant in three years; and because technology years run roughly equivalent to dog years, I was over twenty years behind. I needed to know what was out there and what would work for my show.

After I pitched my exhibition to Quint Gregory, the director of the Michelle Smith Collaboratory for Visual Culture, he helped me dream up the AR component currently available in the gallery. Guests are invited to borrow iPads from one of our attendants or download the Aurasma application on their smart phones. In the gallery, different objects are “tagged:” they trigger information and images available through the app. Hover the iPad over a cover by Chinese female cartoonist Liang Baibo to hear about her career and see other examples of her work. Interested in the Prange collection and how it came to UMD? Take the iPad over to the last viewing case in Japan. All five of the triggers are marked by small red dots.

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“Manhua + Manga,” University of Maryland Art Gallery. Photo by Thai Nguyen/University of Maryland.

Augmented reality allowed me to add a new layer of information to the exhibition, as well as provided the audience with a different avenue to explore the exhibition. A special thank you to Quint Gregory and the Michelle Smith Collaboratory for Visual Culture for all their help.

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Augmenting the Exhibition: Pop-up Library

One point that kept sticking in my mind throughout the curatorial and exhibition design process was the functionality of these objects. These objects now live in museum and archival collections; and during their stint at the University of Maryland Art Gallery, they are displayed in custom viewing cases. When they were originally printed, however, they were meant to be held, flipped-through, and closely read. It was important to me to acknowledge and convey that origin to the audience.

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Pop-Up Library, Manhua + Manga, Photo by Thai Nguyen/University of Maryland.

For our previous exhibition at the University of Maryland Art Gallery, Timeline: The University of Maryland Art Gallery at Fifty, we worked with the University of Maryland libraries to create a pop-up library in the Herman Maril Teaching and Research Gallery. For Manhua + Manga, we decided to switch it up just a bit. We moved that pop-up library out into the space of the Gallery, and, rather than only feature reference text, we included manga and manhua in various languages from different authors and artists. In the center of the library sits a TV streaming several episodes from the early 1980s made-for-TV cartoon, Astro Boy.

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Pop-Up Library, Manhua + Manga, Photo by Thai Nguyen/University of Maryland.

As a result, visitors to the Gallery could more fully realize the nature of the displayed material. They also could make visual and historic connections between the texts they could browse and those they could only read from afar.

Augmenting the Exhibition: Design

 

As the culmination of my two years at the Gallery, I was invited to propose, curate, and realize a month-long exhibition at the University of Maryland Art Gallery. Currently on view, the exhibition Manhua + Manga features a selection of Chinese and Japanese comics, cartoons, and caricature from the 1930s. I curated this exhibition as part of my doctoral dissertation process. My dissertation examines the covers of various journals and magazines printed in Shanghai in the 1930s in an effort to understand the visual experience and landscape of the city.

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“Manhua + Manga” exhibit in the University of Maryland Art Gallery. View of Chinese journal covers. Photo courtesy of John Consoli, Between The Columns, April 2016.

For the exhibition I wanted to explore a tangential subject matter: the connection (or lack of one) between Chinese and Japanese comics during this period. It was important to me to show that these two mediums, China’s manhua and Japan’s manga, were distinct and rooted in local conditions, as well as drawing attention to the various transcultural flows between the two countries. China and Japan have a long history of shared cultural exchange, and this continued into the 1930s even under the threat of war.

How could I make this happen in a way that was respectful to the objects and cultures involved? I proposed to my supervisor “splitting” the Gallery in two: China on one side and Japan on the other. In this sense, the visitor could make their own connections while appreciating the differences between the two. During this initial discussion, he proposed constructing a map to display the objects upon. In place of traditional podiums, we would build tables that mimicked China’s coastline and Japan’s archipelago. To make this happen, we hired artist and designer Rob Hackett, a recent graduate of UMD’s MFA program. After a few meetings, the exhibition was sketched out and viewing cases ordered.

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“Manhua + Manga” at the University of Maryland Art Gallery. Chinese and Japanese comics and cartoons on display. Photo Courtesy of John Consoli, Between The Columns, April 2016.

