We were in Ankeny, just north of Des Moines on the way home. Sitting next to the bar in an Outback, staring down a horribly desiccated ribeye, a heated conversation seemed to be progressing about sports teams in the Twin Cities. An older gentlemen opined, “Minneapolis is a fine city, one of the best I’ve ever been in.” A younger kid, who looked fresh off the farm in his tractor hat said: “I went to college in St. Paul, but I never saw much of anything. I pretty much stuck close to my dorm room.”
That’s always been a fear about going to grad school here—when will we be able to see stuff? It turns out that it really isn’t that big of a problem if you just get off your ass. On the other hand, there is just so much to see and do that it seems impossible to cover it all. We hit a new spot yesterday: The American Swedish Institute.
I was motivated by the notice of Stefan Peterson’s photographs. It seemed like a good reason to go. While the show didn’t excite me much, the museum made me think about other issues.
Strolling up, there was a large banner about an exhibition of gowns worn by royalty. Not necessarily my cup of tea, but oh well. Walking around the corner, there was the prerequisite Minnesota landmark:
Because of the concealed carry laws, such signs are necessary. But what really irritated me was the big sign that I didn’t photograph next to the desk where you pay your $6 to be admitted: Photography Prohibited. While this is the norm at most museums displaying visual art, this is more of a cultural museum. One glowing exception that we found on our trip was the Norton Simon museum in California which sanctions photography for non commercial use, a move that really seemed to increase the level of excitement among the patrons. People loved to photograph themselves next to the Degas and Rodin sculptures as if to say “I was here.”
But I digress. We walked up and down the stairs through three floors of gowns and fine porcelain fireplaces, across the shadowboxes filled with Swedish-American pride, and saw no pictures save a handful of thematic paintings and etchings. It was mostly fine furniture, and if you’re into that sort of thing I highly recommended it. We were just about ready to leave when I remembered that they said the museum/castle was four floors. Ah, of course: the photography is in the basement.
The show was small, but mildly interesting. Once again, the artist’s statement and overly obvious captions tended to erode the experience for me. Nice work, but not earth shattering—except for its bigotry. There were some very condescending things said about analog v. digital photography, and how he sees the universe as “gritty and grainy” preferring to leave the more “happy” look of color to other people. As a long time analog guy, this sort of thing still strikes me as idiotic. It would be as if the photographers of the American depression had insisted on tintypes because they were somehow truer to the experience of history. Hogwash.
Just the same, I’m interested in seeing more of his work so I ordered his Café Press book. I think people documenting local histories always deserve the benefit of the doubt, regardless of their pretensions. I was not impressed by any sort of visual quality to his work, but rather simply interested in seeing things that I have not seen before. That, I think, is the true power of photography as a medium—I couldn’t care less about his “vision.” I want to know about his world.
Taking pictures, I think, is a key way of learning about the world and to prohibit it in venues which purport to show us more about the world is simply criminal. It isn’t about protecting “intellectual property” (how much of a market is there for photographs of old gowns taken by snapshooters?). It’s just about exercising control where control is illusory and superfluous.
I did enjoy this bit of subversion though, in the basement by the photo exhibit:
