Chipstone curator Kate Smith standing in "Way of the Dragon: The Chinoiserie Style, 1710-1830" at the Milwaukee Art Museum. Photo by Claudia Mooney.

The Chipstone Foundation recently opened its Summer of China exhibition: Way of the Dragon: The Chinoiserie Style, 1710-1830, which will be on view until November 6.

I sat down with the show’s curator, Kate Smith, to discuss the concept of “chinoiserie” as well as the exhibition process.

Claudia Mooney: I know a lot of visitors are probably wondering this, What does chinoiserie mean?

Kate Smith: The term “chinoiserie” basically means “in the Chinese style”. It refers to objects that are made outside of China in imitation of Chinese objects and images.

CM: What inspired you to create this exhibition?

KS: As we steadily hear more and more about China on the television and in newspapers, I became interested in how people think about and imagine a country which is so far away. In Way of the Dragon I wanted to explore how previous cultures have thought about China, so we focused on Britain in the eighteenth century. At this time merchants imported vast quantities of wondrous Chinese objects into Britain, which eventually led to British manufacturers making imitative wares – chinoiserie. Through these objects we can begin to see how British people thought about China. They also reveal some interesting aspects of British culture too though and this became really interesting to me and is the main focus of the show.

CM: Can you briefly walk us through the process?

KS: We began the curatorial process by reading scholarly articles, looking at objects and examining eighteenth-century literature. We then began having meetings with the guest curator, Prof. David Porter from the University of Michigan. Here we discussed our ideas at more length and decided on the different issues that we wanted to explore further. After that we looked more closely at the objects themselves to try and decide which objects were relevant to the themes we wanted to pursue. Once we had decided on our objects and our themes we worked on the booklet that accompanies the show and explains our arguments. Then the design team started their work of making everything look really inviting and interesting. In the end it all came together!

Title wall for "Way of the Dragon" in the Museum. Photo by Claudia Mooney.

CM: What surprised you most about the curatorial/exhibition process?

KS: As a historian I’m more used to writing articles than producing exhibitions. So what really surprised me about the curatorial process was the discipline it takes to try and sum up big ideas in a few words. It’s very difficult!

CM: Do you have a favorite object in Way of the Dragon?

KS: I tried not to have a favorite, but I do. It’s the large Bristol plate in the “Wondrous Landscape” section. I just think this plate is stunning.

CM: Is there anything you would like the viewers to think about as they explore the exhibition?

KS: I would like them to think about how objects offer us a space in which to examine aspects of our lives and culture. How do particular objects in their homes help them think about issues that are important to them?

Claudia Mooney works for Chipstone, the Milwaukee-based foundation dedicated to promoting American decorative arts scholarship. She researches objects and creates relevant programming for Chipstone’s exhibitions at the Milwaukee Art Museum and in the community.

Probably Nuremberg, Germany, Table Clock with Orpheus Frieze, 1560-80 with later movement. Gilt brass, brass, steel, blued steel, silver and blue enamel, 3 1/2 h x 9 3/4 inch diameter. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Richard and Erna Flagg, M1991.84. Photo by John Nienhuis.

When you visit the European galleries of the Milwaukee Art Museum, you may have noticed that in the “Renaissance Treasury” gallery (gallery #2) there are a lot of clocks!

These aren’t the wristwatches and battery-powered kitchen clocks that most of us have in our homes and offices.  With their highly decorative cases, these special clocks show highly-skilled and artful metalwork that celebrated a new way of time-keeping during the Renaissance.

Until the 14th century, time-keeping was not systematic at all.  The only way to tell time was to look at the sun, or to use a sun-dial, but that was tricky because the length of the day changed so much over the course of a year.  Another option was to use a water clock, which used flowing water to move gears, but they were large and cumbersome—and not always very accurate.

During the 14th century, large weight-driven clocks were built in towers.  You’ll see that many towns in Europe have medieval clock towers so that it was available for all of the residents to use.

During the 15th century, clock mechanism began using springs and gears.  Around 1500, just in time for the Renaissance, this new technology led to a proliferation of table clocks.  These new machines not only could divide the day systematically into hours and minutes, but they could also track the zodiac, phases of the moon, and seasons.  Highly esteemed craftsmen would make these for the wealthy patrons who could both afford the valuable mechanism and be able to understand what all of these symbols meant.

Probably Nuremberg, Germany, Table Clock with Orpheus Frieze (detail), 1560-80 with later movement. Gilt brass, brass, steel, blued steel, silver and blue enamel, 3 1/2 h x 9 3/4 inch diameter. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Richard and Erna Flagg, M1991.84. Photo by John Nienhuis.

One of my favorite clocks in the Milwaukee Art Museum’s Collection has a mythological theme.  The Table Clock with Orpheus Frieze is a drum-shaped clock with its dial on the top.  The side lends itself to decoration, and in this case the artist decided to depict Orpheus charming the animals. Orpheus sits and plays his lyre (a specific type of lyre played with a bow like a cello) while all of the beasts of the forest calmly sit and listen.  The beasts include a wild cat, an elephant, monkeys, a donkey, large birds, and even a squirrel!

The inspiration for the clock’s frieze comes directly from engravings by the artist Virgil Solis from Nuremberg, Germany.  You can see one of these engravings below, which is in the collection of The British Museum.

Print made by Virgil Solis (German, 1514 - 1562), Orpheus and the animals, 1540. Etching. © The Trustees of the British Museum.

At first, it may seem strange, or random, to have a myth like this on a clock.  During the Renaissance, however, Orpheus was often used as a metaphor for the triumph of art over nature, in that his artful music soothed the wild animals of the forest.  This parallels the use of a scientific instrument (the clock) as a decorative object that illustrates the artistic prowess of a craftsman.

Also, in another part of the Orpheus myth, the hero descends into Hades to bring his lovely Eurydice back to life only to lose her again when he turns to look at her.  The story illustrates that time, and death, are not escapable.  Combining both aspects of the Orpheus story, the myth may also suggest that the key to immortality is through art.

What better myth to use on the side of a clock?

A final note on the clocks in the Museum’s Collection:  The Museum collection includes wonderful rarities because Milwaukeeans Richard and Erna Flagg collected them and donated them to the Museum.  In fact, the Milwaukee Art Museum is known to have the best collection of German Renaissance clocks anywhere outside of Germany.

Catherine Sawinski is the Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art. When not handling the day-to-day running of the European art department and the Museum’s Fine Arts Society, she researches the collection of Ancient and European artwork before 1900.

Teapot. Staffordshire, ca. 1760. White stoneware with enamel and salt glaze. Chipstone Foundation. Photo: Gavin Ashworth

This week we lose one of our valued co-workers here at Chipstone. Kate Smith, whom I introduced to you in my blog post last fall, is returning to England where she will be working at the University of Warwick as a research fellow. Her new project is titled The East India Company at Home: 1757-1857. As one of her parting gestures she has agreed to blog about what she has been researching while in Milwaukee. –Claudia Mooney

My name is Kate Smith and this year I have worked as the Charles Hummel Fellow at the Chipstone Foundation. As a historian, I focus on eighteenth-century Britain, and while a Fellow at Chipstone, I have researched such things as the idea of design, female hands and the Chinoiserie style. I have also been working on another project concerned with fossil teapots, asking why these objects were made in eighteenth-century Britain and what they meant to the people who owned and used them.

This teapot sits in the Decorative Arts Galleries, which can be found on the lower level of the Milwaukee Art Museum. The form was thrown on a potter’s wheel probably in Staffordshire, England, around 1760. Despite being small, it is visually striking. Look closely and you might see jaws and teeth jumping out at you from the black and white enamel decoration. Potters created this decorative scheme in imitation of a specific type of rock called crinoidal limestone, which was formed in the Carboniferous period around three hundred million years ago. When not in a fossilised form, crinoids are a type of sea animal, which look like flowers moving and swaying on the seabed.

This teapot is not the only one of its kind. Another pot, below, with red decoration appears next to it in the Decorative Arts Galleries here at the Milwaukee Art Museum. Other institutions, such as The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, also own similar teapots. What I am really interested in is why potters decided to decorate their teapots in imitation of crinoidal limestone in the 1760s. Why this design? Why was it popular?

Teapot. England, c. 1785. Creamware. Chipstone Foundation. Photo: Gavin Ashworth

Natural history was a common polite pursuit for middling and elite people living in eighteenth-century Britain. Genteel men and women voraciously collected, noted and studied plants, insects and animals. More particularly, the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society tells us that John Ellis, a prominent naturalist, published articles about crinoids in the early 1760s. Clearly, these animals and their fossil remains were of interest to eighteenth-century people. Were these teapots popular because they displayed their owner’s interest in natural history? Did other people recognize the decoration as crinoidal limestone?

Let’s consider where these objects would have been used and who would have seen them. In eighteenth-century Britain the teapot was a fashionable object and a key prop in the polite rituals of the tea table. Contemporaries learned to hold these delicate pots and pour them in a particular way. To belong to polite society people had to know not only which objects to buy, but also how to use them correctly. These objects were all about displaying taste and gentility – perhaps they also displayed knowledge?

Look again at the teapot. The form – the teapot shape – was an important symbol of politeness and decorum, but what about its decoration? What do you actually see? Do you see teeth, eyes and jaws chaotically arranged together? Or do you recognize it as crinoidal limestone?

Teapot. Staffordshire, ca. 1760. White stoneware with enamel and salt glaze. Chipstone Foundation. Photo: Gavin Ashworth

My research explores the idea that objects like these tested eighteenth-century people. In the eighteenth-century, with the rise of middle classes Britain became a place of social instability. People found lots of different ways to work out who someone was and what social group they belonged to. To be considered polite and genteel, they not only had to know how to use teapots, but they also had to understand what their decoration depicted and why that was significant. It was also testing in other ways too. For instance, think about the strangeness of depicting solid rock on a delicate object made from clay. By exploring the complicated nature of this pot, I want to show how socially difficult objects could be in certain contexts. Objects such as the teapot created a social minefield in the seemingly gentle space of the tea table.

Claudia Mooney works for Chipstone, the Milwaukee-based foundation dedicated to promoting American decorative arts scholarship. She researches objects and creates relevant programming for Chipstone’s exhibitions at the Milwaukee Art Museum and in the community.

Hilda Jesser (Austrian, 1894–1985), for Wiener Werkstätte, Vase, ca. 1921. Hand-painted earthenware, 9 1/4 x 3 3/8 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Daniel Morris and Denis Gallion, Historical Design, New York City, M2002.104. Photo by John R. Glembin.

I’ve just learned that Hilda Jesser could design anything.

Correction: I’ve just learned who Hilda Jesser was.

To back up, I should explain that I often use this blog as an excuse to explore something in the Museum’s collection that I should know more about. This colorful ceramic vase is charming, but I’ve never selected it to go on view in the galleries because I wasn’t quite certain how to explain it.

Thanks to the markings on its base and the curatorial cataloging records here at the Museum, I knew that the vase was designed by Hilda Jesser while at the Wiener Werkstätte sometime around 1921.

But it doesn’t look anything like my preconceived notion of what Wiener Werkstätte ceramic designs would look like, so how could I select it to represent that influential moment in modern design history?

It was time to find out more.

The Vienna-based workshop Wiener Werkstätte evolved from the Vienna Secession, a group that had been founded in 1897 as a progressive alliance of artists and designers. (The Secessionists seceded from the established art academy, citing disagreement with the academy’s reliance on historicism.) To further solidify the Secessionist’s promotion of modernity as it applied to design objects, in 1903 Josef Hoffmann and Kolomon Moser founded the Wiener Werkstätte as a community of craftsmen.

Jutta Sika (Austrian, 1877-1964) for Wiener Porzellan-Manufaktur Jos. Böck (Austrian), Cup and Saucer, 1901/02. Hard-paste porcelain with stenciled decoration. Art Institute of Chicago, Gift of the Antiquarian Society through the 1986 New York Trip Fund, 1986.1095-1096.

The Wiener Werkstätte became a type of brand in itself. Under its progressive ideals, it produced and marketed not just furniture but also small articles in glass, ceramics, silver and other metals, jewelry, and clothing. It hosted exhibitions to promote its ideals of quality craft and forward-looking design.

The main idea was that all designs were unified and part of one contemporary artistic vision, with craftsmen working across all media to create a Gesamtkunstwerk (Total Work of Art). This possibly unrealistic ideal was never-the-less perhaps most fully realized at Hoffmann’s 1905 Stoclet Palace in Brussels. Visit this site for a great collection of images showing the exterior and interior of Stoclet Palace–you’ll see the building’s unity of architecture, ornament, artwork, furniture, and textiles.