The design of this exhibition is my second favorite aspect of the show- second to the objects on display. (The pop-up library and the augmented reality component are a close third.) When the visitor enters the Gallery, they can either go to the left, the right, or proceed down the middle of the room between the two display tables. If he or she chooses the latter, he or she is standing in a figurative East China Sea. From there they can examine the work of each country as separate and distinct, as well as grasp the cultural proximity between the two art forms. To further reinforce the geographical context, we placed labels and dots closely approximating the artistic and publishing centers of Shanghai and Tokyo.

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“Manhua + Manga” at the University of Maryland Art Gallery. Chinese and Japanese comics and cartoons on display. Photo courtesy of John Consoli, Between The Columns, April 2016.

Highlights of the Collection: Les Gens de Justice by Honoré Daumier

The following blog post is written by Zoe Copeman, the Curatorial Assistant for the exhibition Timeline: The University of Maryland Art Gallery at Fifty and recent UMD grad. To learn more about professional development opportunities for UMD students at the Gallery, click here.

Sleeping judges, double-tongued attorneys, and the morally inept. These are the stories behind the series Les Gens de Justice by Honoré Daumier. Originally published in the journal Charivari from 1845 to 1848, these prints satirize the daily lives of lawyers and judges.

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Honore Daumier, “Les Gens de Justice #4” from the journal Le Charivari, 1845, lithograph, 18.5 x 25.4, Gift of Robert Paul Mann (1975.1.1)

Daumier was a master caricaturist of the mid-19th century. Taking on a spectator role, Daumier found ways to criticize the whole of French society. His subjects often favored the scandals and legal corruption of his time. With the Industrial Revolution in full bloom, nineteenth century Paris streets rumbled with new technology, grime, and greed. In 1848, lawyers were preparing an ill-fitting constitution for France, and the Aristocracy was committing murders left and right. The lay people, with whom Daumier sympathized, were outraged. Les Gens de Justice was a timely series, exposing the nation through satire to the corruption of lawyers and the bourgeois. Daumier’s cartoons enlighten the viewer to these men made selfish and unprincipled by their seemingly unlimited wealth and power. Daumier’s simplistic compositions and exaggerated figural and facial expressions lend a depth to his works unmatched at the time, opening up a dialogue through which the ‘almighty’ could be criticized under the realm of humor.

The elusive Robert Paul Mann donated these seven prints to the University of Maryland Art Gallery (UMAG) in 1975, along with works by Kandinsky and other notable nineteenth century artists. These prints were the impetus for starting a permanent study collection, where professors of the University of Maryland could use the gallery as a mechanism for research and education within their classes. This interactive quality of the gallery has carried on to this day, becoming a large part of UMAG’s mission over the years and part impetus for the creation of the Herman Maril Teaching and Research Gallery within UMAG’s walls.

Streams of Being: A First Look

The Art Gallery is currently hosting the exhibition Streams of Being: Selections from the Art Museum of the Americas. Curated by Assistant Professor of Latin American Art in the Department of Art History and Archaeology, Abigail McEwen, and University of Maryland graduate students, the exhibition features forty-five artists from sixteen countries across the Americas. To commemorate and celebrate this unique exhibition and collaboration between the Art Museum of the Americas of the Organization of American States and The Art Gallery at the University of Maryland, various University of Maryland graduate students and undergraduate students have taken over our blog. Below, University of Maryland senior Stephanie Gaither recaps the exhibition’s opening.

A First Look
Stephanie Gaither ’15

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The Art Gallery’s Taras Matla addresses the crowd at the opening. Photo by Madeline L. Gent

On March 25th, 2015, The Art Gallery presented the exhibition Streams of Being: Selections from the Art Museum of the Americas. Despite earlier previews and some familiarity with the pieces, nothing could beat the feeling of seeing the complete installation for the first time.  Perfectly situated, the artworks create a balanced and harmonious ambiance that guides the visitor throughout the space, sustaining a steady excitement and emotional response through each of the four areas. The opening gathered students, faculty, artists, and art enthusiasts on campus to enjoy the wide selection of objects. Taras Matla of The Art Gallery, Andrés Navia of AMA, and Professor Abigail McEwen all spoke briefly at the opening “We were thrilled to partner with the Art Museum of the Americas, home to one of the preeminent public collections of modern and contemporary Latin American art,” McEwen later stated.  “This exhibition was a true collaboration between AMA and The Art Gallery and one that we hope to advance in future years.  I was delighted to see so many students at the opening, and I hope that the exhibition continues to draw the campus community to the Gallery in the next month.” Close to 200 people attended the opening reception.

