In January 2024, the Italian Court ruled in favor of the Getty Museum over the issue of repatriating Jacapo Bassano’s The Miracle of the Quails. Initially, a lawsuit was filed in 2018 by the Italian Ministry of Culture against the Getty, arguing that the export documents for the painting were invalid.
Jacapo Bassano, The Miracle of the Quails (ca. 1554)
Over the past six years, numerous trials have taken place regarding the appraisal value, export rights, and private ownership claims over the Bassano painting. In the most recent court case, the Italian Upper Court ruled that the Getty purchase of the painting was in accordance with legal procedure and could remain in Los Angeles.
While this case does set a landmark precedent about the purchasing of art in relation to the rights of the country of origin, the entire premise of this case raises one fundamental question: Who does art belong to?
Museums are one of the biggest consumers of art in the modern world. On one hand, the museum space does provide a common entry point for people to access objects from cultures which would otherwise be unavailable to them. On the other hand, it is important to understand that the museum is a space built on a history of violence and cultural assimilation.
To elaborate, I point to the Louvre Museum in France. The Louvre was established in the early 1800s by Napoleon Bonaparte. In his conquests of Europe, Napoleon looted artwork from various countries, often taking pieces which recalled classical Greece or Rome and had overall heroic or victorious themes.
Napoleon understood the power of artistic narrative. By gathering pieces with similar themes and displaying them together, he intended to make a statement that Paris (or the French Empire) was to be the next Rome.
The assemblage of artworks in the Louvre meant the removal of art from its place of origin. It is this point that critics of the museum often cite when advocating for the repatriation of objects.
One of the most vocal critics of Napoleonic looting in the 1800s was Quatremere de Quincy. He looked specifically at the case of Italy, and argued that forcibly removing art effectively left holes in a state’s history and culture.
For instance, Napoleon specifically requested that Paolo Veronese’s Wedding Feast at Cana be brought to France from Italy. The painting depicts the biblical wedding scene where Jesus’ first miracle took place. The large scale and detail of the painting quantifies it as a masterpiece, and the architecture and dress of the figures cites classical antiquity. Given its classical themes and artistic merit, it fully conforms to Napoleon’s style of art he wished to display in the Louvre.
Paolo Veronese, The Wedding Feast at Cana (ca. 1562-1563)
De Quincy uses this particular piece as an example of a gap created in the Italian repertoire of painting. He argues that by removing the painting from its original location in the San Giorgio Maggiore monastery, the religious context of the art is diminished, and the Italian oeuvre of painting is lessened because it has lost a cultural object.
This logic provokes a further question: Does cultural context demand that an artwork be located in its place of origin?
If Michelangelo’s frescoes in the Sistine Chapel were removed and placed as ceiling decor in the White House, there would be an uproar because we know that the intent behind the frescoes was not meant to be displayed in America. Why should this logic not carry through with all the pieces in a museum?
Cultural belonging implies that there is a greater context to a work of art than the piece itself. If artworks are meant to be in dialogue with their natural environment, then forcibly extracting them from their origins negates a substantial part of the artistic narrative. This is precisely what happens in the structure of a museum.
I do not deny that there is a powerful argument in favor of museums: they make different cultures more accessible. There are great educational benefits of museums, which James Cuno argues is the most important lens through which to understand the museum space.
Cuno articulates his theory of a “world culture,” in that the beauty of art should transcend the physical boundaries between countries and be available for all people to appreciate. In short, Cuno negates the importance of the physical placement of an artwork, stating that an appreciation of its existence in the first place should be enough.
While Cuno does have a point, I want to articulate that the movement of an artwork to one particular place means its absence in another. The idea of having art accessible to a broad audience is a nice theory, but the singularity of objects is what prevents “everyone” from constantly having access to an object.
For instance, a Senegalese mask hanging in the Louvre acquired during the French colonization of North Africa may make African culture more available to Europeans, but what about the people in Senegal whose ancestor’s hands went into making that mask? They cannot access their own art as easily as one who lives in Paris, and even then, the interaction with the mask will be purely spectatorial. It doesn't matter that the mask originated in Senegal. Any viewer loses a tactile relationship with the piece.
This is part of the violence of the museum. A forced collection of cultures in one small space negates a world’s history. A museum is a patchwork of history. It is small bits of information from different places and times juxtaposed with one another. While there is an attempt at narrative in the setup of exhibitions and galleries, it is impossible to include a detailed history of a people or place in a single exhibition.
Thus, the roles of the objects are twofold in a museum: they must exist together and independently. It is a man-made attempt at creating a history too large for any individual to define.
It is for this reason that I argue in favor of museum repatriation. No cultural context or history is more rich than the place of origin of a work of art. If a painting was made at a particular time and meant to exist in a particular space in the world, we have no right to remove it.
Part 2:
The style of this piece is an op-ed, and I chose this genre because it allows for a blend of subject specificity and personal commentary. Initially, I had planned to write this piece as an academic article; however, the audience for an academic article is more narrow, and I wanted the ability to discuss the cultural significance of museums with the broad public. The reasoning behind this change is that in making a cultural argument, people directly involved in shaping culture should be aware of this topic, and that means a more generalized audience is necessary to engage with this material.
Traditionally, an op-ed is focused on a specific topic and makes an argument within the confines of one premise. In this sense, an op-ed can be classified as a more argumentative style of writing aimed to persuade the general public about a current issue or topic. The op-ed tends to advocate for a subject to be viewed through one particular lens. This is both a function of its style as an argumentative piece and also a byproduct of its length. Op-eds tend to fall within the 800-1000 word range, and the paragraphs are usually smaller and less dense than those found in an essay-like piece of writing.
In my op-ed, I attempt to adhere to the length and style by focusing on the main issue of museum repatriation. To begin, I open with a reference to the Italian Court case about the Bassano painting, which was resolved in January of this year. Given the relevance of this case in its recency and precedent-setting nature, it provided the kind of cultural moment to introduce the issue of museum repatriation. The length of the paragraphs are relatively short and concise, as per the nature of an op-ed. Where my piece differed slightly is in the historical background necessary to advance my argument. The idea of the museum as a space built on the forced removal of objects dates back to the era of Napoleonic conquests, and retracing this history is necessary to highlight the issue of cultural belonging and violence. Because of this necessary exposition, my op-ed is slightly longer than a traditional piece, as it takes more exposition than typically required to arrive at the main argument.
In structuring my op-ed to include a historical background, modern reference, and broadly cultural argument, I address a broad audience because my main focus is on the cultural ramifications of forcibly removed artworks. I did not want to limit the audience to a more art-history based group, as the artworks themselves are not necessarily the main topic, but rather the meaning behind them. Culture belongs to everyone, and because of this, the focus of the piece needs to be openly accessible. In this regard, the genre of an op-ed does tend to address a general audience, even though the topic may be specific. The point is to advance an argument which is relatable, specific, and clear, which was the aim of the above piece as well.
In summary, the op-ed is a convenient way to advance a specific argument with clarity due to the length of the piece. Brevity is key in an op-ed, as well as a linear logic to advance the argument clearly. Because of the concise nature of this writing, I was unable to address several topics, such as the effect of the colonizer mentality on the current movement of artworks, or the side of international law on the issues of cultural property and rights. However, I still find this style of writing a useful way of introducing the foundational argument which could later branch off into the topics listed above, as an understanding of museum history and cultural belonging is a necessary baseline to understand further legal and case-specific arguments.