Tuesday, 4 December 2012

essay | Text 02

By Kent Chan

Information, as a body of knowledges and ideas, is synonymous to the 'internet' landscape. Its volume and accessibility provides a readymade resource for curators to mine. Appropriating sets of knowledge as a basis for exhibitions is commonplace, often adopted as a predefined strategy. The Internet and its 'raw materials', in its organization and contents, can also be readily assimilated into an exhibition. (6 Modules)
                                
Taking a step back, the thought experiment would appear to invite questioning. One can’t help but wonder if the experiment was rigged from the start, whereby its introduction had inevitably conditioned our own encounter with the curatorial. Whether it was the participants that were examining the different propositions or the propositions becoming an examination of the participants.

But beyond the initial suspicion, it is tempting to want to agree with the proposition. In that it seems already a given fact, albeit one built upon a generalized point of view.
           
While the Internet is indeed made up of amongst other things, information, it is not to say that information is necessarily the Internet. There is a degree of generalization and assumption in the wording of the proposition, but what it does point to, is that information acquisition in the everyday is very often derived via the use of the Internet. And that the Internet has grown to condition the way we process different sets of information. To view the two as interchangeable as proposed by the proposition would entail the need to adopt particular frameworks in our perspectives.

The Internet and conceptual art practices

In the context of art and/or exhibition making, one would likely look to conceptual art practices as providing such a framework. In drawing the links between the Internet and conceptual art practices, Boris Groys writes:

Today, contemporary networks of communication like Facebook, YouTube, and Twitter offer global populations the possibility of presenting their photos, videos and texts juxtaposed in ways that cannot be distinguished from those of many post-conceptualist artworks. The visual grammar of a website is not too different from the grammar of an installation space. Through the Internet, conceptual art today has become a mass cultural practice.[i]

Groys in pointing out the visual grammar of the Internet draws attention to the fact that the way we encounter the Internet is through representation, by way of a graphic user interface (GUI). The Internet itself is a vast network of information and data. Hence, whenever we access the Internet, what we encounter is not only information, but through the visual interface also the very ordering of information – an ontological overlap. The Internet not only allows us to access information, it enables us to encounter Information. Encountering not just the information as content, but also information as form, similar to conceptual art practice.

Just as how websites order different sets of knowledge, curating too involves the organization of objects each embodying its own unique set of knowledge. Thus, a vis-à-vis transposition that is increasingly commonplace with the proliferation of the Internet within the everyday and curatorial practice.

A curatorial consciousness

Within the same article Groys suggests, drawing reference to Immanuel Kant’s aesthetic discourse, the expansion of the Internet and its functions has simultaneously created platforms that allowed a wide expanse of the public to participate in the creation of aesthetic experiences and to engage in aesthetic judgment.

As this phenomenon continue to grow, we also find the popularization of the term curating in non-traditional art historical context that correlates with an increasing “aesthetic self-consciousness” as mentioned by Groys:

We become aware of our own existence, our own subjectivity, when we are endangered by another subjectivity—through struggle, in conflict, in the situation of existential risk taking that could lead to death. Now, analogously, we can speak of an “aesthetic self-consciousness” that emerges, not when we look at a world populated by others, but when we begin to reflect upon our own exposure to the gaze of others. Artistic, poetic, rhetorical practice is none other than self-presentation to the gaze of the other, presupposing danger, conflict and risk of failure.[ii]

I would like to also draw attention to Jacque Ranciere’s concept of the aesthetic regime. In place of modernism, the aesthetic regime is what Ranciere has come to define the art historical period beginning in the 19th century stretching on to this day. It is important to note that the extent of Ranciere’s aesthetic regime far extends beyond the domain of artistic development, but extends to the broader social and political changes, reconstituting the distribution of the sensible. A key component to Ranciere’s theory is the identification of aesthetics and political as belonging to the same field rather than autonomous of each other.

Over the course of the Curating Lab programme, my group had coined the term, “curatorial consciousness”, which we grown to use loosely amongst ourselves. The term draws much from both Groys and Ranciere in describing an awareness of the aesthetic ordering of things. While Groys talks of an aesthetic self-consciousness, a curatorial consciousness denotes the awareness of the aesthetic relationships that permeates between aspects of contemporary society. Echoing Ranciere, the aesthetics overlaps with the political in that the ordering is determinant upon the systemic links that constitutes the basis of urban societies.