A few days later, I had the pleasure to interview some of the students in Professor McEwen’s undergraduate colloquium who attended the opening. Lindsay D’Andelet declared, “I thought that the opening was very interesting; there were a lot of people there including the director of AMA. Walking in the gallery was really cool, because I was one of the first people here and the first thing that I noticed was the large piece on the back wall which drew me in.” Sibia Sarangan, a student and the Gallery’s Collections Management and Research Intern, stated, “The opening was really successful in my opinion. A lot of people showed up from different demographics– students, members of the community, and everyone seemed to really enjoy the art. The exhibition was the result of collaboration between a lot of different people and institutions such as the Art Museum of the Americas and The Gallery here at the university. I think it was a great success and everyone seemed to be either interested in the streams and how the different pieces are connected with each other.” Most people seem to agree that the opening was a success, and are all very excited to have more people visit the show this month!

Stephanie Gaither is a senior at the University of Maryland, College Park. She is majoring in government and politics, and economics. Her interests include traveling, reading, and visiting art museums.

Strange Fruit: The Banana in the Americas

In anticipation of our current exhibition Streams of Being: Selections from the Art Museum of the Americas, The Art Gallery’s blog featured posts from the University of Maryland graduate students who curated the show with their professor Abigail McEwen, Assistant Professor of Latin American Art in the Department of Art History and Archaeology. Below is the final graduate student post. Please stop by The Gallery before the show closes on April 25th!

Strange Fruit:

The Banana in the Americas

Tyler Shine

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Antonio Henrique Amaral, Banana, 1971, oil on canvas 66 3/4 x 50 1/2″ AMA | Collection OAS Art Museum of the Americas

Several rows of green and yellow bananas greet shoppers at my neighborhood grocery store in Washington, D.C. Stocked in groceries across the country, the banana is a familiar fruit that calls little attention to itself. But in a series of paintings made between 1968 and 1975, the Brazilian artist Antonio Henrique Amaral (b. 1935) transformed the humble banana into a monumental subject. Conjuring up associations to warmer climates, exotic bodies, and perpetual leisure, the banana has become a strange, but vivid metaphor for micro-histories of commodity markets, migration, popular culture, global economic regulations, ecological issues, and even the performing arts.

In our graduate seminar last semester, we discussed the physical and conceptual boundaries that mark the experiences of exile in Latin America. In this post, I explore the multiplicity of meanings embodied by the banana, particularly as it represents the landscape/body of the Americas. “Bananas are so common that they are almost invisible,” historian Virginia S. Jenkins remarked in Banana: An American History.[1] What forms of agency belong to this ubiquitous and allegorical fruit?

I began my research on Amaral’s paintings with a visit to the archives at the Art Museum of the Americas (AMA) where I found, in the artist’s file, an unexpected pamphlet for the Ninth Annual Banana Festival in the twin cities of Fulton, Kentucky and South Fulton, Tennessee. This slim volume led me to think about the ways in which the banana has continued to connect the United States and several Latin American countries. The banana arrived in the Americas from Asia by way of Africa, on ships of sixteenth-century Portuguese explorers. Bananas were a luxury import until the late nineteenth century, but the advent of new technologies – steam-powered ships, refrigeration, canning, and boxing – allowed tropical fruits to become widely available on the world market. The banana became popular in the United States following the Centennial Exposition (Philadelphia, 1876), which included a forty-acre display of “orange trees, a banana plant, date palms, wax plants, century plants, sago palms, fig trees, orchids, and pineapples.” As Jenkins explains, “The banana plant was so popular that a guard had to be posted near it so that visitors would not pull it apart for souvenirs.”[2]

Amaral developed his large-scale banana paintings in two phases. The first (1968-72), broadly titled Brasiliana, features solitary clusters of bananas in the green, yellow, and blue colors of the Brazilian flag. Paintings of the second phase (1973-75) are characterized as Campos de batalha (Battlefields). Amaral created the Battlefield paintings while in the United States, where he went in order to avoid censorship from the Brazilian government. These later paintings introduce sharp, metallic objects, such as forks and knives that stab and cut the ripening and rotting flesh of the bananas. In stating, “I reject all repression,” Amaral suggests both the specificity and universality of his artistic project.[3] We can see in Amaral’s banana paintings not only political resonances, but also ecological, racialized, and gendered meanings that reinforce the artist’s affirmative stance against oppression. In the lines that follow, I will briefly address the latter issues of race and gender.