Vase Josef Hoffmann (Austrian, 1870-1956) c. 1905. Painted perforated metal, 4 1/4 x 3 1/8 x 3 1/8" (10.8 x 8 x 8 cm). Manufactured by Metall-Arbeit Wiener Werkstätte, Vienna, Austria. Estée and Joseph Lauder Design Fund 400.1988

In general, the celebrated Wiener Werkstätte artistic vision relied on geometric, simple, and abstract aesthetics, and is often credited with setting the tone for “Modernism” of the 20th century.

What does that look like? Along the right are some, to me, quintessential Wiener Werkstätte designs. In Sika’s tea service design and Hoffman’s famous metal grid vase, you see the characteristic simple shapes and reduced ornament.

Hilda Jesser’s wildly-painted, wildly-ornamented ceramic vase doesn’t seem to fit.

What I learned about Hilda is that, after attending the Vienna School for the Applied Arts (studying with Hoffmann for part of that), from 1916 to 1922 she produced works for the Wiener Werkstätte. She was apparently prolific, working in fashion, textiles, painting, glass, and embroidery, but only produced a few examples of ceramic like this one in the Milwaukee Art Museum collection.

Dagobert Peche (Austrian, 1887–1923), Jewel Box, 1920. Manufacturer Wiener Werkstätte. Gilded silver. Metropolitan Museum of Art, Anonymous Gift, 1978.8a-c.

The dates here are key. By the time that Jesser was working with the workshop, it was directed by a man named Dagobert Peche instead of Josef Hoffmann.

Peche joined the Werkstätte in 1915, and was co-director from 1917-23. It is key to note that his general aesthetic was markedly different from Hoffmann’s geometric abstraction, drawing eclectic inspiration from classical sources, rococo and baroque periods, and folk forms.

What I learned is that Peche led in a playful, ornamental spirit that replaced the earlier geometry. His work is characterized by objects like the exquisitely-crafted and extravagant  jewel box at left or this enamel box in the Victoria & Albert Museum‘s collection.

Peche’s influence as artistic director at the Werkstätte is noticeable in work produced after World War I–and this explains the look of the Hilda Jesser ceramic vase.

By 1921 the Werkstätte was no longer dominated by geometry. Designers allowed a greater sense of whimsey and decoration to enter their work. Jesser’s hand-painted vase allows the ornament to playfully follow the contour of the shape. The shape even seems to purposefully reference a Japanese paper lantern.

Essentially, Jesser’s vase reminds me that the conversation about what modern design meant to any given person at any given time is very complicated. All those associated with the Wiener Werkstätte agreed with unity of design and breaking from traditions, but aesthetically even within one craft community the realization of their ideals appeared in many different ways.

To Hoffmann, “Modern” was a square. To Peche, “Modern” could be a deer. And, by the looks of this vase, to Hilda Jesser “Modern” could have a swirling handle in the shape of a pig’s tail.

Hilda Jesser (Austrian, 1894–1985), for Wiener Werkstätte, Vase, ca. 1921. Hand-painted earthenware, 9 1/4 x 3 3/8 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Daniel Morris and Denis Gallion, Historical Design, New York City, M2002.104. Photo by John R. Glembin.

This post is from a series called “From Museum Storage” that highlights Milwaukee Art Museum objects currently not on view. In the next few years, we are making major changes to our permanent collection galleries, and this necessitates closing areas for renovation and having artworks in storage. The blog is a place where we can share information about such works.

Mel Buchanan is the Assistant Curator of 20th-century Design. Mel’s curatorial responsibility includes interpreting, displaying, and building the Museum’s collection of craft, design, and decorative objects.

Attributed to Alexandre Roux (American, born France, 1816-1886), Parlor Cabinet, 1860-70. Wood with inlays, porcelain, gilding and gilt metal. Milwaukee Art Museum, Bequest of Mary Jane Rayniak in memory of Mr. and Mrs. Joseph G. Rayniak, M1985.58. Photo by John R. Glembin.

One of my favorite decorative art objects in the Museum’s permanent collection is actually a rather bewildering piece.

It’s an enormous Parlor Cabinet, designed and produced sometime between 1860-1870 by Alexandre Roux (1813-1866), a French-born cabinetmaker who moved to New York to open a successful furniture business.

At first glance, this is a monumental and pretty confusing object.

It has columns and pilasters, just like a building.  Its top is a stepped pagoda, which gives it the effect of an Asian temple.  And it’s big:  five feet tall, over six feet wide and nearly two feet deep.  The cabinet part, in the central portion is actually pretty small in comparison to the rest of the piece (look for the key hole in the door to find it).

So is it architecture or furniture?  The answer is:  both.

The cabinet is meant to look imposing and grand in the home, as a work of art in itself, while providing the useful function of displaying and storing objects.  (Although it isn’t that useful:  the cabinet part in the central portion is actually pretty small in comparison to the rest of the piece).

Detail of porcelain mount. Attributed to Alexandre Roux, Parlor Cabinet, 1860-70. Milwaukee Art Museum, Bequest of Mary Jane Rayniak in memory of Mr. and Mrs. Joseph G. Rayniak, M1985.58. Photo by John R. Glembin.

This cabinet is a great example of nineteenth-century eclectic taste.  At that time, designers and consumers loved a mixture of progress, innovation, and eclecticism.   They wanted to show off their good taste—their appreciation for the aesthetic styles of the past, which cut across all cultures, in combination with their embrace of modern methods of production. Thus, there are elements taken from the past—eighteenth-century porcelain mounts and Eastern pagodas.  But the way it was made was to the moment. Roux’s craftsmen happily utilized machines for cutting veneers to save time, for example, rather than the painstaking handcrafting of the past.

As an aesthetic object, the Museum’s eclectic Parlor Cabinet has a lot to love.  Its rosewood surfaces are beautiful, and its delicate, inlaid stringing softens its just-short-of-terrifying sharp edges.  The marquetry (the inlaid pieces of wood that combine to create a picture on the cabinet door) is delightfully elegant.  This all makes the cabinet both fashion-forward for the 1860s and still a stunner today.

You will see that we have dressed it up in the galleries (on view in the lower level decorative art gallery) with Chinese export Qing dynasty porcelain urns and a Wedgwood ca. 1855 figural group of The Three Graces.

What would you put on the cabinet in your parlor?

Attributed to Alexandre Roux (American, born France, 1816-1886), Parlor Cabinet, 1860-70. Wood with inlays, porcelain, gilding and gilt metal. Milwaukee Art Museum, Bequest of Mary Jane Rayniak in memory of Mr. and Mrs. Joseph G. Rayniak M1985.58. Photo by John R. Glembin.

William Keyse Rudolph is the Museum’s curator of American art and Decorative arts, focusing on the Museum’s collections of American painting, sculpture, ceramics, glass, furniture, silver, and textiles from the 17th to the 20th centuries.

Installation shot, MIAD's "Style, Innovation, & Vision: Six Perspectives of a Design Collection" exhibition. Photo by the author.

Don’t answer that. Most jokes beginning that way aren’t very nice to the subject. My answer, in this case, is: six.

This fall, the Milwaukee Institute of Art & Design (MIAD) Director of Galleries Mark Lawson asked six design-lovers to curate an exhibition in the college’s Brooks Stevens Gallery.

Style, Innovation, & Vision: Six Perspectives of a Design Collection (Oct 7, 2011 – March 1, 2012) shows the results of his experiment.

MIAD has a significant collection of industrial design objects–ranging wildly from a Betty Crocker mixer to wheelchairs to a Motorola Razr cell phone. In 2010 MIAD’s webmaster Dave O’Meara and MIAD alumnus Dave Hinkle created a new digital catalog of these objects and illustrations.

To celebrate and advertise the possibilities of this new resource, Mark Lawson used it at the center of an exhibition. He called in a variety of voices to help, and I was thrilled to be one of the six involved.

We six curators were given a password to access the digital catalog (it is not yet publicly available) and asked to select 20 to 25 objects that somehow fit together or told a story. We were not aware of what the others were compiling as we individually point-and-clicked our way to a mini-exhibition on an interface that looked like this:

Screen shot of MIAD's design collection digital catalog.

As I scrolled through hundreds of images of MIAD’s collection, I was delighted to see familiar objects, intrigued to see unfamiliar designs, and stunned at the limitless ways these could be combined in an exhibition. What would we all select?

TIME magazine cover, June 6, 1960. MIAD, Grassl Collection.

Perhaps because the material was unfamiliar to me, I was drawn to a collection of mid-century TIME magazine covers illustrated by Boris Artzybasheff (American, b. Ukraine, 1899-1965), like the one at right. Artzybasheff included a variety of art and design influences—from Surrealism to Post-Modernism—and made those visual aesthetics relate to the social issues and politics contained within the covers.

Could I continue his witty visual relationships into physical objects from MIAD’s collection?

I tried, and had fun doing it. For instance, this June 1960 cover showed cartoon-like space vessels, illustrating the article “Rush Hour in Space: U.S. and Russia take Different Roads.” Within the MIAD collection images in the digital catalog, I found contemporary everyday objects there were a veritable celebration of missiles and spaceman helmets (see image below). We expect that TIME magazine would discuss the Cold War space race, but isn’t it fascinating that this obsession carried over to an ice bucket that looks like moon-landing equipment? I continued this game by pairing a 1964 TIME cover celebrating the plastic advancements by the DuPont Company with Bakelite, vinyl, and plastic objects. A 1957 cover shows a repairman facing off against a variety of anthropomorphized household machines, with those same machines shown right in MIAD’s gallery.

Installation shot showing a grouping of space-theme objects (1952 Rembrandt TV antennae, a ca. 1950 ice bucket, and a JVC Videosphere model 3240 television) in MIAD's "Style, Innovation, & Vision: Six Perspectives of a Design Collection" exhibition. Photo by the author.

What was most interesting about the exhibition, of course, is the variety of ways that six individuals approached the selection of objects. We came from a variety of backgrounds–design teachers, practitioners, historians, etc.

Miller High Life Lamp, MIAD Collection.

Richard Wright, renowned Chicago-based auctioneer who focuses on 20th-century design artifacts, focused on the idea of “Aspirational Design”, finding objects that function in a pragmatic sense, but that also have the ability to mentally transport the user from the realm of the everyday. For instance, Wright’s installation included the Miller High Life Lamp, that is, the elevation of an everyday lager to the “Champagne of Beer”.

Kipp Stevens, son of legendary designer Brooks Stevens, talented industrial designer and retired president of Brooks Stevens Design, selected a variety of communication devices. He pointed out that these products were considered modern in their day, and that the distinctive styling of these televisions, radios, and telephones was the designer’s formula for successful products just like the iPhone of 2011.

John Caruso, industrial designer and MIAD Professor, created a dazzling array of advertisements and related products. He explored futuristic visions of technology and optimism is the post-WWII era.

Installation shot showing part of John Caruso and Kipp Stevens selections, MIAD's "Style, Innovation, & Vision: Six Perspectives of a Design Collection" exhibition. Photo by the author.

Vicki Matranga, author and design historian for the International Housewares Association, researched deeply into the back story of each product. She included rich information on small text panels that uncovered user, technical and market issues that the given designer sought to resolve.

Installation shot showing Ryan Ramos's installation, MIAD's "Style, Innovation, & Vision: Six Perspectives of a Design Collection" exhibition. Photo by the author.

Ryan Ramos (MIAD ’07 Industrial Design alum), Lead Industrial Designer at GE Healthcare, curated the collection based on the experiences and expectations a person had when they interacted with a product.

Installation shot showing Mel Buchanan's installation, MIAD's "Style, Innovation, & Vision: Six Perspectives of a Design Collection" exhibition. Photo by the author.

I was thrilled and honored to be asked to represent the Milwaukee Art Museum curatorial department in this exhibition at MIAD. I think the resulting installation is not only a great way to view hundreds of design objects from their collection, but to contemplate the multiple meanings these objects have to us today. By showing six different approaches to “curating” the objects, the exhibition essentially offers justification for the collecting of our material past. These tricycles and vacuum cleaners can teach us about children and housework, aesthetics and style, production and manufacture, and even aspiration and dreams.

What are the objects we use today that should be stashed away for future historians and designers and students to contemplate?

Style, Innovation, & Vision: Six Perspectives of a Design Collection is on view until March 1, 2012 in MIAD’s Brooks Stevens Gallery at 273 E. Erie Street in Milwaukee. Regular gallery hours are Tuesday through Saturday, 10am-5pm. Admission is free.

Mel Buchanan is the Assistant Curator of 20th-century Design. Mel’s curatorial responsibility includes interpreting, displaying, and building the Museum’s collection of craft, design, and decorative objects.

American Studio Glass installation at the Milwaukee Art Museum. Photo by the author.

The year 2012 is considered the 50th anniversary of the American Studio Glass movement. The anniversary is being celebrated with exhibitions and events across the country, organized in large part by the Art Alliance for Contemporary Glass.

The Milwaukee Art Museum has a terrific collection of studio glass, and we were thrilled to be part of the celebration. Along one wall of the newly-designed Kohl’s Art Generation Studio is a new installation that celebrates using glass as a medium of creative impulse.

