British Museum blog

Voices of the British Museum

Liam O’Connor, artist

I am creating an archive of audio interviews with the staff of the British Museum, the subject of which is a museum object or space they have developed a significant personal connection with as part of their work.

'WCEC Excavation' 2012 © Liam O'Connor

‘WCEC Excavation’ 2012 © Liam O’Connor

Between 2010 and 2014 I was artist in residence on the construction of the World Conservation and Exhibitions Centre, a new building at the British Museum. Although my efforts were focused on the building site, I also received a privileged insight into the workings of the place through conversations with a wide variety of people who work at the Museum.

My understanding of particular objects and spaces around the Museum has been greatly enriched by talking to the people who have invested time and emotion in them. I am intrigued by how these objects and spaces that belong to everyone seem to bear a great significance to certain individuals, and believe the stories of how and why are important to capture.

The British Museum, as an idea, is a place where a diverse range of people are brought together for a common purpose, a place and a collection that has endured through many generations of staff and visitors, it is a collection and a building that weaves all those generations together.

The objects and spaces of the Museum are vessels for meaning and memory; they are constantly being adopted into new narratives by staff and visitors. The aim of these interviews is to reveal the small memories, invested in the museum and its collection, that overlap and sustain this fantastic institution through generations reaching back into the past and forward into the future.

Internally, among staff I have discovered a tradition of stories being passed from previous generations to the present – characters and events long since gone are still present within the Museum. It would be amazing if in fifty or a hundred years from now a conservator, curator, security guard could listen to the person give an account of working on that same object or within that same space from today.

Painting on silk showing Buddha (probably Śākyamuni) preaching in a Paradise composition. From the Caves of the Thousand Buddhas, Dunhuang, Gansu province, China. Tang Dynasty, c. AD 701-750 (1919,0101,0.6)

Painting on silk showing Buddha (probably Śākyamuni) preaching in a Paradise composition. From the Caves of the Thousand Buddhas, Dunhuang, Gansu province, China. Tang Dynasty, 8th century (1919,0101,0.6)

The voice is important in this project; the voice of an individual is much more captivating and engaging than a written text, and somehow more immediate than a video combining sight and sound.

The background sounds also provide another layer; the secret door in the Enlightenment Gallery creaking open in Bryony Shepherd’s interview, and the rolling rack revealing the painting in Clarissa von Spee’s interview. These all start to contribute to a soundscape that is another layer in describing the British Museum. This is something I didn’t think about until I started listening back to the interviews; for me this is an exciting discovery.

As part of the interview, I also want to capture the journey that lead each person to working at the Museum. I want to understand the diversity of paths that all lead to the same place. I arrived here purely by chance, approaching the Museum to ask if I could study their building site, I didn’t have any ideas to investigate the Museum itself, but I have received an invaluable education from the place purely through talking to people who work here, it is their enthusiasm for their subjects and objects that has encouraged and strengthened my own enthusiasm for the place.

Door panels and lintel  from the palace of the Ogoga (king) of Ikere in Nigeria. They depict the arrival of a British administrator in the Ogoga’s palace around 1899-1901. Af1924,-.135.a-b

Door panels and lintel from the palace of the Ogoga (king) of Ikere in Nigeria. They depict the arrival of a British administrator in the Ogoga’s palace around 1899-1901. Af1924,-.135.a-b

I like exploring the rituals, patterns and the accumulation of time that bind us to objects and places in physical and imagined ways. This takes the form of revealing meaning or narratives that individuals project onto spaces and objects that otherwise remain hidden to everyone else.

I invest huge amounts of time in single objects or drawings or spaces as part of my work, this repeated attention shown to something creates a deep bond that is hugely important in placing memory and meaning in something physical. I also make drawings and objects that are only the trace or evidence of the actual work, where the work exists in the story of how the object was made or the performance/investment of time in making it.

The Museum’s objects, as beautiful and magnificent as they are, will always rely heavily on the devotion of the people who work with them day to day, the energy they invest in them is infectious, bringing them to life for the rest of us.

I have only recently begun this project, so far I have 10 interviews, but I want to collect many more. I hope this project will provide a rich archive of material for the Museum, which will become more interesting over time, as the Museum changes, but also the interviews are individual pieces of storytelling that could provide an alternative audio guide for museum visitors, that further enrich the mythology of the British Museum.

Room 1: Enlightenment Gallery

Room 1: Enlightenment Gallery

Voices of the British Museum is being hosted on the British Museum’s Soundcloud channel, where you can find recordings of events, Audio Descriptions, and other audio.

Liam O’Connor (@liamoconnor919) is currently artist in residence at the Victoria and Albert Museum, making work in response to their Exhibition Road Building Project.

Filed under: At the Museum, , ,

The Kingdom and the Beauty

Chris Berry, Professor of Film Studies, King’s College London

I’m very excited about the screening of The Kingdom and the Beauty this Sunday afternoon at the British Museum. When I was asked to help the Museum put together a small series of screenings as part of the programme supporting the BP exhibition Ming: 50 years that changed China, this was the film I was most determined that we should get. This Sunday provides a rare opportunity, so I’d like to tell you what makes this screening so special.

The Kingdom and the Beauty © Licensed by Celestial Pictures Ltd. All rights reserved.

The Kingdom and the Beauty © Licensed by Celestial Pictures Ltd. All rights reserved.

The Kingdom and the Beauty (‘Jiang shan mei ren’)is a big, lush, gloriously colourful, and unabashedly romantic musical set when the Ming dynasty was at the height of its power. A kind of Cinderella story with a tragic twist, it was made by the legendary Hong Kong studio Shaw Brothers in 1959, when they too were at the height of their power. The Kingdom and the Beauty was a huge hit across Southeast Asia, winning awards at film festivals and sparking off a series of similar Mandarin-language musicals.

The story is about the Zhengde emperor, who ruled from 1505 to 1521. He was known as a bit of a playboy, and the film shows him sneaking out of the court in Beijing and traveling south to the rich heartlands around the Yangzi Delta. There he falls in love with a village girl, played by Shaw’s leading star of the time, Linda Lin Dai. Recalled by his duties at court, he forgets about her, but she discovers she is pregnant and hopes to be reunited with him. Her character in the film is a girl with a sunny nature who suffers a tragic fate, as Lin did herself a few years later. The film is remembered for her upbeat renditions of charming and catchy tunes. But Lin killed herself in 1964, and became an icon who has endured through the ages.

