Undergraduate Work

Ryan Lewis, 14 December 2017

The photograph of the bombed mihrab created a mystery that took multiple people to solve, and it took several weeks before we arrived at what we believe to be the most logical answer to the riddles it posed. The mystery began with the hand-written label on the photograph itself. The label claims the picture was taken in the “Hamidra Quarter” that was destroyed by a French bombardment in 1924. Immediately after finding the photograph I tried to figure out where the site was located within the country of Syria, but no research I did was able to even identify “Hamidra” as a place.

After some failed research I reached out to a friend from Syria to see if she knew anything about it. I asked if she had heard of the place, or had any idea where it would be located and luckily, the name was familiar to her. She told me that it was in Damascus, but it was only a place that she had heard about; she had never been there. I asked why it was only a place people hear about but do not visit, and she suggested that this might be because it was a place associated with elite or very wealthy individuals. She said it seems to have been a secret chambers place that only people with relatively high power could access, and that maybe this was why my research could not find anything on it. She compared it to Area 51 in the United States, suggesting that this was something that people know about, though it is still considered secret or sensitive.

I thought that this information had finally helped to solve the mystery, though it still seemed odd that there was nothing online about a “Hamidra Quarter.” Professor Fozi also found it odd that none of the research had led to any information. She was able to discuss the topic with a few colleagues who specialize in studying the Ottoman Empire and they had also not heard of it, which was unfortunate and very strange to hear. She then did more research on the Great

Syrian Revolt and soon discovered that there was a Hamidiyya neighborhood that had been bombed by the French in 1925. The neighborhood is also spelled Hamidiyah, and sometimes referred to as al-Hamidiyah Souq. It seems like the original handwritten label had most likely misinterpreted this name, and mistakenly recorded the photograph with a misspelling and the wrong year for the bombardment. Since this neighborhood was in the Old City of Damascus, it makes sense that my friend would have associated it with the elites of the city, and given the great tragedy of the bombing that led to so much destruction in the 1920s, it is also understandable that she would think of it as a kind of a secret: it was probably a topic that older members of the Syrian community would have avoided out of a sense of loss.

After going through multiple attempts at research and speaking to those close to the subject, it appears we have come to the best solution in solving the mystery. The challenge of properly identifying what the label on the photograph meant helped shine, even more, light onto how cultures and histories can easily be forgotten through a simple mistranslation. That is why the archives of the Nationality Rooms are an essential part of the University and why research opportunities like this exhibition are important: preserving and exhibiting information becomes a way to ensure cultures and histories do not get lost.

The photograph of the bombed mihrab was originally picked to be a part of the “Culture, Conflict, and Cohesion” section of the exhibition because it fit the theme of conflict and the need to preserve culture. It was eventually installed together with the materials from the “Sacred Space for the Spiritual and the Scholarly” section, however, because it also fit in well with those materials. This also had the added benefit of presenting the bombed mihrab with other objects from the Syria-Lebanon Room, which helped to create a more powerful message.

Raka Sarkar, 10 December 2017

The garments that people choose to wear each day symbolize many things: personal taste, social attitudes of the day, or the wealth and prestige of the wearer. Because clothing can be so heavily loaded with cultural relevance, it comes as no surprise that many garments worked their way into our exhibition. The fact that these objects have been donated to the Nationality Rooms shows a conscious awareness about how cultural identity is ingrained into the fibers of their cloth. The Yugoslav Child’s Jacket, the Slovenian Wedding Bonnet, and the Japanese kimono were all presented in our show as objects that carry historical significance. Their fine craftsmanship can give some hints as to how important clothing and costume was to the Slavic and Japanese people that owned them almost a century ago.

When thinking of finery today, “fancy clothing” often carries associations of bespoke suits and red-carpet fashion. In an almost refreshing fashion, the Yugoslav Child’s Jacket gives an idea of what a child could have worn in the past. The intricate red embroidery shows a great deal of technical skill, and the adorable silver buttons add a nice, intimate touch. Though our class has speculated about whether the color and patterns bear any significance, the depth of research that would shed light on this question was beyond the scope of our exhibition – which had to be planned and installed within just eight weeks. One thing that remains certain, however, is that this garment suggests a sense of pride in traditional Slavic costumes.

The Slovenian Wedding Bonnet is another magnificent example of fine clothing from twentieth-century Central Europe. Donated by the lady-in-waiting of the queen’s mother, its rich ornamentation reveals its noble origins. The delicate lace over the crown, the sequins and gold thread, the velvet brim, and the floral silk ribbon are all extremely opulent materials. This speaks to not only the aesthetic tastes of its culture of origin, but also the wealth of the commissioner who procured rich materials like velvet and silk, and the skill of the craftsperson who combined these objects to create the delicate floral embroidery of sequins and gold silk.