The glass sparkles, tells an important art history story, and I hope that its visual beauty inspires young artists as they create their own artwork nearby.

What is the American Studio Glass movement, and what is this anniversary?

Harvey K. Littleton (American, b. 1922), Lemon/Red Crown, 1989. Blown and drawn glass, cut and polished, 15 3/4 x 28 1/4 x 31 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Peter and Grace Friend, Mr. and Mrs. Wayne J. Roper, Laurence and Judy Eiseman, Dr. and Mrs. Jurgen Herrmann, Dr. and Mrs. Leander Jennings, Nita Soref, Marilyn and Orren Bradley, Mr. and Mrs. Frank J. Pelisek, Dr. and Mrs. Robert Mann, Burton C. and Charlotte Zucker, James Brachman, Mr. and Mrs. John F. Monroe, Mr. and Mrs. Donald Wiiken, Elmer L. Winter, Mr. and Mrs. Stuart Goldfarb, Mr. Ben W. Heineman, Mr. and Mrs. Norman Hyman, Janey and Douglas MacNeil, and Friends. Photo by Efraim Lev-er. © Harvey K. Littleton.

Fifty years ago, in 1962, Wisconsin artist Harvey K. Littleton (American, b. 1922) and glass scientist Dominick Labino (American, 1910–1987) introduced glass as a medium for artistic expression in two workshops at the Toledo Museum of Art in Ohio.

This was groundbreaking.

Littleton and Labino developed small furnaces and a glass formula with a low melting point, making it possible for individual artists to work with glass outside of an industrial setting. In 1963 Littleton taught the first glass-blowing class in an American college at the University of Wisconsin–Madison.

This combination of events kick-started the American Studio Glass movement and introduced a generation of trained artists to glass as a medium for individual, creative expression. In other words, glass moved out of the factory and into artists’ studios.

The Museum’s installation features glass by both Littleton (like the Lemon/Red Crown above) and Labino that shows how they created glass not for a functional purpose, but purely for beauty and expression in color, form, and optics.

Fritz Dreisbach (American, b. 1941), Maternal, 1979. Blown glass, with multicolor inclusions, 11 1/2 x 5 x 4 3/4 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of the Sheldon M. Barnett Family M1991.2. Photo by Efraim Lev-er.

The installation includes artwork by glass artists Dale Chihuly, Tom McGlauchlin, Fritz Dreisbach (at left), and Howard Ben Tré. These mostly abstract forms display the technical virtuosity of their makers and the optical beauty of glass. We see wild color, trapped air bubbles, and creative shapes that are simply beautiful, with no mind toward utility.

To give a contrast to the creative advancement in the American Studio Glass movement, the installation also includes glass objects that are primarily functional rather than creative (even if they are decorative and beautiful). A pressed glass covered dish, lamp, and a gorgeous “lily pad” pitcher show the practical applications of glass, a medium that has been embraced for 3,500 years for its transparency and delicate appearance. Glass windows let sunlight enter a room. Glass lampshades protect a flame while letting the light shine through. Glass containers keep liquids safe without affecting taste.

While there is no substitution for viewing this artwork in person, the Art Alliance for Contemporary Glass has shared some wonderful videos of artists making and speaking about their glass work, including Pioneers of Studio Glass, a video produced by AACG to commemorate the 50th anniversary of contemporary studio glass in the United States. And then, of course, you can see the fires and kilns and molten glass that we are unable to experience in Museum galleries!

For the benefit of our Blog readers, during the installation of the glass I snapped a few pictures that show details of the artwork and the care of our art conservation and technician team.

Here, the Museum’s objects conservator Terri White polishes the silver elements on a stunning Christopher Dresser designed “Crow’s Foot” Claret Jug (designed 1878):

Museum staff working on the American Studio Glass installation. Photo by the author.

Before objects were installed in the case, everything was removed from its storage box and laid out on a padded table. Everything was then inspected for condition. Below, a variety of the glass artworks await a quick cleaning by Terri White. You can also see in this image an object file folder that contains information and reference pictures about how the more complicated artwork (like nesting Chihuly glass) should be properly installed:

Museum staff working on American Studio Glass installation. Photo by the author.

Below the Museum’s exhibition designer John Irion and I work together to situate the objects so that they look good from both sides of the case:

Museum staff working on the American Studio Glass installation. Photo by Terri White.

Art technician John Dreckmann carefully arranges all the arching parts of Harvey Littleton’s Lemon/Red Crown (1989). The Museum has a paper template that maps out how the pieces are oriented:

Museum staff working on the American Studio Glass installation. Photo by the author.

After all the objects are carefully situated in the case, conservator Terri White applies small bits of “Museum Wax” to keep everything anchored in place:

Museum staff working on the American Studio Glass installation. Photo by the author.

The finished installation can be viewed from the long corridor that connects Gallery #15 (American Modernism) to the Gallery #23 (Contemporary Art):

American Studio Glass installation. Photo by the author.

Thanks to graphic designer Sierra Kortoff and design intern Nate Pyper for devising great little labels that include images of all the objects!

Mel Buchanan is the Assistant Curator of 20th-century Design. Mel’s curatorial responsibility includes interpreting, displaying, and building the Museum’s collection of craft, design, and decorative objects.

Josef Ulrich Danhauser (Austrian, 1780–1829), Settee , ca. 1815. Mahogany veneer, gilding, reconstructed upholstery, 44 1/2 x 84 1/4 x 26 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of René von Schleinitz Memorial Fund, by exchange. Photo by John R. Glembin.

In 2006, when the Milwaukee Art Museum organized the exhibition Biedermeier: The Invention of Simplicity, it established itself as a center of study for the Beidermeier style that was popular in Central and Northern Europe from about 1815 to 1835.

Building upon the Museum’s strength in German and Austrian art—partly due to the ethnic background of Milwaukee—the exhibition brought to the spotlight to Biedermeier art.  This period of art and design history was not only little-known in the United States, but the exhibition also proposed a whole new interpretation of the style that changed scholarship in Europe as well.  You can read more about Biedermeier here in this review from the New York Times.

Or better yet, read the exhibition catalogue, available for purchase on the Museum Store site.

The exhibition was so important that the Louvre in Paris hosted a version of it, and purchased their first pieces of Biedermeier furniture from it.  You can see one of the chairs here on their collection website.

In the years before the exhibition opened, the Milwaukee Art Museum made a number of major acquisitions of Biedermeier furniture because the Collection previously had none.  It was a “gap” in our 19th-century Central European collection.  One of the objects the Museum purchased for the Collection is a settee, which is currently on view in Gallery #9 with other works of 19th-century German art.  This artwork is a great starting point for a look at the Biedermeier style, and an interesting case study in how international exhibitions can lead to more discoveries.

Possibly Berlin, Germany, Long Case Clock, ca. 1820. Poplar burr veneer, ebonized pear, 82 x 23 1/2 x 8 1/2 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of René von Schleinitz Memorial Fund, by exchange. Photo credit John R. Glembin.

The settee, from around 1815, is early Biedermeier.   You can tell that it’s an early piece of Biedermeier because it is transitional, meaning it displays elements from what came before and elements of what came after.

What came before was the Neoclassical style, which looked back to ancient art for inspiration.  The animal feet and applied gold decoration on this settee are evidence of pure neoclassicism.  Compare this object to 18th-century examples of neoclassicism, such as a French commode and a James Stuart settee, both at the Victoria and Albert Museum.  (You can also see a neoclassical chair pictured in the Museum’s portrait by Carl Christian Vogel von Vogelstein, which is just next to the settee in the gallery.)

During the early 19th century, when the Museum’s settee was made, a late neoclassical style was used for official government rooms across Europe.  This was the highly ornate style often called “French Empire,”  exemplified in this chair made for the Reception Room of the Prinz Karl Palais in Berlin in the collection at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  The drapery and fringe on our settee is clearly influenced by this type of French Empire style.

The exhibition explores how the Biedermeier style was popular during the same time as the Empire style, but in contrast it was favored for private, domestic use rather than public, formal use.

So, then, if so many of the details on our ca. 1815 settee are Empire, what is Biedermeier about it?

The shape says it all.

Josef Ulrich Danhauser (Vienna, Austria, 1780–1829), manufactured by Danhauser’sche Möbelfabrik (Vienna, Austria, 1804–1839), Settee , ca. 1815. Mahogany veneer, gilding, reconstructed upholstery, 44 1/2 x 84 1/4 x 26 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of René von Schleinitz Memorial Fund, by exchange. Photo by John R. Glembin.

Its outline is a curved rectangle, creating a simple, organic shape.  Eventually, Biedermeier style furniture designers will pare away unnecessary decoration—all that gold decoration and fringed drapery—to expose the clean lines of the object underneath.  Examples in the Museum’s collection that show this “high” Biedermeier style include a table, long case clock (shown above at right), and another settee.

The Museum’s table and clock, in particular, show how important the grain of the wood becomes in Biedermeier furniture.  The geometric planes of the furniture allow the beauty of the wood to be the focal point.  This reflects an interest and celebration of nature in Biedermeier artwork.  The clean lines look extremely modern to our eyes!

And the orange settee certainly surprises.  The arresting shape of the object—repeated, stacked volumes that mimic the cushion—looks straight out of the 20th century.  The eye-popping color looks like a transplant from 1960.  The color, however, is historically accurate.  Color was all-important in the early 19th-century Biedermeier interior, due in large part to the publication of Theory of Colors by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (German, 1749-1832) in 1810, which attached specific emotional responses to individual colors.

Back to the transitional settee.  It was designed by Josef Ulrich Danhauser (Vienna, Austria, 1780–1829) and sold by his company, Danhauser’sche Möbelfabrik (Vienna, Austria, 1804–1839).  We know this because the MAK (the Museum for Applied Art) in Vienna has a collection of 2,200 drawings from the Danhauser’sche Möbelfabrik, and design number 47 (shown below) is the basis for Milwaukee’s settee.

Josef Ulrich Danhauser (Vienna, Austria, 1780–1829), Danhauser’sche Möbelfabrik (Vienna, Austria, 1804–1839), Drawing for a Settee, no. 47. MAK-Austrian Museum of Applied Arts/Contemporary Art, Vienna. © MAK

The Danhauser’sche Möbelfabrik was a type of factory that would produce standard furniture designs which could be personalized by the purchaser.  Wealthy aristocrats, and eventually middle-class citizens, bought furniture for their homes from these types of designers, leading to a stylistic unity among interiors.  Danhauser’s most prestigious and comprehensive commission was the refurbishment of Archduke Charles’s palace (today’s Albertina) around 1822.  You can get a sense of one of his interiors from the Audience Hall.

The “one-stop-shop” like Danhauser’sche Möbelfabrik for sets of furniture was a new concept in the early 19th century in Central Europe.  Until this time individual craftsmen were part of individual guilds that controlled specific crafts; cabinet makers, wood carvers, metalworkers, and upholsterers would work on one piece of furniture, but not as part of the same business.

In comparing the settee in the Museum’s collection with the drawing, we can see two key differences.  One is the addition of the drapery.  We know that this was part of the original upholstery, because during restoration the holes for the hardware were found.  The recreation of the upholstery was based upon other Danhauser drawings that show drapery on furniture.

Pre-restoration state. Josef Ulrich Danhauser (Vienna, Austria, 1780–1829), manufactured by Danhauser’sche Möbelfabrik (Vienna, Austria, 1804–1839), Settee , ca. 1815. Mahogany veneer, gilding, reconstructed upholstery, 44 1/2 x 84 1/4 x 26 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of René von Schleinitz Memorial Fund, by exchange. Photo by John R. Glembin.

When the Milwaukee Art Museum purchased the settee in 2001, it was upholstered in a not-appropriate-at-all French-looking fabric, shown in the pre-restoration photo at right.

The other difference is the figural decoration on the back.  It shows a shepherd playing a flute, a herding dog, young boys, a girl, some sheep, baskets, and gardening implements.  The same composition can be found on a similar settee in the National Museum in Cracow (Inv. IV-Sp-329) and a bed in the MAK in Vienna (Inv. H 3039).  The MAK also has a Danhauser drawing of the bed with the figures shown on the headboard.

It is thought that this pastoral subject matter (dealing with shepherds and the countryside) was a nod to the long tradition of depicting the pastoral in neoclassical art.  During the Biedermeier period, this may also refer to the interest in nature and gardening.

But this figural decoration holds another surprise.  Dr. Renata Kassal-Mikula, a curator at the Wien Museum in Vienna, saw the settee at the Albertina when it was on display as part of the Biedermeier exhibition.  She realized that the frieze has the same composition as a pediment decoration for the Cartoryski Palace, a summer home outside of Vienna owned by a string of nobility.

