Museum books
A favourite book genre of mine is museum books. When I say “museum books”, I mean those publications which sit curiously between a catalogue and a scholarly publication. These are not meant to be academic treatises. Instead, they showcase the highlights of the museum or gallery’s collection. At the same time, they are more than a mere catalogue. The works are presented in their chronoloigcal and stylistic contexts. For a well-resourced museum or gallery, this means an entry-level introduction to the body of artworks and artefacts represented by the collection, which is accessible but at the same time, of sufficient depth to be interesting for the keen amateur.
This loose categorisation covers a whole range of publications. On the one hand, there are brief highlight catalogues with small blurbs introducing the period or style - in the nature of a (rather heavy) souvenir brochure. On the other, there are comprehensive introductions to an entire movement, illustrated with the museum’s own collection.
One of my favourites from the latter category is The Asian Collection from the Art Gallery of New South Wales. I happened upon this book while roaming the stacks one day at Fisher Library (as one does). Published on the occassion of the opening of the new Asian galleries at the AGNSW, the book traces the development of several strands of Asian art, with comprehensive illustrations from the Gallery’s extensive collection. One part I found most fascinating was the coverage of Chinese and East Asian porcelain - from which I understood exactly what “celadon” is - what it corresponds to in Chinese, and how it fits in with the styles that came before and after it. The illustrations are superb, of course, but the writing was a delight as well. Authoritatively authored and edited, it was also great prose, with great clarity and narrative quality.
Out of my own collection, the 100 Impressionist Masterpieces I bought at the Musée d’Orsay is a favourite. The only drawback of this book is that the section texts introducing each period in the development of Impressionism tend towards the technical and jargonistic - a little hard to wade through for a philistine like me. I’m not sure whether this is a result of the translation process. Other than that, though, it is a visually beautiful book. The biggest advantage is the unparalleled Impressionist collection of the Orsay which it draws on. For example, seeing Monet’s Thames below Westminster not as an isolated painting, but a series of different versions created by the artist as he explored the scene - the comparison allows a much fuller appreciation of the painting. Ditto Rouen Cathedral, ditto the lilies.
Overall, what attracts me to these books are, one, their authoritative accessibility, being written by experts in the field but with the general public as a target audience. Two, the rich resources of a quality museum or gallery which the book is able to draw on. Each institution has its focus, with the publication focussing the areas on which it has the best resources. Finally, the great museums are also great institutions of scholarship and publication, and these books are almost invariably produced to the highest quality, editorially and physically: they look great, but are an even better read.
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