Nearly all other films set in the Ming dynasty take place in the 17th century, when the dynasty begins to fade. They feature stories about patriotic outsiders trying to defend the country in the face of dynastic failure (the Ming were replaced by the Manchu Qing in 1644). The Kingdom and the Beauty is unusual in this respect as it is set in the early 16th century, and is more indicative of the splendour of the early Ming courts, as seen in the Museum’s exhibition. No film better communicates the image of the Ming as the largest, richest, and most successful civilisation of its time.

Sir Run Run Shaw, the great Shaw Brothers founder, who was also the producer of The Kingdom and the Beauty, died earlier this year. Our screening of the film, made possible by Celestial Pictures, which owns the 760-film Shaw Brothers library, is our way of honouring Sir Run Run and Shaw Brothers.

It’s a classic musical, a big, old-fashioned and indulgent pleasure for a Sunday afternoon that I think everyone would enjoy. Do join us to sit back and float off into a fantasy world of Ming luxury and romance.

Tickets for The Kingdom and the Beauty are available from the British Museum website.

The BP exhibition Ming: 50 years that changed China is at the British Museum from 18 September 2014 to 5 January 2015.
Supported by BP

Filed under: Ming: 50 years that changed China, , , , , , , ,

Käthe Kollwitz, a Berlin story

Frances Carey, art historian

Statue of Käthe Kollwitz, Kollwitzplatz, Berlin. Photo by Rae Allen, licensed under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0)

Statue of Käthe Kollwitz, Kollwitzplatz, Berlin. Photo by Rae Allen, licensed under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0)

The seated figure of an elderly woman cast in bronze presides over a square in a part of north east Berlin known as Kollwitzkiez, the ‘Kollwitz district’, where Käthe Schmidt (1867-1945) came to live in 1891 on her marriage to Dr Karl Kollwitz. The sculpture by Gustav Seitz, installed in 1960, was commissioned under the DDR (German Democratic Republic) just as the renaming of Wörtherplatz and Weissenburger Strasse had been done in her honour in 1947. The nearest U-Bahn station is Senefelderplatz opened in 1923 and named after another notable figure in the history of printmaking, Alois Senefelder, who is credited with the discovery of lithography in 1796. When I stayed on Kollwitzstraße in the summer of 2009, the formerly bohemian neighbourhood of the 1990s after Die Wende (‘The Change’, i.e. including the fall of the Berlin Wall and reunification) was fast shedding its down-at-heel appearance. All the familiar signs of rising property values and gentrification were plain to see, much more so now: handsome, well-buffed apartment buildings, smart shops, cafés such as Anne Blume (called after Kurt Schwitters’s subversive poem of 1919), and nearby parks and playgrounds with brightly coloured equipment for children. TripAdvisor waxes lyrical about the area as a tourist destination.

Käthe Kollwitz, Selbstbildnis nach links (Self-portrait facing left), 1901 © DACS, 2014

Käthe Kollwitz, Selbstbildnis nach links (Self-portrait facing left), 1901, lithograph, 269 x 204 mm © DACS, 2014 (1951,0501.81)

It is a far cry from the surroundings where Käthe and Karl (d.1940) were to spend almost the whole of their adult lives. Prenzlauer Berg, the larger district in which Kollwitzkiez is situated, was developed as a working-class neighbourhood to cope with the great surge in population after 1871 when Berlin became the capital of a united Germany; by 1900 the population had grown from around 800,000 to 1.9 million. Street after street of Mietskasernen or tenements (literally ‘rental barracks’) were built where conditions were dire. The Frauenkunstverband (Organisation of Women Artists), co-founded by Käthe Kollwitz in 1913, protested that 600,000 Berliners lived in dwellings with five or more people to a room while 100,000 children had nowhere to play. The title of the polemic by Werner Hegemann published in 1930, Das steinerne Berlin: Geschichte der grössten Mietskasernenstadt der Welt (Stony Berlin: History of the Largest Tenement City in the World) captures the impact of this remorseless urbanization. Prenzlauer Berg was dominated by these tenements and the breweries that were the major employers.

Käthe Kollwitz, Arbeitslosigkeit (Unemployment) © DACS 2014 (1949,0411.3945)

Käthe Kollwitz, Arbeitslosigkeit (Unemployment) 1909, 6th state, etching and engraving 382 x 530 mm. © DACS 2014 (1949,0411.3945)

Kollwitz was rooted in the nineteenth century, drawing much of her inspiration from the narrative realism and emotive power of writers such as Dickens, Ibsen and Zola. She grafted her reading of fiction, whether it dealt with near contemporary circumstances or ostensibly historical ones, onto the direct experience of ‘the lives of others’ who were beset by the uncertainties of casual employment, deprivation, high maternal and child mortality, and often domestic violence. In this challenging environment she found a beauty and a grandeur that became her mainspring as an artist. It was a largely black-and-white world, but with many gradations of tone and texture. For the realization of its expressive potential she turned to drawing and printmaking, above all to the example of Max Klinger (1857-1920) and his championing of graphic art as having an important status of its own. His series of ten etchings and aquatints called Dramen, Opus IX (1883) comprised six tragedies set in Berlin among the different echelons of society. Two dramas – Eine Mutter (A Mother) and Märztage (March Days) – unfold over three plates each, while the other four have just a single sheet apiece. Märztage seemed to refer to the failed liberal revolution of March 1848, but Klinger made it clear that he had in mind the contemporary context of Germany’s Social Democratic movement in 1883.

Max Klinger, Eine Mutter I

Max Klinger, Eine Mutter I (A Mother I), Dramen, Opus IX 1883, etching and aquatint, 453 x 318 mm (1981,1107.23)

Max Klinger, Mârztage I

Max Klinger, Mârztage I (March Days I), Dramen, Opus IX 1883, etching and aquatint, 453 x 358 mm (1981,1107.28)

Käthe Kollwitz was similarly inspired by Gerhart Hauptmann’s play Die Weber (The Weavers, 1892), which she saw at its first performance in 1893, to create a print series that was more about the conditions of the poor around her, than Silesia in 1844. Her second graphic cycle Der Bauernkrieg (Peasants’ War) executed from 1902-7 and published the year after, used the religious and economic conflict of 1524-5 as yet another vehicle through which to express the heroism of the working class. This series along with her later work after the First World War in woodcut and lithography, earned her significant influence on the development of printmaking in Russia and China in the 1920s-40s and beyond.