In Japan, the word kimono is an amalgamation of two words, ki, from kiru, “to wear,” and mono, “thing.” In short, the kimono is “that which is worn,” or “clothing.” Kimono was the standard dress of the Japanese people until the Meiji government proposed a rapid Westernization of the country and Western clothing came into fashion. This splendid green and black kimono, dating to either the late Taishō or early Shōwa era, in the 1920s, with its geometric spots offset with wave motifs, is an example of how artistic trends can influence textile design. Art Nouveau and Art Deco came into vogue at this time, and the juxtaposition of swirling waves, geometric cutaways, and interposed dots seems indicative of these movements. At the time, the importation of Western fashion worldwide led to the rise of modern girls, like American flappers, who chose skirts and trousers over traditional wear. However, despite the fears of the past that the art of the kimono would disappear, and despite the fact that it is seldom worn today, quintessential “Japanese-ness” is still heavily associated with the kimono. The inclusion of it in our show displays that it was consciously donated to the Rooms by the Japanese Room Committee, and we are glad that we can appreciate it as a piece of both history and culture today.

These objects showcase the technical skill and aesthetic tastes of the societies that produced them, but looking at them, it is also clear to see how much pride cultures have taken in clothing over the years. The fact that we can examine these today and understand them to be emblematic of traditions stretching back into the past provides an amazing perspective to us, viewing them now, as they are garments still worn today, in such beautiful condition that they almost beckon viewers to don them properly.

Zoe Creamer, 21 November 2017

Giving a gallery talk for the Chinese Nationality Room Committee seemed like a big undertaking. How was  I, as an undergraduate student, supposed to sound relatively knowledgeable on a subject that these women have been closely engaged with for years, or maybe even decades? At the same time, however, this specific audience was also a perfect opportunity for me, because I had written the loan request and the labels for  the newspaper clippings regarding fundraising for the Chinese Room that are in the exhibition.  I knew I wanted to talk to the women who keep this particular Room running smoothly. As I learned from the newspaper clippings, it was no small feat to raise sufficient funds to build the Chinese Room back in the 1930s. I did not want to miss the chance to speak with the people who are in charge of the Room today, and to learn more about its history from them. Although the class has been developing  gallery talks, these are not scheduled to be offered regularly until after Thanksgiving break—this meant that the students conducting this special tour, myself included, were a bit on our own in generating the content of the tour. This was not a problem, however, as all four of us had interest in the Chinese Room. We decided to give a talk based mainly on Chinese objects, while also paying attention to the broader themes of the exhibition. 

Before I knew it, Tuesday the twenty-first rolled around—it was tour time! Three members of the Chinese Nationality Room Committee, including the chair, came to the University Art Gallery. It was truly an amazing experience because I found myself learning so much more about the exhibit than I thought possible. Prior to giving this tour, I thought it would be primarily a student-based lecture that lasted a short time, but contrary to my assumptions, the experience was very dynamic and interactive. We learned from the committee members that certain objects, like the Hu vase and the ceremonial keys, had never been shown in person before, not even to them. This made me realize the importance of our exhibition, first and foremost, for giving these objects the long-awaited visibility on campus and in the community that they deserve. Apparently, according to the chair, there is another Hu vase in the University’s possession, which confounded all of us giving the tour. We all spent a few minutes wondering aloud where this second vase might be kept, and speculating on the possibility of displaying both vases together again—the chair told us that they were both on the windowsill of the Chinese Room originally, on either side of a window. When we walked to the side gallery, all seven of us closely examined Andrey Avinoff’s watercolor depicting the Chinese room. Due to the work’s frame of reference, a second vase is not visible, but the possibility is not eliminated, which added a further layer of mystery to the whereabouts of a second Hu vase. 

The ceremonial keys were surprising to the committee members because they had never seen any of the keys in person before, let alone the Chinese Room key. The women told us that there were only a small number  of keys—about ten—and that many of them had been lost. This idea astounded me—how were these small but unique objects allowed to be lost?—but also led me to wonder about the storage of these artifacts in general. Why are these items hidden away in storage in the first place instead of being housed in a permanent exhibition, and why do they seem so veiled in secrecy? If even the members of a Nationality Room committee had not seen these objects in person prior to this exhibition, it seems likely that many more artifacts are waiting to be discovered and put on display. 

This also made me think about whether the Nationality Rooms will ever be allowed to change. The committee members expressed their wish that the Chinese Room had a display case, because then the valuable but fragile Hu vase could be installed as a part of the Room, but the Rooms may not be altered after their construction. I wonder if other committees have proposed such changes to the Rooms, and whether such a change in policy will ever happen. For now, I am hopeful that our exhibition will inspire future classes and curators to take an interest in the many artifacts the Nationality Rooms have to offer, as well as fostering even greater interest in the Rooms among the Pittsburgh community.