Josef Ulrich Danhauser (Vienna, Austria, 1780–1829), manufactured by Danhauser’sche Möbelfabrik (Vienna, Austria, 1804–1839), Settee , ca. 1815. Detail of crest freize. Mahogany veneer, gilding, reconstructed upholstery, 44 1/2 x 84 1/4 x 26 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of René von Schleinitz Memorial Fund, by exchange. Photo by John R. Glembin.

About 1810, the then-owner, a wealthy banker and grain merchant named Friedrich Jakob van der Nüll, reconstructed the house with four wings around an inner courtyard with classical portals.  The pastoral scene was used on the portico for the garden façade.  You can see an image of it here.  The building has since been destroyed, but the Wien Museum has a fragment of one of the sheep in their collection.

Dr. Kassel-Mikula knew that Van der Nüll owned an entire set of engravings by Francesco Bartolozzi (Italian, 1727-1815).  This is documented in the entry from April 9, 1815 in Carl Bertuch’s Diary of the Congress of Vienna.  Bartolozzi was a prolific engraver who left behind more than 2,000 images, including many copies of British paintings and illustrations for “The Shepherd” by James Thomson—a famous poem of the 18^th century that featured pastoral scenes.

Although we haven’t been able to pinpoint which Bartolozzi print was the inspiration for this shepherd, here is an example of the type from the British Museum.

But the most exciting realization, as Dr. Kassel-Mikula concludes, is that Danhauser and his designers must have had access to a set of Bartolozzi’s prints.  Either Danhauser owned it, or the person who commissioned the settee owned it and gave it to them to copy.

In any case, this important discovery may have never been revealed if Milwaukee’s settee hadn’t traveled to Vienna for the exhibition for Dr. Kassel-Mikula to see!

Face Jug, 1860-1880. Chipstone Foundation. Photo by Jim Wildeman.

Last month I wrote about the Chipstone Foundation’s new acquisition, an early Edgefield face jug with writing on the back. Since then, our curatorial team has uncovered the meaning behind the elusive inscription. Before revealing this discovery, I’ll catch you up on new research for Face Jugs: Art and Ritual in 19th-Century South Carolina, on view until August 5 at the Milwaukee Art Museum.

“Face jugs” is a term created by art historians, historians and archeologists to refer to turned stoneware vessels with applied faces. The eyes and the teeth are made of kaolin, a white river clay that is one of the primary components of porcelain. You will notice when you visit the exhibition that there are also face cups and face pitchers.

Many different cultures have created pottery with faces or human elements, but the Edgefield face jugs are unique.

For starters, we know very little about them.

We know that Edgefield face jugs were created by slaves, and later free African Americans in the that district of South Carolina. We know that they were made from about 1860 to about 1880 or so, when they suddenly stopped being produced. We know that the form was appropriated by white potters in the 1880s.

Unfortunately, though, their origin, function, and meaning was lost with time.

How do you begin to research a subject like this? Scholars have been interested in face jugs since the 19th century, and have all speculated as to their significance, but none have delved into the subject in depth. Because it was illegal in 19th-century South Carolina for slaves to write, there are no known first-hand documents explaining the face jugs. In fact, there is only one known quote from this time referencing face jugs, and it is not from one of the makers.

Thomas Davies, a plantation and pottery owner in South Carolina, told Edwin Atlee Barber in 1893 that he remembered his slaves making face jugs during their free time in 1862. This information was definitely a start, as was reading everything that had already been written about the topic of face jugs. In order to better understand our subject our curatorial team needed to step away from the usual art historical methodology and take an anthropological multipronged approach. Our research expanded to include archeologists, genealogists, African art experts, scholars on slave culture, scholars on African religion and scholars on African American religion. In order to begin to understand the objects, it was important for us to try to understand the people that made the face jugs and the environment in which they were forced to live. The story that unfolded is truly amazing.

Scholars have hinted at a connection between the face jugs and Africa since Edwin Atlee Barber first referenced them in his 1893 book, The Pottery and Porcelain of the United States. At first, this seemed like a slight stretch as the importation of enslaved Africans into the United States was declared illegal in 1808. Most slaves in South Carolina at this time were thus second, third or fourth generation African Americans.

Face jug with nkisi image shown together in "Face Jugs: Art in Ritual in 19th Century South Carolina". Face Jug, 1860-1880, Collection of Carl and Marian Mullis. Photo by Jon Prown.

In 1858 an event occurred that is now believed to have been the catalyst for the face jugs’ creation. That year the Wanderer, a luxury yacht turned slave ship, landed illegally on the coast of Jekyll Island, Georgia. It carried 407 enslaved Africans, most of which were from the Kongo culture. Over 100 of these Africans were transported to Edgefield, and some were sent to work in the  potteries. There is evidence of at least one Wanderer slave, Romeo, working in Thomas Davies’s pottery, the Palmetto Fire Brick Works.

The Kongo (“Kongo” refers to a group of people and to their culture, whereas Congo usually refers to the Democratic Republic of Congo) have a strong belief in the powers of ancestors and spirits. A nkisi is a container for these spirits, shown in the picture above right. A village’s nganga, the Kongo word for diviner, fills a nkisi up with magical materials, including white river clay, thus activating the object. The spirits come into the nkisi and become trapped inside. The nkisi can then be asked for help.

The WPA South Carolina slave narratives constantly speak of the acceptance and fear of conjures. Our curatorial team conceives that face jugs were a response to learning about nkisi combined with an already present trust in conjure. It represents a combination of two cultures’ beliefs. Face jugs were meant for ritualistic, rather than functional use.

Inscription detail. Face jug, ca. 1862. alkaline glazed stoneware with kaolin insert. Chipstone Foundation. Photo courtesy of Rob Hunter.

This argument was strengthened by the Squire jug that I spoke about in an earlier blog post. It turns out that after spending days looking at the writing [pictured above], it doesn’t spell Squire Peter or Squire Posey, as we initially thought. It spells “Squire Pofu”.

Face jug, ca. 1862. alkaline glazed stoneware with kaolin insert. Chipstone Foundation. Photo courtesy of Rob Hunter.

Although we originally discarded the idea because it wasn’t a known word in the English language,  a quick search turned up that Pofu is a town in the Congo.

Not only that, but pofu means blind in Swahili. If you look closely at the face jug’s eyes at the left, you’ll see that they are colored black. This is the only face jug I’ve seen with black eyes.

Following Swahili grammar structure, “Squire Pofu” translates to “the blind Squire”.

Could this have been a conjure jug to cause blindness?

Our research is still just beginning.

The exhibition Face Jugs: Art and Ritual in 19th-Century South Carolina provides us with the incredible opportunity to view 23 of these early face jugs together. Sitting in front of the wall of jugs, connections start to appear.

I hope you get the opportunity to come to the Museum’s Lower Level to the Decorative Arts Gallery to view and think about these wondrous faces that have stood silent for too long.

Claudia Mooney works for Chipstone, the Milwaukee-based foundation dedicated to promoting American decorative arts scholarship. She researches objects and creates relevant programming for Chipstone’s exhibitions at the Milwaukee Art Museum and in the community.

Tea bowl, John Bartlam, 1765-1769. Chipstone Foundation. Photo by Gavin Ashworth.

Temple Burling, professor of physics, astronomy, biology and great ideas at Carthage College, has been part of the Object Lab team since 2009. He first connected with Chipstone staff through a shared interest in cabinets of curiosities, an example of which is our Rooms of Wonder exhibition at the Milwaukee Art Museum.

Since we first got to know him, Temple has been bringing his museum studies class up to Milwaukee every year (yes, he is a biophysicist that teaches a course on museums), as well as discussing possible collaborative projects with us. The opportunity came up when Temple was awarded a sabbatical, and he asked if he could spend this year’s fall semester in Milwaukee studying the Chipstone Foundation’s collection.

We jumped at the chance to have a scientist interpret our collection. Since his sabbatical is almost over, I asked Temple to write about his experience these past few months. View an object in the Chipstone collection through the eyes of a brilliant scientist, in part one of two posts, below.

Origins of a little blue and white tea bowl
Temple Burling

What is this thing? Where does it come from? What is its natural habitat? How did it acquire its physical features (in this case its shape, its colors, the material it is composed of)? What is its relationship to other objects in its native environment? How is it classified?

These are the sorts of questions I regularly ask myself and my students about the objects we study in the biology courses I teach at Carthage College.

Tea bowl, John Bartlam, 1765-1769. Chipstone Foundation. Photo by Gavin Ashworth.

The little ceramic cup in this picture would be quite out of place in the collection of objects my students and I encounter in my cell biology and molecular biophysics courses. In these classes, we study the structures, functions and interactions of the vast panoply of biological molecules in the cell–proteins, DNA, RNA, and others.

If I were to bring this cup into one these classes, the first thing a biology student would note is that it isn’t alive, it never was living, and, in fact, it isn’t even made of carbon-based molecules, the stuff of all living matter on earth. On the face of it, it would seem that this little cup is as out of place in a biology class as I have been for the last several months while on sabbatical from Carthage, working with Chipstone Foundation Decorative Arts Curators Claudia Mooney and Jon Prown.

Carthage College is a small liberal arts college in Kenosha, WI, about an hour south of Milwaukee. Carthage, like the Milwaukee Art Museum and the Chipstone Foundation, boasts a shoreline location with magnificent views of Lake Michigan. But other than that, one might ask the question: what do these institutions share in common–and why might a molecular biophysicist like myself want to spend a sabbatical studying and learning about colonial American furniture and 18th century British ceramics? Perhaps more pointedly, why would Claudia and Jon invite a scientist into their world of decorative arts curation and scholarship?

The answer to this in part lies with our mutual fascination with objects, and the multiple stories and understanding objects can reveal about the milieux from which they originate. Museum curators like Claudia and Jon approach objects from a very wide-ranging, trans-disciplinary set of perspectives. This approach strikes me as very similar to the collaborative cross-disciplinary methodologies used today by many scientists.

Tea bowl, John Bartlam, 1765-1769. Chipstone Foundation. Photo by Gavin Ashworth.

Early on in my work this fall, I asked the admittedly naive question, “Why are there so many pots in your collection and in museums in general?” Jon answered my question with a question. Taking the little cup shown above off the shelf, he asked, “You’re a scientist; what do you see?”

I came up with something like this:

“The object is a blue and white cup, made of some sort of clay and used for drinking tea. Its membership in a class of objects called teacups suggests that it existed as part of a set. Based on comparison with other known objects of its type, its markings and shape suggest that it originates from China or Japan.”

Compare this with an analytical decorative arts description of the object that we might find on a museum label:

“Tea Bowl, Maker John Bartlam, American; 1765-69; 1 5/8 x 2 7/8″; Porcelain. Printed in underglaze blue with an oriental scene depicting two men in a boat; another man looks on from a fenced hut. The reverse is printed with huts on an island with ‘Palmetto’ trees issuing from rockwork. The base of the interior has a ‘Palmetto’ tree printed in the center, and a painted diaper pattern border on the interior edge.”

This curatorial description agrees with some parts of my simple ‘scientific’ view, but also reveals some potentially interesting subtleties and contradictions. For example, the tea bowl is of 18th century American origin, not Asian, and it is made of porcelain.

This information led me to the question, “How did a porcelain tea-cup with an Asian inspired shape and decorative scheme come to be made in 18th C America?”

Stay tuned for part two to find out!

Claudia Mooney works for Chipstone, the Milwaukee-based foundation dedicated to promoting American decorative arts scholarship. She researches objects and creates relevant programming for Chipstone’s exhibitions at the Milwaukee Art Museum and in the community.

Chipstone Foundation house in Fox Point, WI. Photo by Chelsea Kelly

In late March, this semester’s group of Satellite teens took a field trip to the Chipstone Foundation in Fox Point, WI.

You probably knew that Chipstone has a great decorative arts collection and produces progressive exhibitions in the Lower Level of the Milwaukee Art Museum. What you might not know is that they also have a site in Fox Point, where they host college-level age groups.

Chipstone has visited our teen programs before, but we had never visited Chipstone. They generously offered to have the Satellite teens visit this spring, so on one of the first warm (well, warm-ish) days of the year, we took a scenic bus ride north up Lake Drive to visit Chipstone director Jon Prown and curators Sarah Carter and Claudia Mooney.

Upon our arrival, we got a quick overview of Chipstone and then quickly split into three groups. Each group worked closely with either Jon, Sarah, or Claudia in one of the Chipstone rooms, and then we all came back together for each group to present their conclusions.

Jon Prown talks about a replica of a chair on the Patio. Photo by Chelsea Kelly

Jon talked about (and touched!) an old colonial chair and showed us a contemporary artist’s replica of the object. We discussed issues of use: how do you use your eyes, hands, and logic to figure out what kind of chair it was, who would use it, and how it was made?

The Dining Room Group compared two objects. Photo by Chelsea Kelly

In the dining room, the group compared two objects and used the exercise to discover each piece’s purpose.

Chipstone Curator Sarah Carter talks about art history careers in the Green Room.