Within a few years of commencing printmaking in 1890-91 Käthe Kollwitz had demonstrated considerable artistry and technical competence. Ein Weberaufstand (A Weavers’ Revolt) – three etchings and three lithographs completed in 1897 – propelled her to the front rank of artists in Germany. When she went to Paris in 1904 she was given a glowing testimonial for Rodin from Hugo von Tschudi, Director of the Berlin Nationalgalerie. Her greatest champion was Max Lehrs, Director of the Dresden Print Room who both acquired her work for the collection and published the first catalogue of her prints in 1902. He likewise encouraged a curator, later Keeper of Prints and Drawings at the British Museum, Campbell Dodgson (1867-1948). Dodgson bequeathed to the British Museum (which was not then permitted to buy the work of living artists) a remarkably fine body of impressions from the most innovative phase of Kollwitz’s career: none more so than a sequence of three states of the harrowing subject of Frau mit totem Kind (Woman with dead Child) of 1903, which shows Kollwitz’s mastery in every aspect of its accomplishment. The artist and her younger son Peter (b.1896) were the models at a time when her elder son Hans (b.1892) had narrowly escaped dying of diphtheria. The sculptural quality of her treatment of the motif anticipates her later interest in working with a three-dimensional medium which was one of her objects of study in Paris.

Käthe Kollwitz, Frau mit totem Kind (Woman with dead child)

Käthe Kollwitz, Frau mit totem Kind (Woman with dead child) 1903, 7th state, soft-ground etching and engraving with green and gold wash, 415 x 480 mm. © DACS 2014 (1949,0411.3928)

Frau mit totem Kind has none of the resignation of her later sculpture (1937) of a mother and her dead son, ‘something like a Piéta’, of which the artist said ‘There is no longer pain, only reflection.’ In the 1903 print there is only pain, but however much she drew upon personal experience and observation, it is nonetheless a carefully contrived artistic composition.

Käthe Kollwitz, Selbstbildnis (Self-portrait), woodcut, 1924, © DACS, 2014 (1980,0126.85)

Käthe Kollwitz, Selbstbildnis (Self-portrait) 1924, 6th state, woodcut, 209 x 301 mm © DACS, 2014 (1980,0126.85)

Kollwitz’s most unwavering commitment was to being an artist: ‘It alone is always stimulating, rejuvenating, exciting and satisfying.’ (New Year’s Day, 1912). Her intensely examined life as expressed in all her work, not just the many self-portraits, her journals and correspondence, is humbling to recall amidst the middle-class comforts of modern Kollwitzkiez. I admire her because she succeeded in doing what a great contemporary artist has advocated: ‘I thought women as artists should focus on how to start, lead, and sustain a creative life. It’s not a question of style or a break with tradition.’ (Bridget Riley, 2004).

The exhibition Germany: memories of a nation is at the British Museum from 16 October 2014 to 25 January 2015. Sponsored by Betsy and Jack Ryan, with support from Salomon Oppenheimer Philanthropic Foundation.

Accompanying the exhibition is a 30-part BBC Radio 4 series written and presented by Neil MacGregor. In the episode Kathe Kollwitz: Suffering Witness, Neil MacGregor focuses on the art of Käthe Kollwitz, who expresses the loss and suffering of war, especially after the death of her younger son Peter at the front in 1914.

Filed under: Germany: memories of a nation, , , , , ,

Tears of the Buddha : gem stones in Ming China

Gold and gem-encrusted hairpins
Craig Clunas, Professor of the History of Art, University of Oxford and co-curator of the BP Exhibition Ming: 50 years that changed China

Hat-top ornament, from Nanjing, c. 1420-21, gold, decorated with gemstones. Excavated from the tomb of Zhu Zhanji, Prince Zhuang of Liang, and of Lady Wei at Zhongxiang, Hubei province. © Hubei Provincial Museum 湖北省博物馆

Hat-top ornament, from Nanjing, c. 1420-21, gold, decorated with gemstones. Excavated from the tomb of Zhu Zhanji, Prince Zhuang of Liang, and of Lady Wei at Zhongxiang, Hubei province. © Hubei Provincial Museum 湖北省博物馆

In 2009, when I first saw the amazing finds from the tomb of Prince Zhuang of Liang (d.1441) in the Hubei Provincial Museum, it was impossible not to be impressed by the gleam and flash of the gems with which so many of the objects were decorated. Jewelled belts, jewelled buttons for a princely hat, the lavish gold hairpins of princely ladies all set with rubies, sapphires, turquoise and a variety of other precious stones; these conjured up like nothing else the luxurious lifestyle of the early Ming princely palace, and the splendour of its inhabitants. Since then I have done a bit more research on these gems, where they came from and how they were used, and I have become even more fascinated by what they can tell us about Ming courts and their contacts with the wider world.

Gold and gem-encrusted hairpins. Nanjing or Beijing, c. 1403-51. Excavated from the tomb of Zhu Zhanji, Prince Zhuang of Liang, and of Lady Wei at Zhongxiang, Hubei province. © Hubei Provincial Museum 湖北省博物馆

Gold and gem-encrusted hairpins. Nanjing or Beijing, c. 1403-51. Excavated from the tomb of Zhu Zhanji, Prince Zhuang of Liang, and of Lady Wei at Zhongxiang, Hubei province. © Hubei Provincial Museum 湖北省博物馆

Gold and gem-encrusted hairpins. Nanjing or Beijing, c. 1403-51. Excavated from the tomb of Zhu Zhanji, Prince Zhuang of Liang, and of Lady Wei at Zhongxiang, Hubei province. © Hubei Provincial Museum 湖北省博物馆

Gold and gem-encrusted hairpins. Nanjing or Beijing, c. 1403-51. Excavated from the tomb of Zhu Zhanji, Prince Zhuang of Liang, and of Lady Wei at Zhongxiang, Hubei province. © Hubei Provincial Museum 湖北省博物馆

China is not well supplied with precious stones, and almost all of the gems in the objects from Prince Zhuang of Liang’s tomb came from outside the Ming empire, where they were seen as exotic and precious imports. Take rubies for instance, with their impressive deep red hue. One of the world’s richest sources of these, the most rare of the major gem types, is a mine at Mogok, now in Myanmar (northern Burma). It is possible that the early Ming courts obtained rubies from here through overland trade with the Shan States who occupied this part of the world in the 15th century. But a much more likely source of some of the large and truly impressive gems, like the rubies which stud the centre of each carefully-worked filigree plaque of Prince Zhuang of Liang’s gold belt , is the island of Sri Lanka.

