Read Online Mr. Wilson's Cabinet of Wonder by Lawrence Weschler - Free Book Online
Authors: Lawrence Weschler
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of this could possibly be true). And itâs that very shimmer, the capacity for such delicious confusion, Wilson sometimes seems to suggest, that may constitute the most blessedly wonderful thing about being human.
I RECENTLY HAD OCCASION to raise this point with John Walsh, the director of the Getty Museum and another fan of the MJT. We were talking about
Wunderkammern
and some of the museumâs other antecedents. âMost of the institutional-historical allusions at Wilsonâs museum turn out to be true,â Walsh told me. âThere
was
a Musaeum Tradescantianum and a John Tradescantâin fact two of them, an Elder and a Youngerâwho during the 1600s built up a famously eclectic cabinet known as âThe Arkâ in Lambeth on the South Bank, in London, most ofthe contents of which devolved to Elias Ashmole, who expanded upon them and then donated the whole collection to Oxford University, where it became the basis for the Ashmolean. There was a Swammerdam in Holland, and there was an Ole Worm with his Museum Wormianum in Copenhagen; and Charles Willson Peale did have his museum in Philadelphia, to which Benjamin Franklin donated the carcass of his angora cat and where you could also see the huge skeleton of a recently unearthed mastodon, and mechanical devices like the Eidophusikon, which showed primitive movies.
âEver since the late Renaissance,â Walsh continued, âthese sorts of collections got referred to as
Kunst- und Wunderkammern.
Technically, the term describes a collection of a type thatâs pretty much disappeared todayâwith the exception, perhaps, of the Jurassicâwhere natural wonders were displayed alongside works of art and various man-made feats of ingenuity. Itâs only much later, in the nineteenth century, that you see the breakup into separate art, natural history, and technology museums. But in the earlier collections, you had the wonders of God spread out there cheek-by-jowl with the wonders of man, both presented as aspects of the same thing, which is to say, the Wonder of God.â
I asked Walsh about some of the relics and bizarre curiosa that used to make it into those collections right alongside the legitimate stuff: the hair from the beard of Noah, the plank from the Ark, the womenâs horns. I mentioned how I always figured some of those early museum men must have been being ironical in including them.
âWell,â Walsh said, âthereâs a whole big side industry in twentieth-century criticism that consists primarily in the imputing of irony to prior ages. But no, no, I donât think they were being ironical at all. They were in dead earnest.â
I WAS TALKING with David in the back room of the museum one afternoon on one of my most recent visits out to L.A. It was a weekday and the museum was closed, and heâd been showing me slides of some utterly unknown, never previously shown paintings by a complete recluse who, he told me, was suffering the ravages of multiple sclerosisâprotean, fantastical vistas of astonishing intricacy. He was thinking about giving them an exhibition. Our conversation turned to Sandaldjian. Free-associating, I mentioned the Talmudic story of the Thirty-six Just Menâhow at any given moment there are thirty-six ethically just men in the world, unknown perhaps even to themselves, but for whose sake God desists from utterly destroying the shambles we have made of His creation. Maybe, I suggested, there are thirty-six
aesthetically
just men, as well.
David looked at me, authentically noncomprehending. âI donât understand the difference,â he said.
He was quiet a few moments, and once again the ironylessness seemed momentarily to crack. âYou know, certain aspects of this museum you can peel away very easily, but the reality behind, once you peel away those relatively easy layers, is more amazing still than anything those initial layers purport to be.The first
I RECENTLY HAD OCCASION to raise this point with John Walsh, the director of the Getty Museum and another fan of the MJT. We were talking about
Wunderkammern
and some of the museumâs other antecedents. âMost of the institutional-historical allusions at Wilsonâs museum turn out to be true,â Walsh told me. âThere
was
a Musaeum Tradescantianum and a John Tradescantâin fact two of them, an Elder and a Youngerâwho during the 1600s built up a famously eclectic cabinet known as âThe Arkâ in Lambeth on the South Bank, in London, most ofthe contents of which devolved to Elias Ashmole, who expanded upon them and then donated the whole collection to Oxford University, where it became the basis for the Ashmolean. There was a Swammerdam in Holland, and there was an Ole Worm with his Museum Wormianum in Copenhagen; and Charles Willson Peale did have his museum in Philadelphia, to which Benjamin Franklin donated the carcass of his angora cat and where you could also see the huge skeleton of a recently unearthed mastodon, and mechanical devices like the Eidophusikon, which showed primitive movies.
âEver since the late Renaissance,â Walsh continued, âthese sorts of collections got referred to as
Kunst- und Wunderkammern.
Technically, the term describes a collection of a type thatâs pretty much disappeared todayâwith the exception, perhaps, of the Jurassicâwhere natural wonders were displayed alongside works of art and various man-made feats of ingenuity. Itâs only much later, in the nineteenth century, that you see the breakup into separate art, natural history, and technology museums. But in the earlier collections, you had the wonders of God spread out there cheek-by-jowl with the wonders of man, both presented as aspects of the same thing, which is to say, the Wonder of God.â
I asked Walsh about some of the relics and bizarre curiosa that used to make it into those collections right alongside the legitimate stuff: the hair from the beard of Noah, the plank from the Ark, the womenâs horns. I mentioned how I always figured some of those early museum men must have been being ironical in including them.
âWell,â Walsh said, âthereâs a whole big side industry in twentieth-century criticism that consists primarily in the imputing of irony to prior ages. But no, no, I donât think they were being ironical at all. They were in dead earnest.â
I WAS TALKING with David in the back room of the museum one afternoon on one of my most recent visits out to L.A. It was a weekday and the museum was closed, and heâd been showing me slides of some utterly unknown, never previously shown paintings by a complete recluse who, he told me, was suffering the ravages of multiple sclerosisâprotean, fantastical vistas of astonishing intricacy. He was thinking about giving them an exhibition. Our conversation turned to Sandaldjian. Free-associating, I mentioned the Talmudic story of the Thirty-six Just Menâhow at any given moment there are thirty-six ethically just men in the world, unknown perhaps even to themselves, but for whose sake God desists from utterly destroying the shambles we have made of His creation. Maybe, I suggested, there are thirty-six
aesthetically
just men, as well.
David looked at me, authentically noncomprehending. âI donât understand the difference,â he said.
He was quiet a few moments, and once again the ironylessness seemed momentarily to crack. âYou know, certain aspects of this museum you can peel away very easily, but the reality behind, once you peel away those relatively easy layers, is more amazing still than anything those initial layers purport to be.The first
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