And finally, in the “green room,” teens talked about the materials artists use to create objects. The green room features pieces made by living artists out of recyclable materials. The teens were able to touch many of these objects, interacting with and getting to know the variety of reused materials, for example, chairs made of bicycle tires or felt.

We finished by hearing about Jon, Sarah, and Claudia’s career paths to Chipstone–a staple topic of the teen programs around here!

The day was illuminating and opened the group’s eyes to objects–some very different–from those they see in the Museum. We were able to step into the shoes of curators to unearth details and meaning from decorative arts objects, guided by Jon, Sarah and Claudia’s critical, discerning eyes.

And happily, Chipstone liked having us there too: as Claudia said, “I enjoyed the students’ visit. They were engaged the whole time, suggesting intelligent and creative interpretations of the Chipstone objects.”

The 2013 Spring Satellite Students in the entry foyer of Chipstone. Photo by Chelsea Kelly

The teens had a great time on their trip and we definitely hope to visit Chipstone again in future programs.

Many thanks to Jon, Sarah, and Claudia for hosting us!

Chelsea Emelie Kelly is the Museum’s Manager of Digital Learning. In addition to working on educational technology initiatives like the Kohl’s Art Generation Lab or this very blog, she oversees and teaches teen programs and creates Collection resources for educators. Say hello on Twitter @MAM_Chelsea.

Kornelius Erb (German, Augsburg, ca. 1560-1618). The Erb Tankard, 1580/85. Silver. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Richard and Erna Flagg, M1991.85. Photo credit John Nienhuis

Terminology

First, a bit about the terminology.

The drinking vessel most associated with Germany is the tankard. A tankard is a beaker with a handle and lid. Without the lid, we’d call it a mug.

In the US, tankards are usually called steins. The word stein in German means “rock”. It comes from the shortening of a German phrase, the most common suggestions being Stein Krug, meaning stone jug or tankard, or Steingut, meaning stone goods.

In German, the word used for a covered mug is Krug.

Tankard is the more general term used by English-speaking scholars, particularly for objects dating from before the end of the nineteenth century. But in general use, stein and tankard are used interchangeably.

And what’s the story behind the cover? The lids on tankards have their roots in health safety. In the 14th century, the Black Death swept through Europe, killing up to half of the population in a few short years. Although the cause of the disease was not understood, attempts to stop the horror led to innovations in sanitation. To keep foreign matter out of beverages, including flying insects, laws were passed in German lands that required a cover for all drinking vessels. A thumb lift was devised in order to make drinking with one hand still possible, and by the time that the laws were no longer necessary and were not enforced, the lid had became an integral part of the design.

The Erb Tankard

This month, we’ll be looking at one of the earliest tankards in the collection. It is called The Erb Tankard because it was made by a famous goldsmith named Kornelius Erb (German, ca. 1560-1618).

Kornelius Erb (German, Augsburg, ca. 1560-1618). The Erb Tankard, 1580/85. Silver. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Richard and Erna Flagg, M1991.85. Photo credit John Nienhuis

Erb worked in Augsburg, which was an important center for fine decorative arts from the 13th century until almost the end of the 18th century. Augburg’s proximity to gold and silver mines meant that there was money to be made—and the town became an economic powerhouse known for its extremely high-quality gold and silver wares. It was the best of the best. Other examples of tankards made at Augsburg can be found at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the V&A in London, and the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

The The Erb Tankard is not your everyday drinking vessel. It was made for a very wealthy patron to keep in his Wunderkammer (cabinet of curiosities) or his Kunstkammer (collection of fine art). Although it may have been used, most of the time it would have been proudly on display.

What else does The Erb Tankard tell us about the owner? First of all, he was German. In the 16th century, tankards were made in German-speaking lands in central and northern Europe for drinking beer—ordinary ones would be made in wood, pewter, or stoneware. Whoever owned this was proud of that heritage.

The decoration shows that he was a man of current tastes. Renaissance in style, every surface is ornately decorated, encouraging the viewer to explore it all. It also brings together three important stylistic elements of the period: classical, historical, and religious.

The classical past was a significant influence on the art of the Renaissance. The barrel of The Erb Tankard is covered with an all-over geometric pattern similar to those used in ancient Rome. There’s mythology, too: The handle is made from the body of a griffin, a creature from Greek mythology, and the thumb-lift is a little Bacchus (the god of wine) sitting on a barrel—appropriate for a container for an alcoholic beverage!

Kornelius Erb (German, Augsburg, ca. 1560-1618). The Erb Tankard, 1580/85. Silver. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Richard and Erna Flagg, M1991.85. Photo credit John Nienhuis

In two registers around the tankard are eight portrait heads encircled with laurel wreaths. They depict important rulers of central and northern Europe: Holy Roman Emperor Charles V and his wife; the King and Queen of Denmark; the King and Queen of Sweden; and the King and Queen of Poland. This not only proudly displays the owner’s cultural pride, but it also illustrates his knowledge of European history.

As if all of this wasn’t enough, a religious theme was used for the lid. On the top is a plaque that shows Adam and Eve hiding themselves after eating the forbidden fruit; the underside shows their expulsion from Paradise. This tankard warns against the pleasures of earth, even as it celebrates it.

Kornelius Erb (German, Augsburg, ca. 1560-1618). The Erb Tankard, 1580/85. Silver. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Richard and Erna Flagg, M1991.85. Photo credit John Nienhuis

Kornelius Erb pulled much of his imagery from printed sources available in 16th century Germany. We’ve come across one of them before on a blog post about the work of artist Virgil Solis of Nuremberg, Germany, who produced over 2,000 prints and drawings. He is best known for his ornament designs that were published in books for other craftsmen to use in decorative arts and architecture. You can see from this print in the collection of the British Museum how Erb used Solis for the portraits (compare Charles V at the left to his medallion on the tankard). The Adam and Eve scenes came from another German printmaker named Heinrich Aldegrever.

How’s that for luxury in both material and visual interest? Next month we’ll see how the art collecting market, international trade, and technical innovations are nothing new—the same thing happened in Europe during the age of the ceramic known as tin-glaze earthenware!

Catherine Sawinski is the Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art. When not handling the day-to-day running of the European art department and the Museum’s Fine Arts Society, she researches the collection of Ancient and European artwork before 1900.

Probably Raeren, Rhineland, Germany. Jug, ca. 1583. Salt-glazed stoneware with later silver mount. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Richard and Erna Flagg, M1991.86. Photo credit John Nienhuis

Imagine yourself back in the late middle ages. And you’re thirsty. You don’t get yourself a drink of water, because most likely the only water available to you is polluted and will probably make you sick. So, instead you get some fermented beverage, such as beer or ale. The fermentation process kills off the bad things in the water and lets you drink with relative safety.

But being an everyday person with little money, your cup is not made out of silver, glass, or leather, or even glazed ceramic. It is made out of unglazed earthenware, which is clay baked hard at a low temperature. Unfortunately, because it is clay, it absorbs some of your ale or beer each time you use it–and eventually, that absorbed liquid will go foul, making anything you drink from the cup taste and smell bad. (The same thing happened with common wood tankards.)

But innovation found a solution to this problem.

In the 1200s, German ceramic producers discovered ways to bring their kilns to a high enough temperature to cause vitrificiation. Vitrificiaton is when the minerals in clay melt together. This means that the porous material becomes nonporous. Not only did this new material not absorb liquid or smells, it was also extremely hard. It was, in fact, as hard as rock. Consequently, it became known as stoneware.

Stoneware does not need a glaze–a mix of materials covering the clay, that melt in the kiln to form a glassy surface–to keep itself non porous. Ceramicists, however, found out that introducing salt into the kiln during the firing of stoneware produced a beautiful shiny surface. Mostly this surface is decorative, although it does help in keeping the vessel clean.

Stoneware became so important for storage and drinking vessels that by the 16th century German stoneware was being exported all over continental Europe, England, and colonial America.

Possibly because stoneware were more expensive than earthenware, the German potters took advantage of the properties of stoneware to make their vessels into art objects. Now, certain types of decorations help identify the origin of the ceramic.

Westerwald, Germany. Krug, 1672. Salt-glazed stoneware. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, L2000.3. Photo credit Larry Sanders

For instance, in the Westerwald area, gray clay is decorated through molds and incising. The areas of relief are accentuated by contrasting areas of gray clay with a dark blue glaze formed from cobalt oxide. The Milwaukee Art museum has two nice examples of Westerwald stoneware in the form of Krugs (German for a handled drinking vessel). One in the Collection, seen above, emphasizes the floral decoration in the color of the clay with a background of deep blue; the front sports a cartouche for an unidentified family or city. The other, seen below, combines a band of blue and gray checkerboard with organic ornamentation, and features a cartouche with the letters “GR”, standing for George Rex, the king of England. The decoration of both Krugs masterfully takes advantage of the bulbous shape of the vessel.

Westerwald, Germany. Krug, 1725–50. Salt-glazed stoneware. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, L2000.4. Photo credit Larry Sanders

In Raeren, the clay is usually covered with an iron-stained slip (watered down clay) which creates a reddish-brown surface. Our lovely late 16th century jug, below, balances tiers of incised lines with a lively scene of peasants dancing around the widest bulge. The frieze is made by a mold, and there are other jugs that used the same mold: the Ma href=”http://www.philamuseum.org/collections/permanent/50731.html?mulR=5915#” target=”blank”>Philadelphia Museum of Art has one, and two other examples have recently been sold at auction here and here.

Probably Raeren, Rhineland, Germany. Jug, ca. 1583. Salt-glazed stoneware with later silver mount. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Richard and Erna Flagg, M1991.86. Photo credit John Nienhuis

The scene is based upon the prints of The Peasant Festival by Hans Sebald Beham (German, 1500-1550). The easiest one to match up is the man who holds the hand of a woman and has his other arm raised, seen here (but reversed, because the mold would flip the design when impressing on the clay). At the very far left, you can just make out the two musicians also seen in the print.

So, you can see that the development of stoneware was revolutionary, both in technology and in art. Next month, we’ll take a look at another example of another type of ceramic that shows the power of international trade and technology: tin-glazed earthenware.

Catherine Sawinski is the Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art. When not handling the day-to-day running of the European art department and the Museum’s Fine Arts Society, she researches the collection of Ancient and European artwork before 1900.

Probably Thuringia, Germany, Tankard, before 1754. Tin-glazed earthenware with polychrome decoration and pewter. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Mrs. Albert Finkler M1937.26. Photo credit: John R. Glembin

My post this month is about tin-glazed earthenware. Wait! Don’t run! I know that this is one kind of ceramic that makes the study of decorative arts confusing. So many names, so much technical jargon—it’s a headache! But stick with me for a moment, because I hope to explain it in a way that this not too complicated. The reward is another glimpse into the history art, trade, and technology.

First of all, tin-glazed earthenware has two main parts:

1. Clay. The important thing to remember is that this type of clay is porous even after it is fired. It is called earthenware.

2. Glaze. You need this because it covers the porous earthenware so that it becomes NON-porous. In tin-glazed earthenware, the glaze is made of tin-oxide, powdered glass, and a flux (often lead). In general, here’s what each ingredient does: tin-oxide makes the glaze opaque white; powdered glass makes it smooth and shiny; and flux lowers the melting point of the other materials so that everything flows nicely across the surface (the word flux comes from a form of the Latin verb fluere, meaning “to flow”). The glaze fuses together when fired.

Remember last month when we explored how non-porous stoneware revolutionized ceramic vessels? Well, tin-glazed earthenware is also a non-porous material, but it is one that isn’t quite so sturdy. Since it’s not vitrified, it can chip and break (you can see such damage on the handle of the tankard from Mainz—the glazing has warn away and what you see if the bare ceramic).

But tin-glazed earthenware offers something that stoneware doesn’t: a smooth, white surface that can be decorated with bright colors created by firing a range of pigments made from oxides.

Probably Thuringia, Germany, Tankard, before 1754. Tin-glazed earthenware with polychrome decoration and pewter. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Mrs. Albert Finkler M1937.26. Photo credit: John R. Glembin

As far back as the 6th century B.C., the Babylonians produced earthenware with opaque glazes (like those seen in these tiles at the Metropolitan Museum of Art). The technique was kept alive in Egypt until, by the 9th century, it was raised to prominence in Mesopotamia once again.

Then tin-glazed earthenware spread throughout the Islamic world during the middle ages. This, of course, included Moorish Spain. This time period was also when it started to get all of those names.

The Italians learned of tin-glazed earthenware from examples imported from the island of Marjorca, which was controlled by Spain. Consequently, in Italy it is called maiolica.

The French named the material after Faenza, a town in Italy known for producing it; hence, the French called it faience.

In northern Europe, the technique was brought by Spanish and Italian potters looking for more markets. By the 17th century, the Dutch town of Delft became so well-known for blue and white tin-glazed earthenware, that the ceramic was known just as delft.