In popular culture, the banana is often conflated with the Latino/a body and the tropical landscape. Sociologist Mimi Sheller, in an article on how the banana connects the complex systems of global transportation, communication and politics, writes that “food…is not simply something we consume; rather, it is a crucial part of the daily routines and actions of bodies through which racialization happens. Bananas contribute to racing space and bodies in several complex and interacting ways.”[4] As a tropical export crop, the banana depends on a racialized labor force of ‘Black’ and ‘Brown’ bodies distinct from its presumptively ‘white’ consumer in North America. (This distinction can be problematized if we consider that consumption of bananas in the North does not necessitate a white consumer.) Bananas also figure into evolutionary hierarchies as a food eaten by non-human primates like monkeys and chimpanzees, thus becoming a sign of ‘primitive’ association with animals. Lastly, the banana is sexualized due its phallic shape. In these ways, the tropics manifest a sexualized space inhabited by raced bodies deemed lower on the evolutionary chain of being, bodies that are further sexualized by their association with the banana.

Myra Mendible’s “ironic reference to bananas and buttocks” in the title of her edited volume, From Bananas to Buttocks: The Latina Body in Popular Film and Culture, “conjures images of banana republics and fertile natural resources—literal and figurative ‘booty.’” Her words connote “a history of U.S. tropicalization vis-à-vis Latin America and evoke the kind of ambivalent desire and disgust that characterizes North-South relations and, by extension, inflects the Latina body as transnational signifier.”[5] (See Ellie’s post on the female body in exile, here.) One embodiment of this tropical, nonthreatening vision of South America was given by the Brazilian actress, singer, and samba dancer Carmen Miranda, whose flamboyant persona served as the inspiration for the United Fruit Company’s creation of Chiquita Banana a half-banana, half-woman cartoon character. With a heavy accent and fruit-topped headdress, she acted as the company’s “friendly face.” Caetano Veloso aptly summarized Brazil’s love-hate relationship with Miranda:

For the generation of Brazilians who…became adults at the height of the Brazilian military dictatorship and the international wave of the counterculture…Carmen Miranda was, first, a cause for both pride and shame, and latter, a symbol that inspired the merciless gaze we began to cast upon ourselves.[6]

The critical self-consciousness Veloso describes is embedded in Amaral’s paintings. Their protagonist is a discursive symbol reflecting nationalist struggles, oppression, economic exploitation, migratory patterns, racial and sexual tensions, subversive politics, and environmental denigration.

 

[1] Virginia S. Jenkins, Banana: An American History (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 2000), ix.

[2] Ibid., 11.

[3] Edward J. Sullivan, “A View from Abroad,” in Antonio Henrique Amaral: Obra em Processo (São Paulo: DBA, 1997), 281.

[4] Mimi Sheller, “Skinning the Banana Trade: Racial Erotics and Ethical Consumption,” in Geographies of Race and Food: Fields, Bodies, Markets (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2013), 292.

[5] Myra Mendible, From Bananas to Buttocks: The Latina Body in Popular Film and Culture (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2007), 7.

[6] Ibid., 12.

 

Hybridity and Exile in María Martínez-Cañas’ Photomontage

In the following weeks, a series of guest-blog posts will be published in anticipation of The Art Gallery’s next exhibition, Streams of Being: Selections from the Art Museum of the Americas. This exhibition has been curated by Professor Abigail McEwen, Assistant Professor of Latin American Art in the Department of Art History and Archaeology at the University of Maryland, and Ph.D. students from the Department of Art History and Archaeology at the University of Maryland.

Hybridity and Exile in María Martínez-Cañas’ Photomontage

Ali Singer 

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María Martínez-Cañas, Fragment Pieces #4, 1982, silver gelatin photograph, 16″ x 20″.            OAS AMA | Art Museum of the Americas