Sri Lanka had long been known as one of the best sources of red rubies and blue sapphires (which are almost exactly the same mineral in chemical terms; tiny differences in impurities account for their very different colours). In 1283, in the Yuan dynasty, one of the island’s rulers had written to a sultan of Egypt with the proud boast that ‘I have a prodigious quantity of pearls and precious stones of every kind’. At least five diplomatic missions from King Parakramabahu VI (r.1412-1468) of Sri Lanka to the Ming took place between 1416 and 1459, and the great Ming eunuch admiral Zheng He stopped off on the island on several of his voyages. One of Zheng He’s crew was the interpreter Ma Huan. In his account of the voyages, An Overall Survey of the Ocean’s Shores, he tells us how Sri Lanka is rich in gems of many kinds:

Whenever heavy rain occurs, the water rushes out of the earth and flows down amidst the sand; they search for and collect [the stones], and that is how they get them. There is a common saying that the precious stones are in truth the crystallized tears of Buddha the patriarch.

He also calls the gems by foreign and not Chinese names; he calls some of them yagu, which comes from the Arabic word yāqūt, meaning sometimes ‘ruby’. This use of an Arabic name tells us that the trade in gems in the Ming period was a very international one, as indeed it is today. Gems are not only very valuable, but very portable, and Ma Huan tells us that they could be bought at ports all round Southeast Asia and the Indian Ocean, in Java and Thailand, at ports in modern Kerala in South India, at Hormuz in modern Iran and Aden in the Yemen. Wherever there were ships and traders there were gems. The Chinese city of Zhongxiang, where Prince Zhuang of Liang lived and died, is a long way from the sea. But these glittering fragments of the exotic must have told all who saw them, shining and gleaming on the bodies of himself and his wife, that these were people who, through their connections to the imperial court in Beijing, could command extraordinary resources from across the globe.

The BP exhibition Ming: 50 years that changed China is at the British Museum from 18 September 2014 to 5 January 2015.
Supported by BP

Craig Clunas and Jessica Harrison-Hall are editors of the exhibition catalogue, The BP exhibition: Ming: 50 years that changed China, which is available in paperback and hardback from the British Museum shop online

Filed under: Ming: 50 years that changed China, , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Weird Sisters

Felix Mortimer, RIFT Theatre Company

On the evening of Friday 10 October, we brought our interpretation of the Weird Sisters from Macbeth to Room 90 in response to the exhibition Witches and Wicked Bodies displayed there. We had developed the witch characters over a year of performance in different spaces.

Louise Torres-Ryan and Roseanne Lynch play two of the Weird Sisters for RIFT at the British Museum. Photo © Benedict Johnson

Louise Torres-Ryan and Roseanne Lynch play two of the Weird Sisters for RIFT at the British Museum. Photo © Benedict Johnson

The witches are the biggest challenge for the director of Macbeth. These undefinable women who are associated and intertwined with the story but strangely absent, on the periphery, commenting and disrupting. Macbeth’s witches can be harpies, ravens or rapping nurses. The most embarrassing or intriguing of Shakespeare’s characters.

Our 2014 production, set within Erno Goldfinger’s iconic Balfron Tower, opened with the sound of the witches and their discovery in an underground carpark. From the shadows, their faces illuminated only by firelight. Our main references were people cast outside of society, Albanian sworn-virgins and drug addicts.

We wanted to make the witches more three-dimensional, let the audience in on a side of them which might not usually be told. We commissioned Thomas McMullan to write a twenty-minute scene exploring the witches’ background.

Thomas explains his process here:

I approached the idea of the ‘witch’ from the perspective of a slur; the power for the word to dehumanise. The sister is made abject and, in turn, drifting from the forest to the city, she becomes detached from the world around her. She is greeted by the perpetrators of that violent dehumanisation with a mixture of fear and abuse, eventually choosing to inhabit the former over the latter.

Thomas’ work lent the witches a depth and humanity which we felt was needed. Only half of the audience witnessed this scene and those that did developed a markedly different sympathy in the later apparitions scene.

Louise Torres-Ryan, Roseanne Lynch, Jason Imlach and Zoe Williams for RIFT at the British Museum. Photo © Benedict Johnson

Louise Torres-Ryan, Roseanne Lynch, Jason Imlach and Zoe Williams for RIFT at the British Museum. Photo © Benedict Johnson

Our witches (Dominique, Louise and Roseanne) developed an almost familial bond during the production, experimenting with different dynamics and constantly refining the arc of the sisters throughout the piece.

Dominique explains their process here:

We interpreted The Weird Sisters as mortal women who had been subject to extraordinary circumstances and become damaged and shaped by these experiences. Thom’s writing allowed us to investigate what they why they felt distanced from the rest of society, especially in opposition to men.

We explored ideas around of being outcast, living on the fringes and helping each other survive. We worked extremely closely together, challenging and critiquing each other, and developed a bond between us which was really unique – it continues to feel special to have that connection. It was interesting to see how others reacted to this – I could start to see how some men find close bonds between women threatening.

It is still horrifying to think about how that same fear could have become the seed for the demonisation and persecution of women which bred the idea of witches in the first place

Working on the event to accompany the exhibition Witches and wicked bodies has allowed us to continue the conversation about the Weird Sisters which started with some experiments in October 2013 and continues today.

RIFT

Witches and wicked bodies is in Room 90, to 11 January 2015. Admission free.

Filed under: Witches and wicked bodies, , ,

Understanding art in religion

Robert Bracey, curator, British Museum

Blog01_544

The term ‘religion’ covers a diverse range of thoughts and beliefs. Some people understand their religion to prohibit all acts of violence, even to the smallest animal, while others believe their religion compels them to go to war. For some people religion is central to their identity and infuses every aspect of their life while for others it is something that relates to a particular place on a certain day. Religion’s diversity makes it hard to define though we all feel we recognise religiosity when we see it.

Over two days in June this year, a group of staff from the British Museum and guests took on the problem of trying to define religion and think about how religion affects, or is affected, by the sort of objects that make up the British Museum’s collection. This seminar took place as part of the Empires of Faith research project funded by the Leverhulme Trust. The project is about comparing religious objects from different cultures in the first millennium AD. This is a hugely important period for the religions we know today. Christianity and Islam both began in the first millennium, and the beliefs and rituals of many other religions (Hinduism, Judaism, Zoroastrianism, Jainism and Buddhism) took the form we recognise today at this time.

Blog 03_544

It is very easy to let preconceptions get in the way of thinking about big ideas like religion. To help the members of the research team break out of their comfort zone we invited five guests with very different expertise to speak about the topics. Averil Cameron (University of Oxford) is well-known for her work on Byzantine history. Matthew Canepa (University of Minnesota) is an art historian and expert on the Sasanian world (ancient Iran). Simon Coleman (University of Toronto) is an anthropologist and an expert on pilgrimage. Bruce Lincoln (University of Chicago) works on the history of religions. Joan Pau Rubies (Universitat Pompeu Fabra) studies the history of European missionaries. Such a diverse range of expertise helped push everybody to think in new ways.