Central to this idea of a curatorial consciousness is the issue of autonomy, in that the autonomy involved in the making of objects and/or aesthetic choices are often deferred in lieu of the relationships that are implicated by the decisions. Again, here we can identify the lineage to conceptual art practices, in particular the relationships between the artist and the institution. We can trace the developments from the institutional critique of the 60s to its current evolution, whereupon the relationship of the artist agent and the institution at times take the form of convenient bedfellows.

Institution and autonomy

While he was president, Bill Clinton once asked his staffs to name an aspect of their lives that the government does not play a role in. The staffs were unable to name any examples, which was his way of illustrating how almost every aspect of our lives is in part institutionalized by the state. This is especially true within the context of Singapore, where its lack of size means a heightened proximity between the institution and individuals.

This is particularly evident when working with my assigned group, who amongst the members include an architect turned urbanist, arts administrator, arts researcher, magazine writer/editor, a literature major and myself whose background is in film and media, there is a tendency to find overlaps amongst our respective fields. While some are uncovered in part due to our want for finding them, some overlaps are more obvious, such as those between the areas of urban planning and the arts administration.

While working on our exhibition, titled, “A History of Curating in Singapore”, at nearly every turn we would find the state playing an important role in the development of curating in Singapore, whether directly or indirectly. Particularly proliferation of curating in recent years, which is very much attributed to government related policies and initiatives. Curating Lab being the most immediate and explicit example, but in truth, the connection goes far beyond that.

The envisioning of the city by the government through its various master plans over the decades has had a direct impact upon the conditions that had enabled developments of the city and artistic practices. The development of museums within the city and its arts developmental policies are clear examples of the government effecting change. This has resulted in the group often seeing the state as a form of meta-curator enacting its conception of the city that parallels the practice of contemporary curating.

Needless to say, the effecting of political and economical aims are at the crux of these master plans, but at the same time there are also undoubtedly aesthetic ramifications. Returning to the idea of a curatorial consciousness, there is a significant degree of aesthetic ordering involved in these policies and master plans. From the allocation of space for artistic activities to the way in which culture and artistic practice is defined, and tolerated within the public sphere. Here, the word ordering is particularly important as the ordering is two-fold, one of which is the aesthetic and the other political, as defined by the state’s top-down approach and the systematic trickling down and execution of its plans through its various agencies. So while these state plans are contrasted with curating, the distinction lies in their intended result; exhibition making and curating is at best speculative, while government policies enact actual change.

Drawing on an example from the group, one of the common threads that emerge has been the dichotomy between the artist and curator. Partly due to the role that we assume for the Curating Lab programme – the curator, the dichotomy is reinforced and often carefully toed. While the group takes no issue with the exhibition as a meta-artwork, we are however keenly aware of the difference between the kind of gestures performed by an artist from those of a curator, and the implications that could be read. The process of negotiations between artist and curator is paramount in retaining both parties’ autonomy.

The physical and the embodied

Returning to the proposition, a possible criticism of it is that it does not take into account the importance of the physicality of objects or information that is embodied. For one, the usage of the Internet itself obscures the physical nature of the apparatus by which we access it. As noted by Groys:

The standard internet user is, as a rule, concentrated on the computer screen and overlooks the corporate hardware of the internet—all those monitors, terminals and cables that inscribe it into contemporary industrial civilization. That is why the Internet has conjured for some the dreamlike notions of immaterial work and the general intellect within a post-Fordist condition. But these are software notions. The reality of the Internet is its hardware.[iii]

The physical historicity of objects is further lost amidst the Internet. The Internet, for all its expanded capabilities, is unable to manifest objects that are defined by their physical attribute and replicate the way they relate to space on the Internet. The information on the Internet does not age as how artifacts do. They become dated, outdated, but they do not age.

Similarly, what is interesting in the proposition is that the premise that it communicate, has to be embodied by the participants over the course of the programme. The proposition questions itself through its execution.

Conclusion

The Internet however ubiquitous in our everyday lives does not constitute the lived world. While it may seem like a plausible methodology for certain forms of exhibition, as a curatorial framework there remain limitations in its applicability for the full spectrum of exhibition making.

After all, a fair amount of the world’s information does not exist or would not exist on the Internet as they do in reality. Much of the activities in the world are still enacted physically, particularly outside the developed world, and a vast amount of information is exchanged and derived through these physical contact and interactions.