The Dutch exported delft to England, where it was called delftware.

Dutch businessmen saw Germany as an untapped market for tin-glazed wares. They convinced German landowners to support opening potteries. The first opened at Hanau in 1661, followed by Frankfurt in 1666. In Germany, the ceramics became known as fayence from the French term. (This is also the term used in Scandinavia and Spain.)

Probably Mainz, Germany, Tankard, ca. 1754. Tin-glazed earthenware with polychrome decoration and pewter. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Mrs. Adolf Finkler M1937.15. Photo credit: John R. Glembin

Finally, we’ve gotten to Germany! This is a post about German steins and tankards, after all.

The spread of tin-glazed earthenware shows that there was a great demand for beautifully decorated and brightly colored ceramics. There is another aspect of the popularity, however.

It is no mistake that tin-glazed earthenware mimics the look of porcelain.

Introduced to Europe in the 14th century from China, porcelain was the most elegant and fascinating of materials. It was pristine white, yet translucent, and although it was thin and light-weight, it was amazingly strong and durable.

Nobles across Europe would buy Chinese porcelain and mount it in elaborate metal fittings. It was considered so precious that it was called “White Gold.” They hungered for more, however, and so began a search for the secrets to making porcelain.

But more on that next month.

So, until porcelain could be made in Europe, there was a demand for something that looked like it.

Much of the tin-glazed earthenware from Holland was painted in blue and white to reproduce the look of porcelain. The Dutch were importing the real thing from China, so they knew what people wanted.

German, Covered Pitcher, 1700–40. Tin-glazed earthenware and pewter. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Gabriele Flagg Pfeiffer M1997.226. Photo credit: John R. Glembin

The early tin-glazed earthenware produced in German was also blue and white. But even though it is reminiscent of porcelain, there are stylistic elements that are definitely European, such as the use of brushwork and banding. You can see it on this covered pitcher, left.

Later German faience tended to feature multi-colored decorations. Just a few of the examples in the Milwaukee Art Museum’s collection are: figures with landscape elements (including what looks to be palm trees) on a tankard probably from Thuringia, Germany (first object image, top of post); intricate patterns on a tankard that could have a crest related to the town of Mainz (second object image, top of post); and the special effects from applying color with a sponge seen on a tankard probably from Schrezheim (below left).

Probably Schrezheim, Germany Tankard, second half of 18th century. Tin‑glazed earthenware with polychrome decoration, pewter, and coin silver. Milwaukee Art Museum, Bequest of Dorothy Trommel in memory of her parents, Eunice and Howard Wertenberg M2013.42. Photo by John Glembin

German faience tankards were often decorated by Hausmalers, who were artisans that worked in other fields such as engraving, metalworking, or glass painting. The craftsmen would buy blank white wares that had gone through a first firing and paint them decorations with oxides that would given a second firing at a lower temperature in a home kiln. Then they would sell these tankards in order to make extra money.

Tin-glazed earthenware is just another example of how studying art shows us not only the creative side of the past, but the economic side as well. As I hinted earlier in this post, next month we’ll look at the allure of porcelain and where it fits in to the history of technology and trade in early modern Europe.

Catherine Sawinski is the Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art. When not handling the day-to-day running of the European art department and the Museum’s Fine Arts Society, she researches the collection of Ancient and European artwork before 1900.

Harry Bertoia (American, b. Italy, 1915–1978), Dandelion, 1970. Gold-plated bronze and beryllium. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Mrs. Harry Lynde Bradley M1975.131. Photo credit: P. Richard Eells. © 2010 Estate of Harry Bertoia / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

Now that it’s finally starting to feel like summer, let’s talk about dandelions. Sure, they’re technically weeds, and you probably don’t want them taking over your lawn. But it’s fun to make wishes on the white puffy ones, even if it does scatter seeds and just increases the dandelion population exponentially.

This dandelion, however, won’t scatter seeds if you wish on it because it’s made of gold-plated bronze and beryllium. It was created by Italian-born American artist Harry Bertoia, who didn’t just make sculptures but also crafted monoprints, furniture and jewelry. His Sonambient Sculptures were designed to make music and he saw his furniture as just another type of sculpture because, as he put it, “space passes right through them.”

Harry Bertoia (American, b. Italy, 1915–1978), Tonal, ca. 1967. Cupro nickel and monel metal. Gift of Mrs. Harry Lynde Bradley M1975.133. Photo credit: John R. Glembin. © 2010 Estate of Harry Bertoia / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

Dandelion exemplifies his creativity with sculpture and metalwork. His arguably most famous work is the Bertoia chair, which you’ve probably seen, and maybe even sat in, before. They’re pretty popular, probably because of their aesthetic and comfort. And some models can even go outside.

Bertoia worked and entered competitions with Charles Eames, and aided in design of the well-known Eames chair, but claims he was never given credit, which caused him and his wife Brigitta to work instead with Florence Schust Knoll and her husband, Hans, in Pennsylvania. Initially, Bertoia was to design hospital furniture, but stated her “preferred to work with healthy bodies.” He crafted the Bertoia chairs in metal first, and also designed their means of mass production.

Not all of Bertoia’s chairs look alike. And the same is true of his sculpture with even more diversity of medium, style and even size. Besides Dandelion, the Milwaukee Art Museum has in its collection four sculptures by Bertoia: Tonal (at right), Flowering, Geometric Forms, and Untitled, as well as a “Diamond” Chair.

– Margaret Crocker, Curatorial Intern

Michelle Erickson, Texas Tea Party, 2005. Chipstone Foundation, Photo by Gavin Ashworth.

We began our discussion with a moment of silence to take in the piece individually. Michelle Erickson packs quite a lot into her small-scale ceramic sculpture, Texas Tea Party—it’s just 8” x 8” x 8”. After a few minutes, I invited the group to share comments, ideas, and thoughts. Although we’ve been in session for a few weeks now, this is our first time as a group discussing a work of art together.

Immediately, one student raises his hand and said, “Can I ask a question? What do the monkeys mean?” I smile and say, “I don’t think I’m going to answer that…” The group laughs, and I turn it over to them, saying, “Let’s figure out the answer together. What do we think they might mean?”

Detail of Michelle Erickson, Texas Tea Party, 2005. Chipstone Foundation, Photo by Chelsea Emelie Kelly.

We’re at a bit of a loss—at first. There’s just so much to see. The group points out all the details: the monkey figures; the party hats (or, we note, dunce caps—or even miniature oil rigs); the heavy machinery and instruments of war littering the ground; the labeled cups beneath the marbled seats. We notice that one monkey holds a plate high above his head, and its base says clearly: MADE IN CHINA. A bird—a vulture (“shouldn’t it be an eagle?” one student observes) sits atop a large gilded tea pot labeled “Texas Tea Party.” One monkey is clothed differently than the rest: he has a black hat and a red coat. He waves a teapot around his head, dripping a glutinous dark substance—the shape, one student points out, is the logo of Shell, the gas company. We keep looking. “It’s as if they’re all sitting on thrones,” one student comments, “but I’m not sure they know what they’re doing with all that power.”

Detail of Michelle Erickson, Texas Tea Party, 2005. Chipstone Foundation, Photo by Chelsea Emelie Kelly.

Details documented, we switch chairs so that those further away can get up close and vice versa. We start to comment not on individual aspects of the sculpture, but instead wonder when it was made and for what purpose. “Their outfits seem older, kind of historic,” says a student, “but this doesn’t really seem like it was made long ago.” Another student raises her hand, pointing at one of the cups underneath the chairs: “But it’s labeled ‘G.W.,’” she says. “Is that for Washington?”

I get a sense that the group is a little stumped at this point, so I share with them a little bit about the artist, Michelle Erickson. Erickson is a contemporary artist who works with ceramics. She has studied the historic processes of ceramics, I explain, but she often creates pieces that have something to say about the world today.

Detail of Michelle Erickson, Texas Tea Party, 2005. Chipstone Foundation, Photo by Chelsea Emelie Kelly.

The group looks at the piece anew, now knowing that it was made recently. One student immediately shoots his hand up, but when I call on him, he looks a little sheepish. From his and other’s expressions, I can sense a number of the teens suspect there’s something intensely political going on here—but no one is brave enough to come right out and say it. I encourage him, and he says, with a question in his voice, “Well, could the G.W. mean George W. Bush? And maybe it’s about his administration and politics and power?”

The whole group lets out an “ohh!” as his comment clicks into place. Those who saw political overtones nod, and those who were perplexed suddenly see the piece through this lens.

“I think you all might be right,” I say. I read a quote from Michelle Erickson herself: “My work is based conceptually and physically on the history of ceramic objects and the role they play in the communication of social and political ideas.”

“It’s like a… like one of those cartoons that makes fun of famous people or actual politicians,” one student says, searching for the word. “What’s it called?”

“Satire?” I ask. He nods. We talk as a group about how satire is one tool, often used by artists and writers, to make a statement about contemporary life. We talk about how artists throughout history have engaged with politics and current events in their work—from satire, such as William Hogarth’s Marriage a la Mode series, to monumental tributes such as David’s Death of Marat, to personal reactions such as Anselm Kiefer’s Midgard. We talk about how artists use art to make statements about the world around them, from Warhol’s soup can series commenting on consumerism to Glenn Ligon’s We’re Black and Strong, removing the phrase away from a protest sign to universalize the protest.

Detail of Michelle Erickson, Texas Tea Party, 2005. Chipstone Foundation, Photo by Chelsea Emelie Kelly.

We keep talking, and the symbols take on new light. The figures—labeled Dick, for Dick Cheney and G.W., for George W. Bush—take part in a tea party where their cups are filled not with tea, but oil. A vulture, taking the place of the American eagle, sits atop the table’s centerpiece. The constitution is discarded at the base of the chairs—“like the foundation of our government is just on the floor and they don’t care,” a student says.

One student raises her hand and adds, “But maybe it isn’t all about the Bush administration. Maybe it’s more of a statement about the oil companies and how they have too much power over us.”

“That’s a great point,” I say. “As specific as many of the symbols are, there are many ways to interpret this and many statements this could be making. And let’s remember that this work is the artist’s opinion—Michelle Erickson’s opinion. She’s talking about politics here, I think you all are right, but that doesn’t mean we have to necessarily agree with her. This piece can raise questions beyond just the Bush administration or what happened the year this was made, in 2005. It can help us ask questions about the role art can play in politics and society and vice versa. What does it mean for art to be political? Do artists always react to the society they live in—can it ever truly be separate? And what effect can art like this ultimately have on the world at large?”

Instead of diving into these juicy questions, I surprise the students by saying that our hour is up. The group is astounded (“we’ve been talking for a full hour?! There’s so much more to say!”). I assure them we’ll tackle these questions throughout the semester.

Chelsea Emelie Kelly is the Museum’s Manager of Digital Learning. In addition to working on educational technology initiatives like the Kohl’s Art Generation Lab or this very blog, she oversees and teaches teen programs. Say hello on Twitter @MAM_Chelsea.

Christopher Dresser (English, 1834-1904) Manufactured by Watcombe Terracotta Clay Company (Torquay, Devon, England, established 1867) Pitcher, designed 1870-75; produced by Watcombe of Torquay. Terracotta or red stoneware, gilding 7 1/8 × 5 1/2 × 5 1/4 in. (18.1 × 13.97 × 13.34 cm) . Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Daniel Morris and Denis Gallion M1991.323

In 1898, the artists periodical The Studio called Christopher Dresser “perhaps the greatest of commercial designers imposing his fantasy and invention upon the ordinary output of British industry.” This seems an appropriate description for an Englishman who was interested in art but first trained in botany, and then found inspiration for his designs both in the ancient past and traditions of Japan.

Looking at two of Dresser’s designs in the collection of the Milwaukee Art Museum–a pitcher produced by the Watcombe Terracotta Clay Company and a claret jug produced by Hulkin & Heath–you can see how he applied his own personal motto to his work: truth, beauty, power. The sleek and angular vessels lack the decoration that most people associate with the Victorian period, which would have been at its height in the 1870’s.  They look like something from the 20th century!

It may surprise you then, that Dresser was also known for his interests in flat patterning.

Dresser was just as likely to use highly-decorative surfaces.  For instance, here is a vase he designed for Minton in 1868 or a flask designed for Wedgwood around 1873

His use of patterns was inspired by ancient cultures, particularly Egypt, which was in the height of revival in England. One source of these patterns was the architect and designer Owen Jones, one of the most influential design theorists of the 19th century.  Jones’s important publication, The Grammar of Ornament,  grouped patterns by culture such as Persian, Greek, Chinese, and Egyptian.

Dresser was also hired a number of times as an interior designer known for his Arts & Crafts style.  In fact, although much of it doesn’t survive, Dresser’s most successful work was done in wallpaper and textile designs: two examples are this fabric at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and this wallpaper in collection of the Henry Ford Museum. For a short time, he even had a workshop producing furniture.