Blog 02_544

This wasn’t a conventional seminar with formal lectures. Instead, it was a discussion, sometimes a debate, about ideas that could shape the project. So, although the project team will write lots of research over its course, there will be no book of the seminar. The participants agreed instead to let their ideas and discussion be ‘sketched'; a new concept for most of us. The artist Clarice Holt sat quietly in the corner while we talked at, argued and harangued each other. Clarice prepared eighteen sketches of the meeting, encapsulating different points that were raised during the discussion. You can see the full sketches in the slideshow at the end of this post.

Not often is one’s mind stretched so far and in so many captivating directions. I hope very much that the images I created for the Empires of Faith Project will allow a wider range of people access to what is a vibrant and relevant area of historical research, and to gain insights into this weird and wonderful area.

Clarice’s reflections on the seminar.

The first day of the seminar was spent trying to find a way of defining religion. One of the disagreements was about whether a single definition of religion was useful or if what was, or was not, religious had to be defined for each historical period. The single definition makes sense to us because we live in a world where there are sharp divides between the religious and non-religious (or secular). Some people, and some places, and often certain days are ‘for’ religion but in the past religion was part of everyday life. People saw the world as constantly shaped by magical or divine forces beyond their control. Thinking ourselves back into that perspective is very hard and that made these days very useful for the project as a whole.

Blog 04_544

The second day was about objects and what they tell us about religion. One topic that was discussed was the ambiguity of images. The Empires of Faith team is very interested in how the same image can represent different gods in different places. So, for example, an image of the Greek god Hercules found in modern Pakistan would probably represent Vajrapani, the protector of the Buddha, or in Iran it could be the divine being Verethragna. What did the people who made the images, or used them, think about the relationships between these different gods?

Blog 05_544

The two days were tiring but enlightening. Everyone came away with plenty to think about and some more questions that the project will try to answer in the future. Can objects shape what you believe? Can they be more important than doctrines and scripture? Does a sacred object possess some intrinsic quality that sets it apart, or does sacredness only exist in our perceptions?
Traditionally the study of religion in the ancient world has focused on what people wrote about regarding their beliefs or practices. The Empires of Faith project is seeking to balance that by looking at how visual culture and religious artefacts relate to religion. It feels appropriate that the thinking from our first seminar was recorded not as a series of written articles but as a set of images.

Click on one of the images below to view as a slideshow

More about the Empires of Faith project on the British Museum website.

Filed under: Empires of Faith, , , , , , , , , , ,

5 digital megatrends towards the Museum of the Future

Chris Michaels, Head of Digital Media and Publishing, British Museum

There is no end of digital fads that might make a significant impact on the British Museum. Every time I open LinkedIn, or read a blog, there’s something new, or seeming-new, waiting to be tried. It’s fun.

But what really matters? What are the things that take our mission of being the museum of and for the world, and reveal an entirely new dimension to that great Enlightenment aim; that find a new way to make it real?

That’s a harder question, but it’s the strategically critical one that we will try and answer in the months and years ahead.

Today’s second debate in the Museum of the Future series, Changing public dialogues with museum collections in the digital age, is a crucial staging post in the process of us starting to talk about what digital means.

In advance of that, here are 5 themes – or megatrends, to give them their grander title – that might help shape our future. Big ideas all of them, but what better place than the British Museum to talk about the value of big ideas?
 

  1. The next billion comes online

  2. If we want to be the Museum of and for the World, then being able to tell the story of the history of mankind to all mankind is a conceptually critical moment in our long history. Over the period to 2020, 1 billion new people are forecast to come online for the first time, predominantly through mobile-based Internet connections. In an increasingly digital-dependent economy, that runs consequent with a similar number of people’s emergence into the global middle class, marked by an income of $5000 per year. Is this our new, next audience? As these people connect for the first time, how do we tell them stories of their histories in ways that are most meaningful?

    Watch Ericsson CEO Hans Vestberg talk about the next billion and what it means here:

     

  3. HS2 makes the world get smaller

  4. All around the world, from London to China to Russia and Spain, incredible investments are being made in high-speed rail networks that will make tourism – the largest driver of our visitorship – a whole lot easier. There are many complex arguments around the social, economic and environmental impacts of major new rail networks, but whatever happens, it will make getting to the British Museum quicker and cheaper for hundreds of millions of people round the world. We will need to be ready for that. Explore the HS2 proposals for UK railways here.
     

  5. This place is alive! The rise of smart cities and buildings

  6. As the Internet gets built into everything, and as the power and potential of the data that creates gets unlocked, we will have to change the way we manage the connections between people and things. The buildings we live and work in will become smart. The British Museum is a very, very big building, and making it smart might do anything from saving huge amounts on our energy bills, to managing the flow of visitors that creates overcrowding around the Mummies, the Rosetta Stone and (yes) the toilets. Read abut smart cities here.
     

  7. Machines anticipate us and speak in our language

  8. Asking Google, or talking to Siri, are already astonishing experiences – there’s a complex existential pleasure in speaking to a machine, and the machine getting it. The quality of natural language processing and machine learning will accelerate in the period to 2020, and their capabilities will start to move from reactive (‘you ask them’) to predictive (‘they know what you need’). That may alter the way we use the Internet forever – making the voice, not text, the first choice for finding what we need. For a Museum, that’s an exciting moment, helping visitors to help themselves. Is Siri the most important Visitor Services team member we haven’t hired yet?
     

  9. Media markets reach the tipping point

  10. Museums are complex media organisations, involved in book publishing, television, cinema, radio and more. Just this month the Museum has launched Germany: memories of a nation) with BBC Radio 4, while awaiting Night at the Museum 3: Secret of the Tomb from Fox in December. As we intersect with all these markets, we have to recognise one thing: digital is the driver of change in all of them. PwC’s market forecasts suggest that digital market revenues will grow at 11.9% compound annual growth rate in the years to 2017, by which time digital will account for 45% of all media revenues. Contrast that to TV and cinema, growing at 3.6%, and with streaming revenues expected to become primary in three years time. There is much to consider here, many complex implications. But whatever the answers, in this as in so much else, one truth is simple: the internet is changing who we are and what we do, and the Museum must change with it.

