More on representation.

I'd like to add some points about the idea of representation in "The Rescuers", but before I explain my idea here, I'd like to make a note on the paper of Svetlana Alpers, "The Museum as a Way of Seeing" (1991).*

Alpers is concerned with what she calls "the Museum Effect": that by heightening and isolating the aspects of an object, the museum turns it into an object of visual interest. It is 'visual interest' that underpins Alpers' view of the role of the museum, and she criticises exhibition design that interrupts and discourages "looking". For instance, she gives an example of a dilemma faced by the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) in New York, when it had to include an educational component for one exhibition to receive funding. Alpers suggests that rather than having a separate informational room at the beginning of the exhibition, as was the museum's solution, the informational room could be placed after the objects, or even provided on a take-home sheet.

Alper's argument that exhibitions should be visual rather than contextual can only be applied to a very small pool of exhibition types, as it only considers one fundamental reason for exhibiting - that is, looking at objects. "The Rescuers" requires a broader framework, as looking and learning are not mutually exclusive activities. Rather, they are dependent upon one another for the viewer to understand the overarching theme of the exhibition. In other words, looking (at the photograph) and learning (through reading the stories) are necessary companions for the active visitor to understand what the exhibition is all about. This is because it is not only the object that is being represented, and here I will discuss further the layers of representation found in "The Rescuers".

"The Rescuers" is, first and foremost, a photographic exhibition. The photographs represent the people within them, yes, but even more than this, they represent the countries they come from, the conflicts they were involved in and, importantly, the aspect of their character that drove them to save people from the 'other side'. This characteristic is what unites them with all the people represented in the exhibition, and more broadly, is the reason why the exhibition is taking place at all: it asks the viewer to connect with this part of themselves, and to question why it goes missing in some people during times of genocide and not in others.

Secondly, it is not only the people's images that are being represented, but also their words. Their stories are as connected to understanding the main theme of the exhibition as the images. Without them, one might get a sense of the people through the images alone, but I doubt they would walk away with any understanding of what happened to them, what acts they performed, or what their ideas relating to the experiences are. In this sense, merely looking at the exhibition is not enough; viewers must also read to understand, and then the photographs take on extra meaning. In this way, the images and the text combine to form layers of meaning that, each without the other, might not create such an impact or mean as much to the viewer.

Thirdly, the photographers' work is also being represented, and makes the exhibition as much about its object as its context. They are powerful images, and deserve a design that allows them to viewed well (and in this aspect I agree with Alpers about it being important the visitor can see objects, and that looking should not be impeded by a design that makes this challenging). However, as we have discussed, the exhibition is not about object alone, and so all elements must work together to create harmony. They must all speak to the visitor as one unit.

The typography is therefore a vital link to all of these elements of representation, and is in itself another form of representation. The typeface is not only representing the words of the people visually, but also the overall message being put across by the curator, in this case that the people represented share a common thread. They saved lives. They chose not to participate in the mass killings going on around them. The exhibition asks us to examine why some people do this, and what part of them we can find in ourselves. Their stories are not always easy to read, but they are important to tell.

How do we represent all of those people and places through one typeface?

The answer is not easy, but there are some definite 'do-nots' already. For instance, using comic sans would be completely inappropriate, by trivialising it through a look that alludes to a type of childishness. The greater message is the capacity for people to seek peace, so an aggressive typeface, such as a grunge font, would also be a bad choice. Also, the typeface must be clearly legible, and by a number of people at the same time, so a decorative type would make this more difficult, and could work against the exhibition by discouraging the viewer's attention.

Unlike Alpers' call for uninterrupted looking, "The Rescuers" requires the viewer to also read. Their eyes will go from the photo, which, as the largest and most dramatic element in each panel, would be challenging not to look at first. Second comes the name, just above the image, which is larger, and more colourful. Then comes the breakout quotes, then, last but not least, the main text.

The type creates a hierarchy of information through size, weight, form and colour. It should draw the viewer in, and make them want to read each story. After reading, the viewer goes back again to look at the photo, to view it with more understanding than the first time they saw it.

This way of seeing is promoted in exhibitions by Michael Baxandall (1991), who argues that labels** are a way of creating a space between the object (the people, the photos and the stories) and the viewer, the latter of which is always active and seeking causes. He says: "Explanatory information affects the way he [the viewer] looks, and problems met in looking give rise to a desire for explanation." (p. 37)

We must assume that the viewer asks a fundamental question when the see "The Rescuers" exhibition: 'Why are these people of visual interest, enough so that they are framed and put in the middle of a large town square?' Is merely looking going to provide them with the answer to these questions, and if so, is what they might decode the intention of the curator?

For this reason, I think those arguing for content over context, or the opposite, are missing the point (Karp 1991: 12). It would be more useful to take a broader approach to exhibiting, by looking at each exhibit individually and asking what is required for its intention to be fulfilled. If its intention is to encourage uninterrupted viewing, then by all means, reduce labelling to a minimum (or none at all, if that's what will work). However, if the exhibition, like "The Rescuers", is working on many levels of representation, then it requires all those levels to work together in harmony. To do less would be to create a watered down exhibition that would no doubt fail to fulfill its goal.

* All references in this post can be found in:
Ivan Karp and Lavine, Steven D. 1991. Exhibiting Cultures: The Poetics and Politics of Museum Display. Washington, D.C: Smithsonian Institution.   

** Baxandall writes: "...I use the word label here to denote the elements of naming, information, and exposition the exhibitor makes available to the viewer in whatever form: a label is not just a piece of card, but includes the briefing given in the catalogue entry and even selection or lighting that aims to make a point. To attend to this space, it seems to me, is to attend not only to the scene but to the source of the viewer's activity." (1991: 37)