To ignore the physical realities of the world in favor of the digital is not merely a choice, but also in itself a matter of politics.


[i] Introduction – Global Conceptualism Revisited, e-flux journal, 2011, Boris Groys
[ii] Ibid
[iii] Ibid

essay | untitled


By Kamiliah Bahdar


A Non-Response:
It is common practice that artists collaborate with other artists to create ideas and art works. Increasingly, such approaches are deployed between artists and curators. The exhibition produced out of such contexts can sometimes be regarded as art works. It is not uncommon for artists to be curators, and curators to be artists. Explore the notions of a 'curatorial community'. (6 Modules)
Charting the Conceptual Topography of an Exhibition

This essay will take on a decidedly confessional tone.

With little to no formal understanding of art, much less any deep informal interactions with artists, I declare myself unqualified to discuss about artists, and their collaborations with other artists, in the creation of ideas and artworks. To attempt to do so would just be pompous. And although I am taking what could be construed as a crash course in curating, that does not make me a curator. Hence, I do not identify with a curatorial community – assuming there is one – and therefore do not presume to explore the notions of it.

But of all the fine points this particular module calls on me to discuss, having to pick one and run with, it would have to be on the exhibition. And even then, not ‘the exhibition’ as any sort of collective noun, but a exhibition – the one that I am currently working on with three other participants of Curating Lab (initially, there were four). We have been in the discussion about the upcoming exhibition for nearly three months now, and from the very moment of pre-conception there has been a lot of meandering, much of it through the wobbly terrains of inchoate ideas and shaky curatorial frameworks. And with slightly just over a month to our opening night, there is a lot of meandering still.  

(I wonder how the other two groups are doing. Are they on more steady grounds? Do they move more sure-footedly?)

Before moving this discussion along more concrete lines, let me first sketch a brief topography of the different terrains we have been hopping through, backtracking now and again, and then out of there, passing through a stretch of plateau, mountains, and valleys, to find where we are now – which is a fair distance from where we first began.

(Was it us who consciously moved through the terrain, or was it the conceptual topography that permutated organically?)

We were exploring different systems of collecting and displaying outside of the museum context, dwelling notably on the avid comic collector. What are his reasons for collecting? How does he arrange his collection? Which issues are given premier display locations and why? How are these prime issues displayed?

And from one type of collector, we moved to another. It first began with an analogy, when the connection between the karang guni man and his habits of collecting and displaying were made akin to that of the curator; a curator as opposed to a collector, because the display was often for the public’s consumption rather than personal gratification. This analogy was developed further, with the role of artist and conservator added to the karang guni man’s vocation. From this focus on the actor himself, we shifted to the objects collected – the waste of modernity, the old forgotten junk left unwanted. And it was at this point that a slight fascination with Faizal Fadil and his Study of Three Thermos Flasks developed.

There are two main strands that connected Faizal Fadil to the figure of the karang guni man. Study of Three Thermos Flasks is a readymade sculptural work that first exhibited at Sculpture in Singapore, which was curated by T.K. Sabapathy and held at the National Museum Art Gallery from 16 November to 15 December 1991. According to The Straits Times article published on 1 December 1991, Faizal Fadil bought his flasks for about five dollars each from Sungei Road. This local Duchampian figure had trawled Sungei Road for found objects – a location often associated with the karang guni man and the hawking of his junk-laden wares.

And with that, the conceptual topography shifted. The ground swelled: the crust beneath us raised by another layer of deposited sediments, newly arrived postulations providing resources to build steadier curatorial frameworks and strategies. Attention was now paid to the socio-cultural landscape of Sungei Road, and we further explored it on 29 September, a hot humid sweltering Saturday. Our search for the elusive Mr Poon Buck Seng, a karang guni personality we found on the Internet, brought us to Sungei Road where certain held assumptions were reformed. There, we met quite accidentally with an elderly Mr Tang – not a karang guni man (that would be insulting), but an antique dealer. We unearthed a very different type of space in how values of objects are negotiated. Our initial fixation on the agent as curator transposed itself to this space – we drew parallels between Sungei Road and the art market. Sungei Road was an alternative value economy, and for a while, we played with the idea of colliding these two worlds in the exhibition. Contextualising Study of Three Thermos Flasks in the present, Faizal Fadil’s work is a disruption of both spaces. I would even posit that his is a liminal element, an object truly straddling the in-between. The Singapore Art Museum’s acquisition of Faizal Fadil’s Study of Three Thermos Flasks does not cement its position as artwork. At its exhibit in Intersecting Histories: Contemporary Turns in Southeast Asian Art, held at the ADM Gallery in September 2012, I noted that it still elicited the comment “Is that art?” from at least one casual viewer. Conversely, the thermos flasks remaking by the artist’s hand meant that it was not just a pedestrian object either.