    Changing public dialogues with museum collections in the digital age (Thursday 16 October, BP Lecture Theatre, 18.30–21.00) is the second in a series of debates as part of Museum of the future, in which we are discussing big questions about the Museum’s future. The event is fully booked, but an audio recording and video highlights will be available following the event. You can also follow @britishmuseum and #MuseumOfTheFuture for live-tweeting of the event.

    Visit our Tumblr to get an introduction to the debate and the Museum’s history.

    Filed under: Museum of the Future, , , , , ,

The Holy Roman Empire: from Charlemagne to Napoleon


Joachim Whaley, Professor of German History and Thought, University of Cambridge

Replica crown of the Holy Roman Empire, 1913. © Anne Gold, Städtische Museen for the City Hall, Aachen

Replica crown of the Holy Roman Empire, 1913. © Anne Gold, Städtische Museen for the City Hall, Aachen

The object labelled Charlemagne’s crown in the British Museum’s exhibition Germany: memories of a nation reminds us of a long history that ended over a century before the Third Reich began, but which nonetheless continues to shape Germany and German-speaking Europe even today. Like the polity which it recalls, the crown has a complex history. The object itself is a replica made in 1913 of the imperial crown which was once kept in Nuremberg and has been in Vienna since 1796. This crown almost certainly originated around AD 960, made by a Lower Rhineland workshop, perhaps in Cologne. Whether Charlemagne himself was actually crowned is unclear and while we know that he crowned his son at Aachen in 813 we do not know what crown was used.

Gold solidus of Emperor Charlemagne. France, AD 768-814

Gold solidus of Emperor Charlemagne. France, AD 768-814

Even so, the crown has come to stand for the Holy Roman Empire which originated in Charlemagne’s Frankish realm, which comprised much of what we know as France and Germany. It was in the eastern part of this kingdom that a German monarchy became established in the 9th and 10th centuries. The legitimacy and special status of this monarchy derived substantially from its presumed descent from Charlemagne and from the inheritance of his role as protector of the papacy and guardian of the Church. This was implicit in the title Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation, as the German polity formally became known around 1500.

The special nature of the empire was also reflected in its election and coronation procedures. German rulers were elected as kings by their German peers. They were crowned at Aachen and then again at Rome by the pope. The first made them German kings; the second made them Roman emperors. The place of coronation moved to Frankfurt in the sixteenth century and the Roman coronation was discontinued. The German king now assumed the title of ‘elected Roman emperor’ when he was crowned at Frankfurt, which reflected a more distant relationship with the papacy in the early modern period.

From the outset the German monarchy inherited the interest in Italy that Charlemagne had developed by virtue of his protectorate over the papacy. In the time of the Hohenstaufen dynasty from 1138 to 1254 this became an overriding obsession and Frederick II even lived exclusively in Sicily and southern Italy. Thereafter, however, the significance of Italy for the empire declined, though Tuscany, Modena, Parma, Milan and Savoy remained fiefdoms of the emperors until the nineteenth century.

The main territories of the empire were German, and these were the only ones that came to have votes in the assemblies of prince and cities, known as the Reichstag or imperial diet from the fifteenth century. They included bishops and other ecclesiastical dignitaries, secular princes and free cities, all of whom enjoyed significant independence in the regulation of their domestic affairs within the framework of the empire. At first they were subject only to their feudal obligations to the emperor, and later to legislation agreed by them at the diet.
The most important fiefs were those ecclesiastical and secular princes who actually elected the kings and emperors. In 1356 the Golden Bull, which codified the election arrangements in a fundamental law that remained valid until 1806, formally designated seven princes as electors. They enjoyed particular prestige but their rights were otherwise identical to those of the other princes and by the imperial cities.

The elective system and the retention of significant rights by the German princes and towns, often referred to as the ‘old German liberty’, meant that the German polity developed as a vast decentralised federation. Despite having a designated place of coronation, it never had a capital city. The imperial diet came to be held at the free city of Regensburg and other key institutions were located at Wetzlar, Vienna and elsewhere. This ensured the survival of a proliferation of courts and cities which each sponsored culture and the arts; first the visual arts, architecture and literature, then music as well. But in the later Middle Ages it also led to disorder and lawlessness.

Albrecht Dürer, Portrait of Emperor Maximilian I,  wearing the collar of the Golden Fleece over a brocaded mantle, and a fur-trimmed hat with an oval medallion of the Virgin and Child attached to the brim. Woodcut, 1518.

Albrecht Dürer, Portrait of Emperor Maximilian I, wearing the collar of the Golden Fleece over a brocaded mantle, and a fur-trimmed hat with an oval medallion of the Virgin and Child attached to the brim. Woodcut, 1518.

The solution to the inner instability of the empire in the fifteenth century came in the form of a series of agreements reached in the reign of Maximilian I (1493-1519). These set up a supreme court to resolve disputes and a series of regional organisations to implement its decisions. The assemblies of the princes and cities now also formally became the Reichstag (diet), which was designated co-ruler of the empire alongside the emperor.

No sooner established, this system was challenged by the Reformation. The church reform movement which swept through the empire following Luther’s rejection of papal authority in 1517 represented an acute threat to stability. Charles V (1519-1556) wanted to stamp out Lutheranism, but many princes saw this as an infringement of their rights. Indeed many viewed the Lutheran reform movement as a welcome opportunity to reform the church in their lands and to extend their authority over them. Since the Reichstag could not agree, it was decided in 1526 that each prince or city should have the right to determine whether they embraced reform or remained loyal to the Catholic Church. Despite many subsequent disputes, some of them escalating into military conflict, this principle remained fundamental to the empire until 1806.

The last attempt by an emperor – Ferdinand II (1619-37) – to reassert Catholicism in the empire precipitated the Thirty Years War. He failed to achieve his ambition and in 1648 the Peace of Westphalia reaffirmed the rights of the princes and cities and affirmed Catholicism, Lutheranism and Calvinism as the three equally privileged confessions of the empire. It also added safeguards for the rights of subjects who did not share the official faith of the territory in which they lived.

Bronze medal with portraits of Charlemagne and Napoleon, designed by Bertrand Andrieu, 1806

Bronze medal with portraits of Charlemagne and Napoleon, designed by Bertrand Andrieu, 1806

As a system which both guaranteed the liberties of the princes and cities and secured the rights of their subjects the Holy Roman Empire existed until it was destroyed by Napoleon. It remains the longest lived political system in German history. And it was unquestionably better than many that succeeded it.

