Charlotte Reynders Reflects on a Perspective-Shifting Museum Experience with a Curator

Until recently, I viewed the Princeton Art Museum through an escapist lens. After wandering the galleries for the first time in the fall, I equated the museum with intellectual repose. The museum was a timeless space where I could lose myself in the luminescent haze of impressionist paintings or in the meandering patterns of Greek mosaics. I saw in each work of art an opportunity for creative inspiration—my only obligations, I thought, were to observe and absorb.

Charlotte R. Photo 3

My perspective shifted a few weeks ago when I began working on a paper for my writing seminar, The Fragmented Past. The course focuses on the restoration and re-contextualization of culturally significant monuments and artifacts, and this particular assignment required each student to use an object from the art museum as a primary source. The moment my professor introduced the prompt, I began to understand the museum not merely as a platform for aesthetic appreciation but also as a meaningful supplement to the Princeton academic experience. As I searched for an object in the museum, a Chinese pouring vessel piqued my interest. According to the informational label in the display case, the dragon-shaped container was the product of a complex bronze casting process and had been used to store wine during ancestral worship rituals of the Zhou dynasty. I wanted to find out more—it was clear to me that the vessel was charged with historical context and spiritual significance. Far more than a collectible “curio,” it represented a fragment of cultural heritage and, as such, a message from the past.

Charlotte R. Photo 2

It can be a daunting task to interpret art as historical evidence. When we perceive works of art as tokens of aesthetic interest, we often grant ourselves the license to subjectively assemble their meaning. However, when we use art as an academic resource, we are faced with the responsibility of acknowledging the full richness of its historical implications. I knew that the pouring vessel carried with it a vibrant store of traditions and connotations, so I was uncertain that my own analysis could lead me to the “right” conclusions. Before I began writing, I sought guidance from Dr. Zoe Kwok, the museum’s Assistant Curator of Asian Art. Dr. Kwok had previously spoken to our class about the curating process, and I was fortunate enough to meet with her individually to discuss the display of the pouring vessel in the museum’s Asian Art gallery. We walked through the exhibit together, and she explained to me the techniques that the museum’s curatorial staff had used to best communicate the historical significance of the bronze objects on display. I learned from her that the display was intentionally organized in a chronological system to illustrate the development of Chinese art from the Neolithic to the Bronze Age. She emphasized the “historicizing” function of the exhibit (and of the museum as a whole), noting that the “more important narrative” for the museum is that of the “cultural heritage that the objects imbue.” Our discussion confirmed for me that the museum is here for all of us as a peaceful space in which to find an intellectual respite but also as an invaluable educational resource. The museum is not simply a collection of inanimate objects; it is a dynamic institution helmed by a team of creative minds. That team of individuals has actively designed the galleries to best facilitate our learning and is available to help us derive meaning from the art on display. I am now eager to take intellectual risks at the museum and dive into the complexities of global heritage, empowered by the conviction that a remarkable support system is there to fill in the missing links between visual experience and historical value.