With this in mind, although possibly at the time it was not so explicit, we thought of exploring the mechanisms of status- and value-making by injecting disruptive elements into Sungei Road. What these elements were, how we would go about doing it, and to what point was something we had not quite formulated so precisely.

And we never did. We shuffled instead to exploring the circulation of objects in the secondary goods market, and how its social life adds values of other kinds besides just monetary.

This direction led us to a whole other area, far from where we started, though on hindsight, not too far. I certainly had to learn not to be too precious about ideas – that would not be productive otherwise. Where we first began, we thought of different contexts outside of the museum. Now we were jumping right back into the museum through the same pedestrian objects that interested us in the beginning, along with most of the ideas we explored in slightly new form. The conceptual landscape surrounding us was quite familiar. On Sungei Road, we spoke about the negotiation of value and the circulation of objects as goods. Yet, with the institution of the museum, it negates most value systems, and through an acquisition, removes these pedestrian objects from circulation to be held as inalienable.

Before setting out to type away at this essay, I was feeling frustrated from all the meandering and ambiguity about where this exhibition is going. But coming to this point, I realise that ambiguity gave this collaboration with the other participants fluidity and flexibility. I would like to think that all of us were free to travel in different directions in the outer space of our minds, discuss those directions and converge together again. This essay itself was an exercise in the journey out to space on my part, but with an end point in sight, in an effort to make sense of where we were before. It is riddled with my own subjectivity, and I would hazard a guess that if other members of my group were to chart a conceptual topography of this exhibition, it would be different.

I was especially frustrated because I had thought of an exhibition as a text, written by an author. And I thought, “If an exhibition is a text embedded with a message, then having multiple authors would dilute that message”. And so I struggled with understanding what that message in our exhibition is, thinking it was diluted. There are of course large bodies of sources that debate this understanding of exhibition as text, with many problematising and rejecting it, but I am ill equipped to enter that debate now, at this point. I decided instead to revisit Clifford Geertz and his interpretive anthropology. This might not be an original thought, but what if we understood exhibitions to be symbolic gestures, like the Balinese cockfight?

An exhibition is a symbolic gesture, like a wink, but on a larger scale. And curators are both performers of this gesture attempting to convey meaning, but also self-reflexive interpreters attempting to understand the context and giving a thick description of that gesture. In which case, collaboration is about working out an interpretation, a process that would not be as clear-cut as crafting a message, and would benefit from constant meandering.

Monday, 3 December 2012

essay | Ambiguous Museum Objects



By Wong Lee Min

The Stowed-away Museum:
Ambiguous Meanings of Rarely and Never-before Exhibited Commonplace Artefacts

More often than not, ambiguity – as seen in images, objects, or situations – prompt a certain lack. We tend to disregard its utility. Perhaps another way of thinking about the ambiguous are the potentials it may accommodate; to regard ambiguity not simply as something opposed to clarity, but to consider its indistinct form(s) as ways to locate a set of meanings within the work or exhibition. – Heman Chong (6 Modules)
  
The extraction of objects from circulation in everyday life into the closed, climate-controlled sphere of museums is often described as entailing a total transformation in the significance of these objects. No longer just ordinary and replaceable commodities, accessioned objects are made unique with reference to their material qualities, social life and the milieux in which they were circulated. This change does not necessarily arise from any innate value of the objects, but rather, through the special treatment of them as sacred icons, laid behind plexiglass or railings in the gallery, prohibited from being touched except by qualified handlers and ruled impossible to be de-accessioned. More than their utilitarian and aesthetic qualities, museum objects are cherished for their ability to signify invisible meanings outside of themselves and can be understood as what Krzysztof Pomian terms semiophores, ‘objects prized for their capacity to produce meaning rather than for their usefulness’. Such morphing from use value to symbolic value experienced by museum objects is often couched in terms of a ‘promotion’.[1]