Ilana McAfoos, 9 December 2017

Standing in the gallery at the closing reception, I was struck by how fast this whole process has felt. Having never put together or even been a part of a gallery exhibition before, I had no idea what to expect. I also had no idea of the amount of stress, time and pride that goes into a project like this one, but I truly couldn’t be prouder of what we accomplished.

Over the past semester, my classmates and I have worked tirelessly to piece together the Narratives of the Nationality Rooms exhibition quite literally object by object and word for word. The entire process was incredibly rewarding; we were responsible for picking out all the objects, digging through the boxes of archival materials, putting together the stories behind all of these objects, and finally bringing all of the pieces into the gallery. Despite the amount of work put into all aspects of the exhibit, the most exciting and memorable part would be the art handling and installation itself.

I had the incredible opportunity to help build and create the displays for the dedication keys from six of the Nationality Rooms. The art handlers taught a few of us how to build boxes and wall mounts, cover and pin them, and physically handle and hang them in the wall vitrines. Standing in front of the finished vitrine, I remember a huge smile crossing my face; not only had I been part of creating the display, but it was the first moment where the exhibit finally came together as a whole for me. No longer was it just a collection of individual artifacts or objects; the pieces were suddenly telling a cohesive story to the audience; a story we had the privilege of telling. 

It’s sad to see this exhibit come down after just four weeks in the University Art Gallery, but I am incredibly grateful for the opportunity this class and the exhibition provided, and I hope our visitors enjoyed the experience and learned from it; I certainly did.

Dr. Proctor’s illuminative words on the inherent difficulties of the African Heritage Room 

Abby Brady, 6 December 2017
 

Over the course of the semester, I have focused on objects and documents from the archives of the African Heritage Room. I chose a letter from art historian Rosalind Jeffries addressed to Professor Laurence Glasco of the University of Pittsburgh History Department. The letter outlines the broad goals of committee members to represent a boundless and collective African identity. What struck me most about this letter was the comprehensive research and conscious effort to showcase an archetypal African self—one that extends beyond borders of country and continent. Looming over me, however, was the understanding that there were many difficulties inherent in the formation of the only Room representing an entire continent, rather than an individual country. 

Just before Thanksgiving, our class had a special meeting with Dr. Ralph Proctor, Professor of Ethnic and Diversity Studies at the Community College of Allegheny County (CCAC). I was intrigued by this opportunity because I knew he was going to confront the blatant issues that developed in the planning of the African Heritage Room. Dr. Proctor began the discussion detailing personal stories from his time as a Pitt student and professor. Although today Pittsburgh is often thought of a progressive and diverse city, the University itself did not become truly inclusive of women and minorities until they were pushed to do so during sit-ins in the 1970s. The short glimpses into Pitt’s history helped introduce students to the environment in which talks of the creation of an African Heritage Room developed. Dr. Proctor was a member of the original committee, but could not bring himself to support a plan that aimed to represent the 52 distinct countries in Africa in a single space. In addition, he was worried that the concept would insult various ethnic groups that would not be able to relate to the space that was so ambitiously curated. 

Through humor, Dr. Proctor expanded on concerns he had during his time as a committee member, and after the fact, when he was consulted for his expertise in the area of Africa and African art. Whether it was the lack of wood, the overly specific design, or the fact that the space did not represent the African American community of Pittsburgh, Dr. Proctor lamented problems that could have been avoided if there were highly qualified historians and scholars involved during the planning process, or if the African Heritage Room were divided into spaces dedicated to individual countries. However, his explanation of the problematic use of the words ‘art’ and ‘artifact’ in relation to African objects stuck out to me the most. Through a Western lens, ignorance and misunderstanding often take over when dealing with African objects. While Dr. Proctor offered funny stories about having to explain to experts in the field of African studies that their artwork was hanging upside down, I think it is valuable to reflect on how this blurry lens impacted the resulting African Heritage Room. 

After spending the semester investigating archival material and learning more about the formation of the African Heritage Room, I think the flaws that have been addressed and recognized are what make this Room an important place of contemplation and learning. I believe that other planning groups have faced similar difficulties in how to best represent the essence of a country, but because the African Heritage Room is intended to sufficiently exemplify an entire continent, as well as a difficult history of enslavement and trans-Atlantic diaspora, the issues are

amplified and particularly prone to criticism. The invaluable opportunity to hear Dr. Proctor speak about his experience with the Nationality Rooms enhanced my knowledge of a space that I had previously only understood through documents and artifacts that I had encountered on my own. His playful banter and engaging storytelling abilities encouraged me to further contemplate the identities, culture, art, and history brought to life in the African Heritage Room.