So, what’s going on here?  Dresser can’t be easily pigeon-holed as proto-modern or Arts & Crafts.  He would say that he is using rules of design—from many sources—to produce beautiful things for everyone.

Christopher Dresser (English, 1834-1904), Manufactured by Hukin & Heath (Birmingham, England, established 1885), “Crow’s Foot” Claret Jug, designed October 3, 1878. Silver plate and glass, 9 5/16 × 6 1/2 × 4 1/4 in. (23.65 × 16.51 × 10.8 cm). Milwaukee Art Museum, Purchase, by exchange M1998.75 Photo credit: Historical Design.

In fact, he readily accepted machines as a useful way to improve peoples’ lives. He felt that using machines meant that more people could be exposed to artful domestic objects. This is in direct opposition to proponents of the Arts & Crafts movement such as John Ruskin and William Morris, who believed that good design only came from hand-producing everything.

Dresser believed that a functional objection is beautiful if it functions as it should. If that meant it should be simple in line, then that is what it should have.

He also was found inspiration in Japanese decorative arts. He traveled to Japan and collected Japanese objects. Through his mass-produced objects, he got the Western world interested in Japanese design. He respected Japanese “breadth of treatment, simplicity of execution and boldness of design.” The interest in the visual culture of Japan would also be expressed in Victorian styles, such as the Aesthteic movement.

Also, for Dresser, the cost of the material didn’t matter. The Watcombe factory in Torquay, a seaside town in Devon, was proud of their beautiful red clay and chose designs that highlighted it. The humble clay fit nicely with Dresser’s interest in simple materials and showed off the clean lines of his designs extraordinarily well–see top photo in this post. Meanwhile, the claret jug (middle photo) uses a brand-new material—silver plate—which allowed him to contrast the shiny metal with the clear glass without adding the cost of using pure silver.

Dresser’s focus on the geometric comes from function and Japanese design, but it also comes from the past. The Claret Jug uses crow’s feet for the base—commonly used in ancient metal work. The glass body has rounded shoulders and a pointed bottom, which suggests the shape of an ancient Roman amphora. Even the squared off handle is reminiscent of ancient pottery made simply and for a practical purpose.

Catherine Sawinski is the Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art. When not handling the day-to-day running of the European art department and the Museum’s Fine Arts Society, she researches the collection of Ancient and European artwork before 1900.

Designed by Louis-Constant Sévin (French, 1821–1881) and Manufactured by Firm of F. Barbedienne (French, 1858–1955), Monumental Ormolu-Mounted Enamel Vase, 1867. Copper, gilt bronze, and cloisonné enamel. 30 1/2 × 12 in. (77.47 × 30.48 cm). Milwaukee Art Museum, Purchase, with funds from Avis Martin Heller in honor of the Fine Arts Society and the Fine Arts Society in memory of Jane and Donald Doud M2014.10. Photo credit: Photograph courtesy of H. Blairman & Sons Ltd, London.

You may  have noticed that some of our past “From the Collection” posts have highlighted new acquisitions.  Just in the last year we explored a pair of paintings by Alexandre Cabanel and a painting by Franz Ittenbach.

When museum curators buy new artwork for the collection, they often look for things that will make a strength of the collection stronger or fill a gap in an important story we want to tell.

One recent acquisition that does both of these things is a Monumental Ormolu-Mounted Enamel Vase created in France in 1867.

The vase, designed by Louis-Constant Sévin (French, 1821–1881), brings together different elements from what he would have considered the exotic Orient. Today this is known as the Middle East, North Africa, Turkey, Greece, and Asia.

This combination of styles is indicative of an art movement known as Orientalism, which first became popular in mid-19th century France and then spread through Europe, England, and the United States.

This eclectic mix of inspiration creates a composite work drawn from a number of “exotic” influences, such as

• the curving forms of ancient Greek ceramics

Hellenistic Greek, Terracotta Transport Amphora, late 3rd–mid-2nd century B.C. Terracotta. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Cesnola Collection, Purchased by subscription, 1874–76.

• the ancient Egyptian iconography such as cats

Egyptian, Ptolemaic Period, Cat Statuette, 332–30 B.C. Leaded bronze. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1956.

• the decorative patterns of Persian pottery

Iranian, Flask, late 17th century. Lustre pottery. The British Museum G.382 by © Trustees of the British Museum.

• the jewel-tones of Byzantine art

Byzantine Mosaics in the Basilica of San Vitale, Ravenna, Italy, ca. 547 A.D. © Borisb17 | Dreamstime.com.

• and a medieval type of enamelwork called champlevé, in which the cells are carved out from a piece of metal and then are filled with colored enamel.

Limoges, France, Chasse with the Crucifixion and Christ in Majesty, ca. 1180–90. Copper: engraved, chiseled, stippled, and gilt; champlevé enamel: dark, medium, and light blue; turquoise, dark and light green, yellow, red, and white; wood core, painted red on exterior. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan, 1917 17.190.514.

Let’s take a closer look at our Monumental Vase to get a better sense of just how Sévin integrated all of these different elements.

Designed by Louis-Constant Sévin (French, 1821–1881) and Manufactured by Firm of F. Barbedienne (French, 1858–1955), Monumental Ormolu-Mounted Enamel Vase, 1867. Copper, gilt bronze, and cloisonné enamel. 30 1/2 × 12 in. (77.47 × 30.48 cm). Milwaukee Art Museum, Purchase, with funds from Avis Martin Heller in honor of the Fine Arts Society and the Fine Arts Society in memory of Jane and Donald Doud M2014.10. Photo credit: Photograph courtesy of H. Blairman & Sons Ltd, London.

The elongated body of the vessel pulls upward and inward to a thin neck which contrasts from the swelling bottom. The surface of the body is split up into five decorative registers, or friezes, which were popular in ancient Greek vases, like the one in the Milwaukee Art Museum’s collection shown below. Each frieze is decorated with abstract, intertwining floral patterns made possible through champlevé enamelwork.

Circle of Antimenes Painter (Greek [Attic], active ca. 530–ca. 510 BC). Hydria (Water Jar), ca. 525 BC. Black-figure terracotta. Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Everett N. Carpenter to the Milwaukee Art Museum. Photo credit Larry Sanders

Sévin’s historicizing design is powerful and beautiful. But this large-scale showpiece was made possible only due to the technological prowess of the French foundry Maison Barbedienne.

Maison Barbedienne (French, 1858–1955) was a firm founded by Ferdinand Barbedienne (French, 1810-1892), a man who invented a machine that would create miniature bronze replicas of classical artworks so they could be more easily disseminated to the masses. But Barbedienne’s quest to be at the forefront of technical innovation in metalworking did not stop there.

For instance, in 1858, Barbedienne began to experiment with the champlevé enamelwork mentioned above, which had become popular during the reign of French ruler Emperor Napoleon III (1808–1873). Also, Barbedienne was an expert in the technique of ormolu, which developed in the 18th century in France. The word ormolu comes from the French term, or moulu, which translates to “ground gold”. As the term implies, ormolu employs gold gilding, leaf, or powder to cover the less visually pleasing metal parts of an object. Barbedienne moved with the times, and to create his high-quality ormolu, he adopted the 19th century technology of electroplating, which uses electricity to bond gold to the surface of metal work.

Eugène Fromentin (French, 1820–1876), Arabs (Cavaliers Arabes en observations dans la montagne), 1873. Oil on panel. Milwaukee Art Museum, Layton Art Collection, Inc., Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Arthur N. McGeoch, Sr. L1941.7. Photo credit: John R. Glembin.

Barbedienne’s expertise in these techniques made his foundry one of the most respected in France. In fact, when he exhibited a pair of vases of the same design as ours at the London International Exhibition of 1862, it met with great critical acclaim. That particular pair of vases is now in the collection of the Musée D’Orsay in Paris. The quality of our vase is clear from the fact that the foundry wrote “Maison Barbedienne” prominently on the center band—it is essentially signed by the company.

As we stated at the beginning of this post, the Monumental Ormolu-Mounted Enamel Vase is a new acquisition.  Why did we make this acquisition?

1. It strengthens a strength of our collection.  We already had a wonderful selection of Orientalist paintings by artists such as Jean-Léon Gérôme (French, 1824–1904), Jean Joseph Benjamin Constant (French, 1845–1902), Eugène Fromentin (French, 1820–1876) (left), and Christian Adolf Schreyer (German, 1828–1899).
2. It fills a hole in the collection.  Although the Orientalist paintings are high-quality and instructive, adding a piece of decorative arts from this important period gives the visitor a better sense of the complete aesthetic that was used to decorate whole rooms.
3. And it offers a bonus: the vase serves as a way to study the importance of technology during the 19th century.

Make sure you take a look the next time you visit!

–Samantha Landre, Curatorial Intern and Catherine Sawinski, Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art

View of Mrs. M.––––– ’s Cabinet.

Mrs. M.––––– ’s Cabinet is currently featuring an installation that was developed by University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee students enrolled in the course “Curating Mrs. M.––––– ’s World.” The project resulted in the display of seven acquisitions by the Chipstone Foundation. The exhibition opened to the public on Sunday, December 18th and will run throughout the spring.

Mrs. M.––––– ’s Cabinet is one of five galleries, located in the Milwaukee Art Museum’s Constance and Dudley Godfrey American Wing, that are curated by the Chipstone Foundation. In the fall of 2016, Chipstone Curator and Director of Research Dr. Sarah Anne Carter taught a graduate seminar in museum studies in the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee’s Art History Department. The seven creative and up-and-coming student curators in this course researched and developed the innovative installations found in this exhibition in order to expand and enhance Mrs. M.––––– ’s mysterious story.

Each student was assigned an object to research and install in the cabinet as part of the museum studies course. Their challenge was to create an installation that fit in with the theme of Mrs. M.––––– ’s Cabinet: her desire to create a nuanced and complete history of America and its material cultures.

In the installation, there are no traditional labels or museum signage. Instead, the objects must convey their stories through design cues and period technologies and tools, in addition to speaking through Mrs. M.––––– ’s voice. Mrs. M.––––– ’s personal Log is one place where visitors can experience these stories.

To explain how each object fits into the greater narrative of the exhibition, we will take a closer look at each one in depth. This is the first of two blog posts in which we will discuss the research behind each object and its installation within Mrs. M.––––– ’s Cabinet.

Today’s post is written by MA candidates in Art History Savannah Hill, Cameron Fontaine, and Abby Armstrong. It will focus on three objects that relate to the Centennial Exposition of 1876, the first World’s Fair held in the United States, and the Columbian Exposition of 1893.

The Chicago Pitcher and Cataclysmic Ceramics

The Chicago Pitcher was designed by Frank E. Burley for Copeland and Spode (England, founded 1776) in conjunction with the 1893 Columbian Exposition, also known as the Chicago World’s Fair. The pitcher is typical of World’s Fair souvenirs. Many types of memorabilia were available for purchase and ceramic makers like Wedgwood (England, founded 1759) and Spode catered to the demand for luxury items.

Frank E. Burley for Copeland and Spode, Chicago Pitcher, 1893. Jasperware. Chipstone Foundation.

The pitcher is part of a longstanding tradition of “cataclysmic ceramics,” or ceramics that are used to document catastrophic events in human history. A modern example of this genre of ceramics is a blue and white jasperware group created by Michelle Erickson (American, 1982–present). In a set of three vases she illustrates the World Trade Towers during the Terrorist Attacks of September 11th (the vases are visible on the link above half-way down the page on the right). This piece serves as a brutal reminder of the impact 9/11 had on American art, culture, and life.

The Chicago Pitcher is a similar memorial piece. The top panel of the pitcher depicts the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. The infamous fire, which started on October 8, resulted in the deaths of over 300 people and the destruction of another 100,000 people’s homes. It destroyed a major part of the city that measured four miles long and two-thirds of a mile wide.

A particularly interesting vignette on the pitcher showcases the myth of Mrs. O’Leary, whose cow supposedly knocked over a lantern in a shed and started the Great Chicago fire. This legend was immortalized in the satirical song “Mrs. O’Leary’s Cow,” modeled on the tune of 1896’s“There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight.” The legend was popular at the time, even though the reporter for the Chicago Republican who wrote it, Michael Ahern, admitted in 1893 that he had fabricated the story.

This idea of the “folly of women” appears within the history of cataclysmic events. Mrs. M.––––– would have a strong opinion on the veracity of these claims and the scapegoated women who were blamed for such happenings. Women being blamed for a catastrophe can be compared with the story of Eve picking an apple from the tree, the sin which caused the downfall of man and caused humankind to be ousted from the Garden of Eden. Both myths play off of the actions of women affecting the people around them. Mrs. M.––––– would have taken offense at this portrayal of the foolish woman, especially when the story proved to be false. Mrs. M.––––– understands that the incorrect portrayal of women as careless and weak has done cultural damage throughout Western history.