This analysis, however, generalises the transforming powers of accession, leaving no room to explain the presence of rarely or never-before exhibited commonplace artefacts in the museum collection. Sure enough, due to spatial and thematic restrictions, the museum cannot utilise every piece in its collection. The point here is that some museum artefacts, despite being accessioned, remain limited by their previous ordinariness or circumstances of collection, and subsequently what they can signify, leaving them with hardly any possibility of being exhibited. They are ‘promoted’ to an ambiguous position in the museum collection, unable to perform their symbolic value as semiophores because they are not exhibited, but no longer just banal disposable things of at least some use value. Suspended from their use and symbolic values, these artefacts are relegated to the liminal darkened space of storage, where they await the day of being displayed that may or may never come. Using as a case study the approximately 6000 rarely-exhibited ordinary objects accessioned by Ken Cheong, previously a curator at the Singapore History Museum (now the National Museum of Singapore) from 1994 to 2000, this essay considers the creation and deployment of ambiguous artefacts to tease out some aspects in the economy and politics of museum collections and display. Museum objects do not end up merely as holders of different levels of symbolic value. Instead, their symbolic values are the malleable basis for another type of use value in achieving the ideological goals of museums.


The Making of Ambiguous Artefacts

The massive collection that Ken helped to amass is situated in a larger canvas of nation-building through the development of Singapore’s art and heritage scene in the 1990s. An intensified pace of globalization and increased mobility of Singaporeans had weakened their sense of belonging to the state and was manifested in the growing numbers of Singaporean migrations. Attuned to this phenomenon, Singapore’s nation-building strategy shifted from the foci on tangibles such as economic progress, defence and housing, to the intangible aspect of cultivating emotional ties to the nation. The reason behind the government’s attention on museums after a period of neglect was, as the then-Minister for Information and the Arts Brigadier-General George Yeo explained in 1992, to ‘help Singapore find its soul for it cannot be by bread alone that [Singaporeans] live.’[2] To this end, knowing the long histories of various Singaporean communities was fundamental – ‘the idea is for Singaporeans to feel that while we are a young nation, we're an ancient people. […] Being an ancient people gives us spiritual strength. If you are down or starving, knowing this gives you new strength to go on.’[3] The National Heritage Board was therefore established in 1993 with the explicit aims to showcase ‘the heritage and nationhood of the people of Singapore in the context of their ancestral cultures’, educate the public on the arts, culture and heritage, and ‘record, preserve and disseminate the history of Singapore’.[4]

Joining the Singapore History Museum as an assistant curator in 1994, Ken was involved in what can be described as the National Heritage Board’s frenzied accumulation of everyday-life objects in Singapore. While museum donation drives calling for the public’s objects had been organised since the 1980s, they reached a feverish pitch in the 1990s. The 1994 donation drive, reported to have sold the idea that ‘the past will be better appreciated if people let go of it’, went to the extent of holding a lucky draw in which ten winners were each given a $150 camera.[5] In 1995, Ken curated an exhibition titled ‘Memories of Yesteryear’, featuring approximately 1000 daily-life objects dating from the 1950s and 1960s. These objects included F&N bottles, matchboxes, cinema tickets, posters, handbills, paper currency and items from barbers and provision shops, half of which came from fifty individuals.[6] The six-month long exhibition celebrated the thirtieth anniversary of Singapore’s independence by stocktaking the odds overcome and progress attained by the nation. More importantly, it emphasised the contributions of ordinary people in this process of nation-building, as opposed to the great men already memorialised in history.[7] For Ken, the exhibits ‘may be simple things but they are meaningful and important [because they] give us a memory, identity and a sense of the past’. On another level, he wished that the exhibition would clear the common misconception that museums only acquired expensive or ‘high culture’ objects. ‘Hopefully’, he said, ‘we will persuade more people to come out with their collections to build on what we have at the museum.’[8] In the following year’s well-subscribed donation drive, the museum received around two hundred objects, and called for even more everyday-life objects: ‘pre-1960 school uniforms, textbooks, platform shoes, kampung games, old society magazines and National Library cards, […] household items [, old] campaign posters and pictures of air-raid shelters in older estates’.[9] Supplementing objects from these public donation drives with purchases and further donations from individuals and curio shops, Ken had accessioned more than 6000 items from Singapore of the 1930s to 1960s into the National Heritage Board’s collection by the time he left his curatorial position in 2000. Among these artefacts were: Chinese opera objects, school textbooks, government publications, insurance policies, receipts, movie tickets and posters, handbills, vinyl records, cameras, hair creams, bottles, toys, cigarette boxes, objects found in the kitchen and at festivities and special occasions, with buttons and badges constituting the majority.

