The National Museum of Australia was, frankly, underwhelming. I’ve never been to Te Papa but sure as hell hope it’s better than this. Call me old-fashioned, but there just wasn’t enough “stuff”. I like lots of “things” in my museums. This one offered instead lots of very tasteful space and a very defined story, reinforced in a revolving theatre multimedia presentation at the start of your tour.
While many museums allow you to go left, right or straight ahead on a whim, the National Museum in Canberra is a bit like an airline terminal. Your way through is predefined to a significant degree.
Contrast that with the museum here in Sydney, an example of the worst of 19th century museumship, which is hard to navigate with crusty old cabinets full of stuff that’s not really all that interesting, and you might come away with a favourable impression. But contrast it again with the Auckland War Memorial Museum and you won’t.
The more I visit galleries and museums overseas, the more I appreciate our War Memorial on the hill. The latest revamp up there really is a treat, opting as it did to stick with traditional museum metaphors (lots of stuff, sorry, taonga. Yay!), and yet still offering huge, light, elegant, gracious galleries.
We simply don’t appreciate how good it is. In comparison Australia's National Museum is about as authentic as Lake Burley Griffin outside.
On that note there is one wonderful carving there that last time I looked was hidden away in an obscure cabinet but really should be the first thing you see when you enter the museum. Go through the Polynesian gallery on your right as you enter. Turn left and go straight ahead to the Kaitaia Carving. To your immediate left is a cabinet and in it is (or was) a carving of the Madonna and Child.
This wonderful piece was carved in high Maori style by an early convert to Christianity and given as a gift to a missionary. The missionary, so the story goes, thought it sacrilegious. Mary and baby Jesus are covered in swirling tattoos. It really is a poignant masterpiece that says so much about the early meeting of Maori and Pakeha. It is, in my view, just as important as the Kaitaia carving and should be in its own cabinet in the middle of the main entrance hall.
Anyway, on to the National Gallery of Australia. The building is a huge concrete thing, but very well done. It’s as if in trying for really something special the museum across the water has failed while the art gallery works through being simply functional.
It is definitely a step up. I saw for sure my first Mark Rothko (Latvia 1903) and maybe my first Jackson Pollock (Blue Poles No 11, click on American Art link and then thumbnails). Both stop you in your tracks.
The Australian collection is equally good. The best I’ve seen, and considering the quality of the collections at the Art Gallery of NSW and the National Gallery of Victoria that’s quite a compliment. Some powerful old Arthur Streetons, who I’ve probably appreciated too little, Nolan’s soldier, Dobells, Boyds – all the usual suspects were out in force with a wide range of challengers and pretenders.
It would have been nice to have seen a McCahon, preferably the controversial 1979 gift to the gallery Victory over Death II (“I AM”), but hey, you can’t have everything.
I probably spent a bit too long at the National Gallery and cut myself short at the War Memorial, which was a shame because it has LOTS OF STUFF! Even better, stuff that goes BANG and BOOM! This place will bring out the kid in you.
In particular they have kept all the original early 20th century dioramas of WWI battles by official historian Charles Bean. They go from Gallipoli, through the deserts of Palestine and on to France. Some of these are huge, twenty of thirty feet wide and ten feet deep and fantastically detailed.
All around there are relics of the battles and reminders of the enormous toll taken. Also a good collection of warplanes of WWII vintage and Korea as well. The place doesn’t look big enough for all this from the outside. There’s some sort of Tardis effect going on here, I’m sure.
While I might quibble that the NZ connection was underdone and Chunuk Bair barely mentioned, this isn’t our memorial, right? And I for one never realized until last weekend that the bloody Aussie battle at Lone Pine was a diversion to help us get up that hill in the first place.
I guess we all fail to give credit where it’s due. Twice as many Brits died at Gallipoli as Anzacs, for instance. More French died than Anzacs. As for the Turks ….
With considerable trepidation, I headed off home to survey the war-zone that I used to call home.