The Centennial Vase and American Patriotism

The Centennial Vase was designed by the pottery company WT Copeland and Sons (England, active 1847-1970) and presents an interesting reflection of a British opinion of American patriotism and its commercial viability. It is safe to assume that the Centennial Vase was first made for the Centennial Exposition of 1876.

W.T. Copeland & Sons, Centennial Polychrome Pitcher, 1876. Chipstone Foundation.

How would Mrs. M.––––– display this piece? Her reception of this piece probably would not have been completely favorable as centennial celebrations and other public memorials often hide history as much as they celebrate it.

We have displayed the Centennial Vase with flowers, symbolizing the view Mrs. M.––––– would have of the ceramic in her collection. The beautiful bouquet of flowers is a subtle, veiled critique of the vase’s aggressive show of patriotism, a white and upper-class experience in America. Based on the 1852 book The Language of Flowers: the Floral Offering, a Token of Affection and Esteem, Comprising the Language and Poetry of Flowers by Henrietta Dumont, the sunflower stands for false riches, the thorn-apple for deceitful charms, and the scarlet geranium for stupidity. These elements combined in one bouquet of flowers form a nineteenth century way to critique the vase that may not be immediately apparent to twenty-first century visitors.

The implication is that Mrs. M.––––– would find this vase a deceitful façade. The celebration of the centennial hides more history than it celebrates—just as the bouquet it holds hides its own meaning. It does not represent all of America and it certainly does not represent the Native American history of the land which extends centuries before Europeans had “discovered” the continent. Mrs. M.––––– strives to represent a history more inclusive and complex than what this vase shows.

George Washington Ironstone Character Jug and the Smelting Pot

Almost nothing is known about the George Washington Ironstone Character Jug, except that it dates to 1892, and that is a product of a pottery company in East Liverpool, Ohio (a design patent by the jug’s potter, Sydney Starkey, was submitted in October of 1892). It is roughly nine inches tall and made of ironstone ceramics. The jug is George Washington’s face from the neck up, complete with revolutionary-era tricorn cap, flower detail, and the inscription “Washington.” It appears to include some form of a spout, and while it is most likely meant to be decorative, it is easily handled and relatively light in weight which means it could be used for drinking or pouring.

Sydney Starkey, George Washington Ironside Character Jug, 1892. Chipstone Foundation.

The patent date of October 4th, 1892 is marked on the bottom of the jug. Sydney Starkey was granted a fourteen year U.S. Patent for this specific design of what he deemed as a “vase”. The patent year is remarkably close to the World’s Columbian Exposition, which would take place in 1893 in Chicago. Based on Starkey’s document, he may have patented this design with the idea to mass produce this item in the hopes of selling them at the Columbian Exposition.

Sydney Starkey, an English-born potter, came to East Liverpool, Ohio and found himself amongst a sea of American potters. He may have already been familiar with the form of the character jug, as the toby jug had been a popular form of British earthenware pottery since the eighteenth century. Starkey possibly developed and patented a character jug since that type of vessel was familiar to him, capitalizing on an already saturated pottery market with a new type.

Pouring the glass waterfall in artist Beth Lipman’s studio.

You can observe Starkey’s George Washington Ironstone Character Jug in Mrs. M—’s Cabinet in conjunction with a glass waterfall installation piece by internationally known glass artist, Beth Lipman (American, 1994–present).

The George Washington Ironstone Character Jug is inverted on its side with Lipman’s glass waterfall pouring into a pot below. Lipman’s glass waterfall acts as a symbol for all of the sometimes-slanted views of American freedom and patriotism George Washington represented in the late nineteenth century.

By pouring the glass waterfall into a “smelting pot”, an expression used by Ralph Waldo Emerson that highlights America’s cultural diversity, Mrs. M.––––– accentuates the act of throwing out the old, restrictive history that the Washington jug represents, in order to make room for an inclusive progression of ideas about history and freedom that she creates with her collection. Rather than celebrating the Nativism of her time often associated with Early American history in the late nineteenth century, Mrs. M.––––– makes space to include George Washington’s ideas and actions in her Cabinet.

Check in next week for another post discussing more new objects on display!

–Savannah Hill, Cameron Fontaine, and Abby Armstrong, MA candidates at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee

View of Mrs. M.––––– ’s Cabinet.

Mrs. M.––––– ’s Cabinet is currently featuring an installation that was developed by University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee students enrolled in the course “Curating Mrs. M.––––– ’s World.” The project resulted in the display of seven acquisitions by the Chipstone Foundation. The exhibition opened to the public on Sunday, December 18th and will run throughout the spring.

Mrs. M.––––– ’s Cabinet is one of five galleries, located in the Milwaukee Art Museum’s Constance and Dudley Godfrey American Wing, that are curated by the Chipstone Foundation. In the fall of 2016, Chipstone Curator and Director of Research Dr. Sarah Anne Carter taught a graduate seminar in museum studies in the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee’s Art History Department. The seven creative and up-and-coming student curators in this course researched and developed the innovative installations found in this exhibition in order to expand and enhance Mrs. M.––––– ’s mysterious story.

Each student was assigned an object to research and install in the cabinet as part of the museum studies course. Their challenge was to create an installation that fit in with the theme of Mrs. M.––––– ’s Cabinet: her desire to create a nuanced and complete history of America and its material cultures.

In the installation, there are no traditional labels or museum signage. Instead, the objects must convey their stories through design cues and period technologies and tools, in addition to speaking through Mrs. M.––––– ’s voice. Mrs. M.––––– ’s personal Log is one place where visitors can experience these stories.

To explain how each object fits into the greater narrative of the exhibition, we will take a closer look at each one in depth. This is the first of two blog posts in which we will discuss the research behind each object and its installation within Mrs. M.––––– ’s Cabinet.

Today’s post is written by MA candidates in Art History Selena Erdman, April Bina, Kelsey Rozema and Natachia Attewell. It will focus on four objects that show society’s interest in collecting and how different cultures greatly influenced American arts and culture in the nineteenth century.

The Puzzle Jug and its Evolving Narrative

Students study the Puzzle Jug, ca. 1880-1890, by Edward Bingham. Chipstone Foundation.

This puzzle jug was made ca. 1880-1890 by Edward Bingham (English, 1829-1914) of Castle Hedingham Pottery Works in Essex, England. It is a nineteenth century interpretation of sixteenth century puzzle jugs that were used in taverns and bars for drinking games. Most original puzzle jugs are fairly small (about a third to half of the size of this one), can be easily handled, and are far less ornate.

This jug has elaborate hand-created designs made from applied slip work as well as a molded relief on each side. Original puzzle jugs typically had some painted and glazed designs accompanying a witty or taunting rhyme to tempt potential drinkers. Mrs. M.–––––’s jug is less about taunting and challenging those who examine it and more about representing the idea and question of its purpose and function.

It would be difficult to imagine nineteenth century pottery collectors and buyers attempting to use this jug in the way the originals were. To understand its purpose, we much look to the English Arts & Crafts Movement.

The unsealed base of the Puzzle Jug.

There was a huge push in the late nineteenth century for handmade objects that reflected back on a ‘simpler’ time in reaction against the growing mass-production practices of the era. The puzzle jug is a handcrafted object in conversation with the past, even though it might be a bold exaggeration of the original, and was appealing to collectors of the time.

The studio of Edward Bingham was well known for its unique handcrafted works. These included some original designs that were extremely popular as well as many revival pieces made based upon objects from antiquity and the Middle Ages.

The puzzle jug is a culmination and representation of the ideas of the late nineteenth century. Works like this were not meant to be used in the usual way originals were but were to be appreciated for what they represent.

The Orator Stove Tile and the Nineteenth Century Woman

The Orator Stove Tile is a lead-glazed earthenware ceramic stove tile made in sixteenth century Germany. Lead-glazed enameled tiles have been used for decorating central heating stoves and fireplaces in Germany and surrounding Northern countries for centuries. This popularity makes the tile, and others like it, easily identifiable.

German, Orator Stove Tile, sixteenth century. Chipstone Foundation.

The tile depicts a Greco-Roman relief figure in what appears to be an orator pose, a stance of authority and power. The orator is shown in a niche formed by columns and a scalloped lunette, suggestive of Neoclassical style. In comparison to other tiles from this time period and location, it is particularly austere in its detail.

Stove tiles like this were highly collectible in the nineteenth century. The act of collecting items from countries outside of North America was probably the most popular pastime for women around the turn of the twentieth century. Since the home was the traditional responsibility of women, women were responsible for decorating the home. Interior decorating and the details of homemaking were taking off. In fact, there were quite a few journals and magazines dedicated this topic. The Ladies’ Home Journal, Good Housekeeping, Arts and Decoration, The House Beautiful, and The Decorator and Furnisher are just a few of these publications. It could be that, as a collector of worldly curiosities, Mrs. M.––––– simply wished to have an item from Germany from that specific time period. Or, as heritage was something to be proud of, perhaps Mrs. M.––––– wished to acquire an item which represents part of her ancestry.

Mrs. M.–––––‘s collection, however, is far more complex than this. This tile would have been more than a decoration in her public space. She would want to revive it, so to speak, from a sixteenth century heating appliance to one appropriate to the nineteenth. In this exhibit, she will use it as a model for her own custom-made cast iron stove. After she completes her sketches to send to The Michigan Stove Company, she will most likely place it in her public space so all of her visitors will be able to appreciate it.

The Memory Jug and Spirituality

One of the objects on display is a Memory Jug, which is a late nineteenth- or early twentieth century African-American folk ceramic vase. Memory jugs are made by plastering found objects (such as buttons, shells, and coins) on top of a vessel, and then often covering them with metallic paint.

Memory Jug, nineteenth century. Chipstone Foundation.

These ceramics are just now being studied by scholars, and leading theories suggest that the jugs are a continuation of traditional grave decorations by the Bokongo culture. Mrs. M.–––––’s Memory Jug is particularly interesting because it combines both Bokongo and African-American traditions. The broken glass found on the jug relates to Bokongo burial rites, where the pieces are supposed to help the dead’s soul find its way to the afterlife. The jug also features a mummified chicken foot, which connects it to southern voodoo traditions, which is supposed to bring good luck and fortune to the owner.

Memory Jug (detail), nineteenth century. Chipstone Foundation.

The scholars at the Chipstone Foundation are excited to research the Memory Jug. They have worked with the Medical College of Wisconsin in order to get the vase x-rayed and CT-scanned. This imaging was able to show us objects and patterns in the memory jug that have been obscured by the layers of paint.

The Memory Jug, and accompanying x-rays, will first be displayed within Mrs. M.–––––’s office, allowing visitors to view the jug as she researches it. This first display will hopefully invite visitors to view the jug as researchers themselves, and try to spot the objects seen on the x-ray within the jug. The Memory Jug and x-rays will eventually be moved outside of the office and displayed under glass in the main room of Mrs. M.–––––’s Cabinet. This second display will allow visitors to view the jug up close and connect to the ceremonial aspect of the Bokongo tradition.

The Tyg and the Truth

The Tyg was made sometime between 1870 and 1890 by the potter Edward Bingham in Castle Hedingham, Essex, England. There is clay and dot-pattern slip trailing on the handles, which are meant to give the impression that the tyg came from Wrotham Pottery, in Kent, England in the seventeenth century. Wrotham was highly collectable during the nineteenth century. Bingham, seeing the demand for Wrotham Pottery, also covered the Tyg with a black substance to give it the appearance that it was made in the sixteenth century.

Tyg, 1870–90, by Edward Bingham. Chipstone Foundation.

The small figure at the front of this object is a reference to King Henry. A story often titled “King Henry and the Loving Cup” began circulating in the late nineteenth century. The story goes that King Henry was out hunting when he became thirsty. He stopped at an inn to get a drink.The servant girl was so nervous about serving the king she began to shake. As she approached the king with his cup she attempted to pass it to him, but her shaking caused her to spill on him. This ruined the king’s gloves. When the king returned from his hunting he ordered the royal potters to make a cup with multiple handles and sent to the inn.

Tyg (detail), 1870–90, by Edward Bingham. Chipstone Foundation.

The King Henry in the story could either be King Henry IV of Navarre (1553–1610) or King Henry V of England (1386–1422). These stories were not taken as historical fact during the nineteenth century; an advertisement found in Glass and Pottery World from 1896 recognizes that this style of cup was around longer than either king.

This story can be described as an etiology—an explanation to why something is the way it is, even if it is not true. The king sits on top of the tyg’s handle, saying, “My presence here creates truth.” The Tyg teaches us that etiologies are just as powerful as histories.

We encourage you to look closely at these objects in Mrs. M—’s Cabinet. Hopefully, it will start a conversation on how the history of ceramic collecting can open new windows onto multifaceted American narratives.

— Selena Erdman, April Bina, Kelsey Rozema, and Natachia Attewell, MA candidates at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee