Introduction
A few years ago, when I first visited the Louvre, I was surprised to see that the signposts giving directions for the painting La Gioconda already started at the gates. As I was to learn later, there exists a form of cultural pilgrimage tourism in the Louvre, which means that tens of thousands of people flock here every year with the sole intention of seeing the world’s most famous painting; it soon turned out, however, that the word “seeing” was not appropriate in describing people’s behavior here, nor was their intention as simple as that.
As soon as I entered the room where the painting was exhibited at the time, I was surprised to see that people were lined up with their cameras, waiting for their turn to get a shot at the painting, so that they can take home a lousy snapshot. The proof of their presence.
The sight of Mona Lisa facing the steady flickers of flashlights with a helpless smile, as if she knew that she was being photographed, gave me the impression that she was a movie star or a politician.
When I got closer, I discovered that the painting was hung in a recess protected by a very thick glass sheet with a greenish hue: in the poor light conditions, any careful study of the painting was out of the question. Although the continuous flashlights illuminated the painting for fractions of a second, they also prevented anyone from studying it.
The attitude of this absurd and hysterical crowd somehow failed to resemble the traditional behavior of museum visitors.
Standing aside, I lost myself in the observation of the phenomenon, unparalleled of its kind.
What was it that made this painting so hugely popular, I wondered. Also, what kind of a value system can result from the hierarchical ordering of artworks?
A large percentage of today’s visitors come from Asia. They probably look at the painting in much the same way as we look at the treasures of the Orient.
The ready-made admiration resolves the cultural context of the West, lending a new, global interpretation to the painting.
Project Description
Whenever I was in Paris, I paid a visit to the Louvre to study the La Gioconda phenomenon. Gradually, the complete plan of the La Gioconda Project took shape in my mind. According to this, a caravan -mobile home- would be set up in the large exhibition hall housing the Painting. Refurbished and fitted out with photosensitive paper in order to work as a camera obscura, the caravan would be used to take pictures. Positioned opposite the painting, the mobile home would record the images of the constant flood of tourists through a small aperture and with an exposition time set for several hours, using the ceaseless flashes of the visitors’ cameras to provide the necessary light for the exposer.
Explanation
For a long time I have been interested in the theory behind the practice of image creation. Architectural space used as a photographic chamber has been the principal element of my interest.
The use of a mobile home as an architectural unit makes references to tourism and the nomadic lifestyle, and also to the general practice of recreation, of which it still constitutes a very popular form.
The painting La Giaconda has become a paradigmatic icon of both Western culture and cultural tourism.
The long exposition time would turn the crowd into a grey blur, while their flashlights would illuminate the painting and at the same time shorten the exposition time.
In the resulting photograph, the surroundings would have been left obscured, while the Painting in the middle would have appeared as being illuminated by spotlights
My method of reproducing a painting in a museum with the help of the tourists cameras flashing lights and capturing it in a caravan, perhaps different from the traditional way associated with the copy put on an easel standing next to the original.
However, my plan was to combine this method with something else: the circumstances of the painting’s subsequent history.
The Reaction
The initial response from the museum was – somewhat surprisingly – favorable. Interestingly, the placement of a mobile home inside the museum did not scare people off.
However, a crucial turning point in the slow and cumbersome communication back and forth came, when I was told that the use of flashlights and cameras was forbidden inside the museum. When I explained that my project was not about a chance and surreptitious phenomenon, since for years I had studied the location, where the activities took place with the agreement, and in the present, of the museums guards, I was told that the head of the painting department opposed the project on the grounds that it would draw attention to something that is forbidden in the museum.
When in fact I thought, perhaps somewhat naively, that the bulletproof sheet of green glass had been installed there to protect the painting from the damages caused by flashlights, among others.
Epilog
Last time when I was there, which was still before the painting was moved to a different location, the routes all the way up to Giaconda were lined with photocopied notices in several languages. They pointed out that the use of flashlights, cameras and video recorders was strictly forbidden.
On entering the hall, I saw similar notices on both sides of the painting, the size of which exceeded the dimensions of the Giaconda.
Gone was the practice of queuing, with the result that the few people who were wandering in the hall were actually able to pay attention to the painting, which was otherwise hardly visible. That put an end once and for all to all further thoughts about my project.
I would not like to speculate on what might have caused the earlier slackness in enforcing the ban on the use of flashlights, but already on my first visit there, it had occurred to me that perhaps the painting on the wall was not the original.
The original was perhaps hidden in the back of a secret storeroom, or perhaps it hang on the wall of a collector, pretending to be a poor copy.
The painting had been stolen from the museum on more than one occasion and its authenticity had to be confirmed after each time it had been recovered.
But as the current example illustrates so faithfully, it is the exception that proves the rule.
