It's a beautiful day out, so I have the window cracked in my hotel room. A little while ago a procession of some kind moved down the market street that's just out of sight behind the hotel. Lots of drumming. It faded after about 15 minutes but some drum beats still float in through the window from time to time. I guess when the wind blows this way.
Yesterday AV and I walked over to the National Museum, where we met up with our colleague B and her husband (G) and niece. They are German, American, and German respectively. The museum was fascinating in a totally unintentional way that sparked the latest installment in my (and seemingly all expats') interrogation of what the hell is up with the half-assing of everything around here. The museum is huge and grandiose, but ugly, covered in the same cheap-looking colored glass as many other newer buildings around here (and in Afghanistan and Pakistan). The art collection on the top floor could most generously be described as modest. There are a few interesting and somewhat accomplished paintings, among a pretty wide collection of very bad paintings and drawings. And there is a puzzlingly random selection of other European art: a couple of 19th-century German and Austrain vases, some German military knives and decorative swords, some Danish (or Dutch?) coins from a few hundred years ago. What the hell is all that stuff doing in there? No explanation is even attempted, not even in Russian or Tajik. The captions are, as in the antiquities museum, printed on colored paper and haphazardly affixed to the picture frames or display cases.
The second floor hallway is identical to the floor above, but the doors to the galleries are closed.
The first floor has something much more engaging: a sweeping collection of artifacts and art purporting to tell the grand history of the Tajik people, from Neanderthal times onward. They've had to do a lot of nation-building from scratch here, and the history that they're cobbling together is interesting if sometimes hard to follow. Zoroastrianism figures in, as do the Achaeminids. There are at least explanations on the wall here that form a rough chronological narrative, but they're poorly-designed and cheap-looking. And while I can't comment on the Russian and Tajik wording, the English is poor and full of errors.
And that brings me to the confused-expat question: why? Why go to the trouble of building a huge museum in a prominent part of the capital -- right next to the presidential palace and the world's second-tallest flagpole* -- that is clearly meant to make an impression on visitors, and then do such a crappy job with the arrangements and language and presentation? You've already done most of the work to build the building and get everything in one place, why not curate a little better? For $10,000 I'd happily rewrite all the English captions, import the foam board, and redesign and remount everything myself. That isn't that much money! The thing must have cost millions of dollars to build! G told us about a book that's supposedly tells the national history, the English translation of which is "worse than you'd get on Google translate." Why not hire someone who can write coherently in English to clean it up? It's of a piece with the weird resort I stayed in last year with the Norwegians where they hadn't emptied the trash can in the bathroom after the previous guests. Paying attention and doing something really well, as opposed to halfheartedly going through the motions just doesn't seem to occur to people.
G and B have been here for 15 years and, if it's not already obvious, completely concurred with my and AV's impression of the place. I feel a bit patronizing saying all this but man, as G said, who's going to want to come here and open a factory, or spend their reputation organizing a tour group, if you can't be sure anyone is going to do their work properly? It's not just me who's thrown off by it.
That's enough for now, I need to do some more work. Showtime tomorrow morning, as the workshop begins in earnest. No idea how it'll go, but seems like it at least won't be a catastrophe.
*The Saudis built a taller one last year. Jerks.
Yesterday AV and I walked over to the National Museum, where we met up with our colleague B and her husband (G) and niece. They are German, American, and German respectively. The museum was fascinating in a totally unintentional way that sparked the latest installment in my (and seemingly all expats') interrogation of what the hell is up with the half-assing of everything around here. The museum is huge and grandiose, but ugly, covered in the same cheap-looking colored glass as many other newer buildings around here (and in Afghanistan and Pakistan). The art collection on the top floor could most generously be described as modest. There are a few interesting and somewhat accomplished paintings, among a pretty wide collection of very bad paintings and drawings. And there is a puzzlingly random selection of other European art: a couple of 19th-century German and Austrain vases, some German military knives and decorative swords, some Danish (or Dutch?) coins from a few hundred years ago. What the hell is all that stuff doing in there? No explanation is even attempted, not even in Russian or Tajik. The captions are, as in the antiquities museum, printed on colored paper and haphazardly affixed to the picture frames or display cases.
The second floor hallway is identical to the floor above, but the doors to the galleries are closed.
The first floor has something much more engaging: a sweeping collection of artifacts and art purporting to tell the grand history of the Tajik people, from Neanderthal times onward. They've had to do a lot of nation-building from scratch here, and the history that they're cobbling together is interesting if sometimes hard to follow. Zoroastrianism figures in, as do the Achaeminids. There are at least explanations on the wall here that form a rough chronological narrative, but they're poorly-designed and cheap-looking. And while I can't comment on the Russian and Tajik wording, the English is poor and full of errors.
And that brings me to the confused-expat question: why? Why go to the trouble of building a huge museum in a prominent part of the capital -- right next to the presidential palace and the world's second-tallest flagpole* -- that is clearly meant to make an impression on visitors, and then do such a crappy job with the arrangements and language and presentation? You've already done most of the work to build the building and get everything in one place, why not curate a little better? For $10,000 I'd happily rewrite all the English captions, import the foam board, and redesign and remount everything myself. That isn't that much money! The thing must have cost millions of dollars to build! G told us about a book that's supposedly tells the national history, the English translation of which is "worse than you'd get on Google translate." Why not hire someone who can write coherently in English to clean it up? It's of a piece with the weird resort I stayed in last year with the Norwegians where they hadn't emptied the trash can in the bathroom after the previous guests. Paying attention and doing something really well, as opposed to halfheartedly going through the motions just doesn't seem to occur to people.
G and B have been here for 15 years and, if it's not already obvious, completely concurred with my and AV's impression of the place. I feel a bit patronizing saying all this but man, as G said, who's going to want to come here and open a factory, or spend their reputation organizing a tour group, if you can't be sure anyone is going to do their work properly? It's not just me who's thrown off by it.
That's enough for now, I need to do some more work. Showtime tomorrow morning, as the workshop begins in earnest. No idea how it'll go, but seems like it at least won't be a catastrophe.
*The Saudis built a taller one last year. Jerks.
No comments:
Post a Comment