Few of these artefacts, however, have been displayed in museums since the 1995 exhibition. One reason behind this situation lies in the abundance of these daily-life objects in the museum collection, many of which are of the same type, e.g. bottles, badges, buttons, while some items are in fact identical. These recurrences probably arose through donations made to the museum, especially in the form of collections, which made it difficult for curators to reject certain items if they wanted others within the same set. Nonetheless, recurrences diminish the uniqueness of a museum artefact, reduce the probability of it being displayed and thus, transformed into semiophores. When there are many artefacts of the same type, artefacts without outstanding aesthetic qualities, social lives or signified milieux are exchangeable with one another, e.g. an empty F&N orange glass bottle and a Coke glass bottle of the same height, width, shape and material. Whether or not they are displayed then depend on the random choice of curators and their decisions on how many artefacts of the same kind should be shown. If there are identical objects, again of little difference in their conditions, histories and significance, only one is chosen for display, implying that the other objects, ostensibly icons by nature of being accessioned, are merely superfluous second bests and replacements of the selected exhibit.

In addition, a sizeable number of commonplace objects acquired by the museums were initially gathered in private collections founded on principles which clash with that of the museum, leading to difficulties in incorporating them into exhibitions. Susan Pearce identified three modes of collecting: collections as systematics, souvenirs and fetish objects. The first mode describes museum collections while the latter two apply to private collections. Objects in museums are organised and collected according to somewhat empirical taxonomies and are meant to carry meanings public enough to engage a range of visitors. In contrast, souvenirs are linked to life experiences of individuals or groups and can be fascinating or boring to visitors depending on the fame of their previous owners, for as Pearce explicates, souvenirs encapsulate ‘an intensely individual past – no one is interested in other people’s souvenirs’. Consequently, souvenirs are not displayed except in exhibitions which allow for an illustration of their social lives. Fetish collections are results of individual whims to amass as many objects as possible in accordance to one’s desired categories, such that objects entering the collector’s ‘private universe’ lose their original meanings and contexts, and become defined solely in relation to the collector’s passions. This shedding of relationships to the larger world undergone by fetish objects is the key reason why they are rarely exhibited unless some other aesthetic or historical value can be laid upon them.[10] In general then, whether or not commonplace artefacts are exhibited hinges on how successfully their previously private meanings can be converted to a public, widely-accessible significance, which brings us to the next section of this essay on how these ambiguous artefacts have been deployed, when they finally are, in museums.


Potentials of the Ambiguous Artefacts

Commonplace objects appear particularly amenable as insertions into narratives that are compatible with the ideologies espoused by museums as state institutions. As conceptualised by Tony Bennett, museums are part of an ‘exhibitionary complex’ of ‘disciplinary and power relations’ employed by the state, a ‘set of cultural technologies concerned to organise a voluntarily self-regulating citizenry’.[11] He asserts that the exhibitionary complex did not function by threatening visitors into believing its representations. Instead, it used its epistemological power to arrange objects and people in an order, persuading visitors to accept their positions in that order and in doing so, recognise the state’s power as their own or at least one which is beneficial for them.[12] Following this formulation, the display of daily-life objects that are familiar to visitors from different classes is arguably more effective in convincing them to identify with the depicted order of things.

That this is the role of daily-life exhibits conceived by the state in the 1995 exhibition ‘Memories of Yesteryear’ is evidenced by the opening speech delivered by then-Minister for Home Affairs Wong Kan Seng. Running through a list of memories evoked by the exhibits, he urged, ‘For those who lived through the turbulent years, you have witnessed and participated in the changes in Singapore. Whether you are in your thirties or older, it is hoped that when you visit this exhibition, you will share with the younger generation “memories of yesteryear”, so that they will treasure Singapore’s fruits of success.’ In particular, Minister Wong credited Singapore’s progress to sacrifices made by ordinary people, ‘the man in the street, the person who came to Singapore as an immigrant and stayed on to help build what we have today’, claiming that they ‘all came from an era of hardship in which individuals toiled for a better life. They worked hard so that their children could be brought up and be educated to lead a better life.’[13] These statements yield more meaning when read in the context of globalisation and increased migration, as well as the government’s view of the post-‘65 generation as individualistic and selfish, unwilling to make sacrifices for the nation and ignorant of the obstacles that the country had conquered prior to reaching its current prosperity. Daily-life objects are thus used in the exhibition not only to conjure a poignant image of selfless nation-building by the ‘65-yers to inspire the post-’65 generation to do the same, but also to enlist the ‘65-yers, through their identification with the exhibits and the narrative in which they are embedded, in the project of educating the youth.