The exhibition Germany: memories of a nation is at the British Museum from 16 October 2014 to 25 January 2015. Sponsored by Betsy and Jack Ryan, with support from Salomon Oppenheimer Philanthropic Foundation.

Accompanying the exhibition is a 30-part BBC Radio 4 series written and presented by Neil MacGregor.

In the episode Fragments of Power, Neil MacGregor discovers how coins reveal the range and diversity of the Holy Roman Empire, with around 200 different currencies struck in the different territories of Germany.

Filed under: Germany: memories of a nation, , , , ,

Who died in Trieste?

Ian Jenkins, curator, British Museum

I am sitting in the back of a taxi speeding through the narrow streets of Kolonaki, the posh bit of Athens. There is no conversation between me and the driver, but occasionally our eyes meet in the rear view mirror. Suddenly he speaks.

‘You look like some kind of professor’.

Before I can reply, he speaks again.

‘Who died in Trieste?’

I am on my way to the German Archaeological School. A number of such schools were planted in the nineteenth century on the lower slopes of Mount Lykabettos, where they were intended to catch the breeze in the long, hot summers and to command views to the sea or across the plain of Attica to the mountains. Now you just see across the street as far as the high-rise apartments opposite.

The German School is on Odos Fidiou, Pheidias Street. Founded in 1874, it was designed by Ernst Ziller and was anticipated by the French School, established in 1848, which was the first. The purpose of these institutions is to provide a base for operations in Greece, such as the German excavations at Olympia, the French at Delphi and the British at Knossos on Crete. All have wonderful libraries that serve not only home-grown researchers but also other nationals.

The taxi draws up at the entrance to the German School and the driver swivels round in his seat to give me a stare that is clearly meant to elicit an answer to his question.

Now it just so happened that the aforementioned deceased is one of my heroes. Just as well really, since I have reached the age where I cannot remember the name of anyone who isn’t dead. I was feeling confident and decided to tease him.

‘You mean, Who died on 8 June 1768?’

If he is impressed, then he  shows no outward sign, ‘Well’, he replies, ‘he was a good friend of the Greek people’.

It is so sweetly put. I hardly like to introduce the difference between Philhellenism and its love of the Greek people of today, and Hellenism as the admiration of Greek civilisation in the past. Byron – who died at Missolonghi – is the obvious example of a Philhellene, while our man is self-evidently a Hellenist, who never went to Greece. That is not to say that he did not think about going. Indeed, it seems that he was making plans to go but then, disastrously for him, he changed his mind and in June 1768 crossed the Alps to travel back to his native Germany. Passing through Bavaria, he was gripped by a fit of melancholia so acute that he determined to turn back and return to Italy. The best efforts of his travelling companion, Bartolomeo Cavaceppi, the principal restorer of ancient statues in Rome, could not persuade him to continue.

So it was that he found himself alone in a north Italian port waiting for a sea passage that would restore him to Rome and, he hoped, to his former self. There it was that he made the acquaintance of a creature named Francesco Archangeli, staying in the same boarding house. The circumstances are not clear, but in a savage knife attack Archangeli brutally murdered the defenceless antiquary.

His was a remarkable story, but not untypical for a true child of the Enlightenment. Born in 1717, the son of a shoemaker, he had largely educated himself in the Classics. His love of Classical antiquity took him to Italy, where he immersed himself in the antiquities of Florence and then Rome, eventually rising to become the Papal antiquary.

Our subject brought a moral imperative to the art and especially the sculpture of ancient Greece. The beauty of white marble sculpture of the human body represented a set of values that the Greeks called kalokagathia. The Roman wit Juvenal later coined the expression mens sana in corpore sano, which just about captures the idea nicely.

The development of our hero’s ideas can be traced through his earlier writing in the 1750s, culminating in the History of Ancient Art, published in Dresden in 1764. It was an instant success, swiftly translated into French for easier access to an intellectually curious European readership. It organised the famous artworks of antiquity into a narrative that traced the rise of the human body in Greek art as part of a revelatory account of the emergence of the human spirit, which he proposed as a paradigm experience of the past that should be reawakened in the present.

Writers that are more revered now than their works are read, such as Lessing, Schiller, Heyne and Goethe, were all participants in a German Romantic movement in literature that, when it was not praising nature, sought to capture the beauty of art. Theirs was the first prose writing of its kind in German and with them our tragic hero takes his place as one of the founders of a new mode of expression that was at once rational and poetic.

My driver’s face holds the same inscrutable expression at the end of my explanation as it had at the beginning. I realise then that I have made a mistake in thinking that he is interested in the man who died in Trieste, when all he wanted to know was whether I could correctly answer his question or not. Like the Sphinx, his victims are required only to give a simple answer that would be right or wrong.

Portrait of Johann Joachim Winckelmann (1717–1768), reading from Homer's Iliad; ornamental frame, as if a framed portrait resting on a ledge on which are placed olive branches, caduceus, inkwell with lion's feet, an open volume of his 'History of Ancient Art' with ring of stars above, and sheet with French titles referring to his writings on the Apollo Belvedere and the Belvedere Torso.  Engraving with etching by Maurice Blot, after Mengs, 1815. (1862,0208.225)

Portrait of Johann Joachim Winckelmann (1717–1768), reading from Homer’s Iliad; ornamental frame, as if a framed portrait resting on a ledge on which are placed olive branches, caduceus, inkwell with lion’s feet, an open volume of his ‘History of Ancient Art’ with ring of stars above, and sheet with French titles referring to his writings on the Apollo Belvedere and the Belvedere Torso. Engraving with etching by Maurice Blot, after Mengs, 1815. (1862,0208.225)

‘Yes, but who was he?’. His voice has a new tone of impatience and I think I catch a glimpse of a feline paw emerging from the cuff of his sleeve.

‘Oh’ I replied innocently, ‘Didn’t I say? Why, Johann Joachim Winckelmann, of course’.

The exhibition Germany: memories of a nation (16 October 2014 – 25 January 2015) is sponsored by Betsy and Jack Ryan, with support from Salomon Oppenheimer Philanthropic Foundation.

Accompanying the exhibition is a 30-part BBC Radio 4 series written and presented by Neil MacGregor.

Filed under: Uncategorized

Dinggedicht poetry competition

Godela Weiss-Sussex, Senior Lecturer and Convenor of German Studies, Institute of Modern Languages Research (IMLR)

It all started when I attended a lecture given by Neil MacGregor about the British Museum’s forthcoming exhibition Germany: memories of a nation in January at Queen Mary College, University of London. I was inspired by his bold and perceptive approach to exhibiting German history and by the clarity of vision achieved by relying on the narrative power of objects. As soon as I came home, I sat down to write a long letter to him, suggesting that we at the Institute of Modern Languages Research could set up an event to complement the exhibition. I was convinced that language, and in particular literary texts, should have a place in this exhibition project, not only to complement the objects presented, but also to enhance their narratives.

