Touched …

When used as a verb ‘touch’ can mean ‘to influence emotionally’, ‘to put your hand on something’, or ‘to damage something’. To ‘touch’ has all these meanings in a museum or in an art gallery.

Increasingly, there is an emphasis on art and objects displayed in museums being ‘more accessible and relevant’. Nina Simon (activist, curator and recent museum director) has written two books on the way museums can be more open, inclusive and effective cultural institutions: ‘The Participatory Museum’ (2010) and ‘The Art of Relevance’ (2016). These ideas have been embraced by museums around the world and visitors now expect to be more involved in exhibitions. Historical museum collections are being re-vitalised by the incorporation of disparate and contemporary objects to create a dialogue around ideas of form, function and representation; specialist designers and design studios are recruited for the staging of exhibitions; and creatives increasingly present works that encourage audience interaction. From largely visual experiences, touch is being incorporated in museums to unite our internal and external worlds.

As the earliest human sense to develop in utero, the urge to touch is an essential part of our physical and emotional development and plays a critical role in our daily interactions with the world. When we touch an object, sensory information not only helps us learn about the world but provides us with a sense of pleasure and satisfaction. Neuroscience has demonstrated that touching releases the neurotransmitters cortisol and oxytocin which are responsible for both stress reduction and an increased desire for closeness and bonding. As a result, touching connects us more meaningfully with things and also increases our sense of ‘ownership’ over them. Perhaps this is why museums have embraced ‘touch’ as part of the audience experience.

Our connection with touching is also reflected in the position and gestures of hands in art which can help audiences decode the meaning of an object. From the mudras in Buddhist sculptures to the ‘unnatural’ and symbolic gestures in Renaissance paintings (see: ‘secret hand gestures in paintings’ by Lazzeri et al. at www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC7233791/), touching has its own iconography.

Filmmaker and artist, Peter Greenaway, undertook a cinematic ‘deconstruction’ of Leonardo da Vinci’s ‘The Last Supper’ where the positions of the hands in the painting provide a perceptive reading of the relationships and roles of the participants in the painting (see a short preview at: www.youtube.com/watch?v=CFTs_6C919g).

‘Touching’ is a complicated action and there are many limitations and taboos on when, where and how this is permissible and appropriate. Social touch is not uniform across gender, age and culture. One example in art is Jan Steen’s genre painting from c.1661-5 ‘Interior’ where the position of the hands provides both a whimsical and moral reading of contemporary Dutch society. On the left of the picture, the dejected and drunken husband (with drooping hand and probable other drooping appendage) stokes the dying embers of his marriage, as his wife is fondled by a virile ‘hunter’ while both cradling her baby and preparing for its comfort, before she will avail herself of her own comfort in the fourposter bed behind her. Meanwhile, the publican artist (Jan Steen himself) raises his hands in mirth at the follies of marital life. Dutch genre art was frequently associated with proverbs and the local ‘marry in haste, repent at leisure’, would be appropriate.

Last century there was a spate of activism-motivated ‘touching’ in museums. In early 1914, Mary Richardson slashed the Rokeby Venus by Velasquez in the National Gallery in London. A few months later, Anne Hunt took a hatchet to a portrait of Thomas Carlyle by John Everett Millais in the National Portrait Gallery in London. Both women were suffragettes protesting about the arrests of fellow activists. As a result, women were banned from entering galleries and, when allowed back, instructed to leave their bags and muffs in cloakrooms before entering.

Recently, there has been a recurrence of these ‘determined touchings’ with protesters around the world gluing themselves to the frames and glass covering artworks. From a Picasso at the National Gallery in Melbourne, to a Botticelli in Italy, a Raphael in Germany, a Vermeer in The Hague, and to both a van Gogh and a Constable in London, climate change and extinction rebellion activists have used ‘art as a platform’ to demand governments stop supporting the fossil fuel industry. These paintings are not chosen at random but, for example, in the case of Picasso’s ‘Massacre in Korea’, warn of the potential of war and famine that will result from global warming. Or, with Botticelli’s ‘Primavera’, the mourning of the biodiversity we are at risk of losing. While the protesters are clear in their intention not to damage the artworks, so far they seem to have alienated the public rather than successfully used this platform to advance their cause.

Touching things in museums can be a problem, especially if the objects are delicate or valuable. Many museums have rules and guidelines that prohibit visitors from touching the exhibits, as even a small amount of contact can cause damage or wear and tear over time.  Some objects in museums are also sensitive to oils and dirt from human skin, which can cause long-term damage. However, it can be difficult to determine which things can and can’t be touched. Currently, there are two objects on display at the National Gallery of Victoria which, despite their shiny, reflective and alluring surfaces, should not be touched. Both Alicja Kwade’s ‘WeltenLinie’ and Timo Nasseri’s ‘Epistrophy’ carry enough fingerprints to keep forensic investigators busy for years.

In addition, touching the exhibits can create a safety risk, both for the visitors and the objects, as accidents can happen even with the best of intentions. There are numerous examples of art being damaged by careless, clumsy, inebriated or inattentive visitors (particularly taking selfies). Qing dynasty and Minoan era vases have been smashed; Picasso, Porpora, and Warhol paintings have been accidentally punched or torn; a Cy Twombly sculpture dismantled, to name a few.

This post came about after receiving an ‘art news flash’ on the weekend. During a VIP preview of a current art fair in Miami, a woman tapped on a small Jeff Koon’s ceramic ‘balloon dog’ sculpture apparently to see if it was a real balloon. The sculpture fell over, toppled off its plinth and dropped to the floor shattering into shards. This limited-edition blue balloon dog was priced at 61,000 AUD and the cost will be covered by insurance. According to the gallerist who was showing the sculpture, there is collector interest in buying ‘this unique version’ of the Koons work.

A final and informal meaning of ‘touched’ is slightly mad or crazy. Clearly some art collectors are ‘touched’!