Introduction
A few years ago, when I first visited the Louvre, I was surprised to see that the signposts giving directions for the painting La Gioconda already started at the gates. As I was to learn later, there exists a form of cultural pilgrimage tourism in the Louvre, which means that tens of thousands of people flock here every year with the sole intention of seeing the world’s most famous painting; it soon turned out, however, that the word “seeing” was not appropriate in describing people’s behavior here, nor was their intention as simple as that.
As soon as I entered the room where the painting was exhibited at the time, I was surprised to see that people were lined up with their cameras, waiting for their turn to get a shot at the painting, so that they can take home a lousy snapshot. The proof of their presence.
The sight of Mona Lisa facing the steady flickers of flashlights with a helpless smile, as if she knew that she was being photographed, gave me the impression that she was a movie star or a politician.
When I got closer, I discovered that the painting was hung in a recess protected by a very thick glass sheet with a greenish hue: in the poor light conditions, any careful study of the painting was out of the question. Although the continuous flashlights illuminated the painting for fractions of a second, they also prevented anyone from studying it.
The attitude of this absurd and hysterical crowd somehow failed to resemble the traditional behavior of museum visitors.
Standing aside, I lost myself in the observation of the phenomenon, unparalleled of its kind.
What was it that made this painting so hugely popular, I wondered. Also, what kind of a value system can result from the hierarchical ordering of artworks?
A large percentage of today’s visitors come from Asia. They probably look at the painting in much the same way as we look at the treasures of the Orient.
The ready-made admiration resolves the cultural context of the West, lending a new, global interpretation to the painting.
Project Description
Whenever I was in Paris, I paid a visit to the Louvre to study the La Gioconda phenomenon. Gradually, the complete plan of the La Gioconda Project took shape in my mind. According to this, a caravan -mobile home- would be set up in the large exhibition hall housing the Painting. Refurbished and fitted out with photosensitive paper in order to work as a camera obscura, the caravan would be used to take pictures. Positioned opposite the painting, the mobile home would record the images of the constant flood of tourists through a small aperture and with an exposition time set for several hours, using the ceaseless flashes of the visitors’ cameras to provide the necessary light for the exposer.
Explanation
For a long time I have been interested in the theory behind the practice of image creation. Architectural space used as a photographic chamber has been the principal element of my interest.
The use of a mobile home as an architectural unit makes references to tourism and the nomadic lifestyle, and also to the general practice of recreation, of which it still constitutes a very popular form.
The painting La Giaconda has become a paradigmatic icon of both Western culture and cultural tourism.
The long exposition time would turn the crowd into a grey blur, while their flashlights would illuminate the painting and at the same time shorten the exposition time.
In the resulting photograph, the surroundings would have been left obscured, while the Painting in the middle would have appeared as being illuminated by spotlights
My method of reproducing a painting in a museum with the help of the tourists cameras flashing lights and capturing it in a caravan, perhaps different from the traditional way associated with the copy put on an easel standing next to the original.
However, my plan was to combine this method with something else: the circumstances of the painting’s subsequent history.
The Reaction
The initial response from the museum was – somewhat surprisingly – favorable. Interestingly, the placement of a mobile home inside the museum did not scare people off.
However, a crucial turning point in the slow and cumbersome communication back and forth came, when I was told that the use of flashlights and cameras was forbidden inside the museum. When I explained that my project was not about a chance and surreptitious phenomenon, since for years I had studied the location, where the activities took place with the agreement, and in the present, of the museums guards, I was told that the head of the painting department opposed the project on the grounds that it would draw attention to something that is forbidden in the museum.
When in fact I thought, perhaps somewhat naively, that the bulletproof sheet of green glass had been installed there to protect the painting from the damages caused by flashlights, among others.
Epilog
Last time when I was there, which was still before the painting was moved to a different location, the routes all the way up to Giaconda were lined with photocopied notices in several languages. They pointed out that the use of flashlights, cameras and video recorders was strictly forbidden.
On entering the hall, I saw similar notices on both sides of the painting, the size of which exceeded the dimensions of the Giaconda.
Gone was the practice of queuing, with the result that the few people who were wandering in the hall were actually able to pay attention to the painting, which was otherwise hardly visible. That put an end once and for all to all further thoughts about my project.
I would not like to speculate on what might have caused the earlier slackness in enforcing the ban on the use of flashlights, but already on my first visit there, it had occurred to me that perhaps the painting on the wall was not the original.
The original was perhaps hidden in the back of a secret storeroom, or perhaps it hang on the wall of a collector, pretending to be a poor copy.
The painting had been stolen from the museum on more than one occasion and its authenticity had to be confirmed after each time it had been recovered.
But as the current example illustrates so faithfully, it is the exception that proves the rule.