Last fall, I had the opportunity to visit the archives at AMA to research a handful of artists for Streams of Being.  Each time the archivists brought out a new folder, they reminded me to be attentive to the order of its contents, prompting me to visualize the ways in which we might think of each folder as a fluid text in and of itself.  The loose documents read like the pages of an artist’s book, with pieces added as AMA acquired them.  Yet the narratives nonetheless remain fragmentary, almost like a photomontage.  What I became more interested in as I read and studied each new document, each new trace of some history, were the spaces in-between this narrative.  Michel Foucault, in his text The Archaeology of Knowledge (1969), envisions the archive as a way of studying, or constructing the past to shape meaning.  Foucault’s definition allows us to further think about the archive as a space of making.  One of the artists in our exhibition, María Martínez-Cañas, has helped to shape my own ideas about this exhibition through her own work, which acts as just such a constructed archive.  In particular, her photomontage Fragment Pieces #4 fits into a larger artistic narrative in which the medium of photography, and any singular image, is pointedly relegated.[1]  In its place, she often draws on her own histories, both personal and collective, tapping into many of the themes we studied throughout our seminar: exile and diaspora, global and local histories.  Her work strikes a balance between her own biography and the ways in which the objects themselves have meaning and agency, a theme that Raino Isto has explained here.

A topic that we explored in theoretical depth last semester, the theme of exile runs throughout our exhibition.  In this regard, the medium of photomontage has been particularly important to Martínez-Cañas because, as she says, it helps her “to create new memories that have to do with who I am.” Artists have often used the medium as a form of political protest, and Andy Grundberg suggests that perhaps the majority of these artists were also in exile or refugees.[3]  From this perspective, Martínez-Cañas engages her historical ties to a larger network of artists in exile at the level of medium.  We can see the fragmentary nature of her photomontage technique as operating at this initial level: the work exists as a single fragment of a larger narrative of artists in exile linked through this condition of medium specificity.

The images within the piece itself are also significant in their representation of the intellectual trajectory of our class as we shaped this exhibition.  The photographs depict pre-Columbian objects, suggesting a historical and hemispheric link for Martínez-Cañas as a Latin American artist.  The written text above and below the object on the left reads, “That which narrates can make us understand.  The primitive begins alone; he inherits no practice.”  The notion of inheriting practice subtly implies cultural hybridity, whereas “beginning” and “alone” taken together describe points of origin unfettered by outside input.  Cultural hybridity as well as the complex relationship between the local and the metropolitan, as we explored through the work of writers such as Fredric Jameson and Arjun Appadurai, resonated at the fore of our thinking around this exhibition.  Martínez-Cañas’ piece speaks well to these larger themes as the text, visually paired with pre-Columbian objects, engages to one half of the equation: the indigenous.  Yet the text also foreshadows later European conquest, particularly in the use of the word “primitive,” a European notion that relegated indigenous populations to a presumptively less civilized, and thus lower, social standing.

Many of the artists in this exhibition deal with notions of cultural hybridity.  Hybridity implies an initial flow and movement, perhaps due to exile or immigration, or even the liminal condition of the refugee.  Martínez-Cañas was born in Cuba, but she and her family fled to Puerto Rico as exiles shortly thereafter.  Thus, she has lived not only a life in exile but also one defined by cultural hybridity.  She moved to the United States only a few years before she produced Fragmented Pieces #4, a work that frames and augments the feeling of displacement.  The photomontage medium, as adapted in this piece, allows us to imagine the work itself as expressing a kind of hybridity.[4] The image of the book onto which Martínez-Cañas has placed the pre-Columbian images returns me again to the notion of the archive and the experience of flipping through the various fragments contained within each folder, a metaphorical “artist’s book.”  Fragmented Pieces #4 is emblematic of the themes and ideas we explored together as a class and, at a personal level, it registers the ways in which my thinking has been further shaped through the use of AMA’s archives.  My visit to AMA was crucial to my understanding of individual artists work.  Tellingly, it also inspired new creative conjunctions between  an artist, as pieced together by the archive, and the fragmented narratives and cultural fragmentation as experienced by an artist (herself) in exile.

 

[1] Although this specific piece is not included in our exhibition, this work by Martínez-Cañas expresses many of the themes central to our exhibition and guided my thinking during the course of my research in the archives at AMA.

[2] Andy Grundberg, “A Storm of Images: the Photographs of María Martínez-Cañas,” in María Martínez-Cañas: A Retrospective, April 30 – July 28, 2002 (Fort Lauderdale: Museum of Art, 2002).

[3] Andy Grundberg, “A Storm of Images: the Photographs of María Martínez-Cañas.”

[4] Olga M. Viso, “With Feet Firmly Planted,” in María Martínez-Cañas: A Retrospective, April 30 – July 28, 2002 (Fort Lauderdale: Museum of Art, 2002).