In unravelling the ambiguous position of rarely or never-before displayed commonplace artefacts, this discussion has touched on the economy of symbolism that museum objects are located in, outlining ways in which, beyond the point of accession, the abundance and ability of artefacts to speak to a larger audience affect their symbolic values and therefore, their status as icons. When these artefacts are eventually exhibited, they can hold a powerful symbolic value, thanks to the visitors’ familiarity and identification with them, and be harnessed to promote certain ideologies. Perhaps, the ambiguity of these objects will fade with time, as they grow rare outside museums and more precious with age, though this also means that fewer visitors will be able to identify with them. When the past has become distant enough to be ‘a foreign country’, visitors may even flock to see these ethnographic curiosities and be grateful for their abundance. Afterall, aren’t many of the archaeological artefacts we treasure today everyday-life objects salvaged from rubbish middens?


References

Primary Sources
Agence France-Presse, 30 Jan. 1992.
National Archives of Singapore (NAS). “Speech by Mr Wong Kan Seng, Minister for Home Affairs, at the Opening of the Exhibition in Commemoration of the 30th Anniversary of Independence of Singapore at the National Museum on Wednesday, 19 July 1995 at 6.30 pm”. <www.a2o.com.sg>. Accessed on 25 Oct. 2012.
Straits Times, 31 Jan. 1992.
Straits Times, 25 July 1993.
Straits Times, 11 Nov. 1994.
Straits Times, 15 July 1995.
Straits Times, 30 Dec 1996.

Secondary Sources
Belk, Russell W. “Collectors and Collecting”. In Interpreting Objects and Collections, pp. 317-326. Edited by Susan Pearce. London and New York: Routledge, 1994.
Bennett, Tony. The Birth of the Museum: History, Theory, Politics. London and New York: Routledge, 1995.
Carman, John. “Promotion to Heritage: How Museum Objects are Made”. In Encouraging Collections Mobility: a Way Forward for Museums in Europe, pp. 74-85. Edited by S. Pettersson, M. Hagedorn-Saupe, T. Jyrkkiö and A. Weij. Helsinki: Finnish National Gallery, 2010.
Pearce, Susan. “Collecting Reconsidered”. In Interpreting Objects and Collections, pp. 193-204. Edited by Susan Pearce. London and New York: Routledge, 1994.



[1] Russell W. Belk, “Collectors and Collecting”, in Interpreting Objects and Collections, ed. Susan Pearce (London and New York: Routledge, 1994), p. 320; John Carman, “Promotion to Heritage: How Museum Objects are Made”, in Encouraging Collections Mobility: a Way Forward for Museums in Europe, eds. S. Pettersson, M. Hagedorn-Saupe, T. Jyrkkiö and A. Weij (Helsinki: Finnish National Gallery, 2010), pp. 79, 81 and 84; Tony Bennett, The Birth of the Museum: History, Theory, Politics (London and New York: Routledge, 1995), pp. 35 and 165 (quote).
[2] Agence France-Presse, 30 Jan. 1992.
[3] Straits Times (ST), 31 Jan. 1992.
[4] ST, 25 July 1993.
[5] ST, 11 Nov. 1994.
[6] ST, 15 July 1995.
[7] National Archives of Singapore (NAS), “Speech by Mr Wong Kan Seng, Minister for Home Affairs, at the Opening of the Exhibition in Commemoration of the 30th Anniversary of Independence of Singapore at the National Museum on Wednesday, 19 July 1995 at 6.30 pm”, <www.a2o.com.sg>, accessed on 25 Oct. 2012.
[8] ST, 15 July 1995.
[9] ST, 30 Dec 1996.
[10] Susan Pearce, “Collecting Reconsidered”, in Interpreting Objects and Collections, pp. 194-201. First quote from p. 195, second quote from p. 200.
[11] Bennett, Birth of the Museum, pp. 59 and 63 (third quote).
[12] Ibid., p. 67.
[13] NAS, “Speech by Mr Wong Kan Seng”.