Brooklyn Museum's Understated Honesty: A Subtle Dance with a Troubled Past
Photo by Zalfa Imani on Unsplash
In a society that increasingly calls for self-examination and accountability, museums grapple with the ghosts of colonialism and controversial acquisitions.
At the heart of this movement, the Brooklyn Museum’s candid approach shines subtly but surely.
On a recent visit, I couldn’t help noticing how deftly the museum dodged the trend of performative wokeness. Instead, it steps into the discourse with frankness, maturity, and a clear willingness to square off against the challenging realities that molded it. It ditches flowery language and self-pity in favor of a dialogue that's strikingly candid.
Here’s a wall text in the Asian art section that drew my attention:
"Until quite late in the twentieth century, we acquired works without asking how they had traded hands in the past...Like many other museums with Asian art collections, the Brooklyn Museum has benefited from this large-scale displacement of art and cultural heritage."
The museum’s admission, devoid of excess or grandeur, faces up to the advantages its reaped from art displacement—something few institutions have the courage to confront. It's not a battle cry for change, but a quiet, humble acknowledgment that balances the artwork's standalone value against the backdrop of its contemporary cultural context.
Further along the gallery, I was impressed by a similar example in the Islamic art section:
"By the end of the eighteenth century... European and North American merchants, collectors, and museums began expeditions to collect artworks on a large scale from the Islamic world. Today, these objects make up the collections of many European and U.S. museums."
Again, the text isn't winning any medals for aggressively decolonizing. Instead, it's more of a subtle nod in that direction, using a no-nonsense, emotionally even approach. The text tackles the disconcerting truths behind the migration of Islamic art to Western collections without resorting to cloudy, evasive language.
Throughout the museum, this straightforward communication strikes a chord. It doesn't beg for sympathy or absolution, it merely offers an honest account of the collections' origins, fostering a space for understanding, reflection, and learning.
The museum is far from perfect in moving past its history of colonialism. In 2018, a group called Decolonize Brooklyn Museum wrote an open letter to the museum, imploring it “to participate in the creation of a Decolonization Commission” after it hired Kristen Windmuller-Luna, a white woman, to curate its African art collection. The group called the decision “not a good look in this day and age,” a sentiment that I agree is hard to contest. In fact, the closest thing I saw to the Museum promising action was some accompanying wall text in the South Asian art section.
"The Brooklyn Museum has particularly fine sculpture made for Hindu temples in India... In contrast, the Museum's holdings do not properly reflect the significant contributions of Muslim patronage in South Asia... We hope to remedy some of these gaps and imbalances in the future."
In this setting, the museum doesn't play coy. It lays out the gaps in its collection, spotlighting the underrepresented Muslim patronage and other traditions. It owns up to its failings and hints at a commitment to do better. This display of self-awareness doesn’t steal the limelight from the art but rather adds another layer of understanding, delicately weaving in its history with our contemporary context.
The Brooklyn Museum's approach represents a powerful paradigm: openness doesn’t need to be grandiose to be effective, and transparency can gracefully complement, rather than overshadow, the art it frames.