Refugee cart from East Pomerania, probably early 20th century. © Deutsches Historisches Museum

Refugee cart from East Pomerania, probably early 20th century. © Deutsches Historisches Museum

Neil MacGregor put me in touch with the Museum’s Learning team, and we started to discuss how best to represent Dinggedichte within the exhibition public programme. Should we just collect existing texts on the exhibition’s themes and offer them as a reading? An extract from Goethe’s play Iphigenie auf Tauris might complement the Goethe portrait by Johann Heinrich Wilhelm Tischbein in the exhibition: both emphasise the writer’s place in the classical tradition. Bertolt Brecht’s exile play Mother Courage and Her Children (1939) could add a further dimension to the significance of the refugee’s cart lent for the exhibition by the Deutsches Historisches Museum in Berlin.

Ernst Barlach, Der Schwebende  (Gustrow Cathedral) © Archiv Ernst Barlach Stiftung Güstrow (Foto: Uwe Seemann)

Ernst Barlach, Der Schwebende (Gustrow Cathedral) © Archiv Ernst Barlach Stiftung Güstrow (Foto: Uwe Seemann)

Of course, some of the exhibits coming to London this autumn have directly elicited literary texts: notably Ernst Barlach’s sculpture Der Schwebende, a bronze memorial to the dead of the First World War. The beautiful stark expressionist bronze sculpture, which hovers over the altar in the cathedral of the North German town of Güstrow (and in another copy in the Antoniterkirche in Cologne), has inspired numerous texts, poetic and discursive, including a ballad by the legendary East German singer Wolf Biermann. Banned from songwriting because of his oppositional stance, Biermann illegally recorded the ‘Barlach song‘ in the late 1960s, in which he refers to the climate of political repression as a time when ‘the angels fall to their death’.

All of these are fascinating texts – and they would lend themselves beautifully to a reading accompanying the exhibition. In the end, however, we decided that best of all would be to hear a whole variety of fresh, original and individual responses to the objects coming together for Germany: memories of a nation. This is when Cecile Reese of the German Academic Exchange Service (DAAD) joined me to devise a Dinggedicht poetry-writing competition.

Dinggedichte (‘thing poems’), a particularly German form of poetry, are texts that zoom in on particular objects. The genre was pioneered by writers such as Conrad Ferdinand Meyer and others in the late 19th century, and then developed further in modernist writing of the early 20th century, most famously by Rainer Maria Rilke. The Dinggedicht writer attempts to recreate the object in the medium of language and poetic form, and by doing so creates a new work of art. The poet may aim for an objective, distanced presentation of the object, or he/she may attempt to express the object’s essential nature by finding the language that is specific to the object and letting it ‘speak’ for itself. Of course, the writing of a Dinggedicht also implies a personal, subjective interpretation or reaction, and the object may spark off reflections that go well beyond its own particular shape or meaning.

This is what the competition is trying to do: to trigger these personal responses. All you need to do is choose an object featured in the exhibition and write a Dinggedicht of up to 250 words. Entries are accepted in either English or German, and there are some special prizes to be won. Please note that the deadline for entries is 14 November 2014. If you are unable to come to the British Museum and see the exhibition itself, you can still participate in the competition. Simply use one of the images shown on the British Museum website and exhibition blog, and let yourself be inspired. We would love to see as many poems as possible!

And finally, please save the date! On Friday 12 December, the Museum is hosting an exciting BM/PM evening of festivities inspired by German folk and folklore. As part of the programme, the winning entries will be read out and celebrated. In addition, Berlin author Annett Gröschner, whose work combines literary and historical approaches to German history and to iconic objects representing it, will read her own response to one of the objects in the exhibition.

So, get writing!

Full competition brief and further information

The German Academic Exchange Service (DAAD) is a German national agency for the support of international academic cooperation. DAAD supports students, researchers, and academics worldwide and plays a major role in promoting the German language at higher education level.

The Institute of Modern Languages Research (IMLR) is part of the School of Advanced Study at the University of London. Its remit is to facilitate, initiate and promote dialogue and research for the Modern Languages Community.

Germany: memories of a nation (16 October 2014 – 25 January 2015) is sponsored by Betsy and Jack Ryan, with support from Salomon Oppenheimer Philanthropic Foundation.

Accompanying the exhibition is a 30-part BBC Radio 4 series written and presented by Neil MacGregor. Starts Monday 29 September.

Filed under: Germany: memories of a nation, , , , , , , , , ,

Receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 9,445 other followers

Categories

Follow @britishmuseum on Twitter

British Museum on Instagram

Some more #Halloween fun: this ‘unlucky mummy’ in the collection was thought to bring bad luck to anyone who owned it!
#mummy #curse Our free exhibition #WitchesAndWickedBodies is a #Halloween delight, examining the portrayal of #witches and #witchcraft from the Renaissance to the 19th century. Explore the exhibition in Room 90, until 11 Jan 2015. Happy #Halloween! Today we're sharing all things spooky and scary! Check out some Halloween #Pinspiration at 
www.pinterest.com/britishmuseum Room 8, Nimrud, is the next #MuseumOfTheFuture gallery in our series. It contains stone reliefs from Neo-Assyrian King Ashurnasirpal II’s magnificent Northwest Palace at Nimrud and two large Assyrian winged human-headed lions. The next gallery in our #MuseumOfTheFuture series is Room 7. It features a series of remarkable carved stone panels from the interior decoration of the Northwest Palace of the Neo-Assyrian King Ashurnasirpal II (883–859 BC). The panels depict the king and his subjects engaged in a variety of activities. Ashurnasirpal is shown leading military campaigns against his enemies, engaging in ritual scenes with protective demons and hunting, a royal sport in ancient Mesopotamia.
#museum #london #gallery Room 6, Assyrian sculpture and Balawat Gates, is the next gallery in our #MuseumOfTheFuture series. This room contains large stone sculptures and reliefs which were striking features of the palaces and temples of ancient Assyria (modern northern Iraq). Also in the gallery are two colossal winged human-headed lions, which flanked an entrance to the royal palace of King Ashurnasirpal II (883–859 BC) at Nimrud and replicas of the huge bronze gates of Shalmaneser III (858–824 BC) from Balawat.
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 9,445 other followers

%d bloggers like this: