After a morning with Amber at the Getty Center, viewing and reflecting on Photography and the Black Arts Movement (Photography and the Black Arts Movement, 1955-1985 Exhibit at The Getty Center), I decided to take advantage of the 2 for 1 parking and continue on to the Getty Villa for their current exhibit -The Egyptian Book of the Dead.
After arriving, I got my parking ticket validated at the Parking office and made my way to the village grounds. After enjoying a lovely late lunch at the Villa Cafe, I was ready to write a bit before continuing on to the museum building.
I meandered into the museum and was floored by how gorgeous the Italian design was.
The Egyptian Book of the Dead Exhibit
This exhibit was slightly unsettling for me. After viewing the linen bandages, I was struck by a thought I'd also had while touring the British Museum. At the core of it: a grave robber, in order to satisfy the demands of wealthy British patrons during the 1800s, broke into burial tombs, unwrapped mummified bodies, and took the wrapped linens to sell to collectors.
And now, decades later, I was viewing them, in a building next to the Pacific Ocean, in Pacific Palisades.
During an interactive portion of the multimedia display, I clicked through to learn the story of how the Book of the Dead shrouds came to be in front of me. I was struck with the reflection that museums from around the world take things from Black and brown countries, put them on display, marvel at them, but yet systematically disrespect the ancestors of the people who walk today. Later, as I walked the hall and read the info panels about mosaics taken from Syria, Turkey, and Pompeii, I wondered about ownership, and what that even means when something is considered priceless.
These fragments of our human history hold within them the energy and spirit of those that created them. The brushstrokes of the spells written in the Book of the Dead were so precise and so precious, that they still exist today. Yet the “modern world” brushes off the religion that compelled them to make these artifacts as primitive, simply because it was before Christianity or any of the other modern religions. And yet here I was, looking with curiosity at woven pieces of cloth wrapped around a body that had been carefully prepared for the afterlife. But even then, the video said the body itself was discarded and lost after the grave robbers got what they wanted.
It reminded me of how people look at different cultures, take what they want from them, and disregard the actual humans who made it. Black culture, for one, with fashion, words, energy.
I feel like I’m developing into a new layer of what it means to be a writer, a photographer, and to exist in this world. What do I freely offer? As a woman, why do I feel compelled to give so much of myself, until I’m a hollowed husk, with others taking my book of spells to manifest, pass along, and say that they knew me when. What do I choose to retain for myself, that special incantation of magic, to make sure I’m not forgotten as my words and works live beyond me?
In fact, I heard another patron say to his friend, “Why is this in the United States?” It echoed that sentiment around repatriation, of artifacts systematically taken from Black and brown places and spaces. But even then, what’s to be said of the paintings and sculptures from Greece, Rome, and predominantly white countries? Where does the line of ownership end, or begin? Are some things just meant for the world?
The Egyptian Book of the Dead exhibit did what good art is supposed to do. It made me think. It made me process my emotions and my thoughts.
It made me a better, more aware artist.
And most of all, it reminded me that we are all going to die.
So get on with living, then.
The Getty Villa
17985 Pacific Coast HwyPacific Palisades, California 90272
