Robert Cumming

My website is www.robertcumming.net

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“Life is for sharing, Robert!” So advised Edouardo Paolozzi many decades ago, and he showed me how to do it, not through words or holding forth, but by unspoken example. Nothing thrilled him more than using his eyes and looking, and sharing what he saw with others.

More people go to museums and art galleries in a year than go to football matches. That is a well-established statistic. Yet how many people who go to the National Gallery in London bother to, or even know how to, look at the pictures on display? They might see a lot of pictures (the best part of 2000 if they walk round all the rooms), yet they probably never stop and properly look at a single one.

How do I know this? When I worked at the Tate Gallery, I used to do surveys of visitors' behaviour; and when I visit a museum or gallery with my students I make them do the same. They are genuinely shocked to find that most visitors invariably spend more time reading the labels that they do looking at the works of art, and that five seconds is more than the average time spent in front of any one picture. Photographing the labels, with scarcely a glance of the work of art next to it, seems to be the current fashion. How many of the nearly ten million visitors to the Louvre each year get close enough to the Mona Lisa to have a proper look, let alone notice that there are two different landscapes in the back ground behind her, each with a different horizon that can never meet up. She knows: no wonder she smiles so wittingly!

Looking at works of art takes time and patience, but the rewards to be reaped are immense. I regularly spend over one hour in front of a single work with my students, We share what we see (because we all see something different), discuss it, puzzle over it, enjoy it, and discover (if the work of art is in good) that this is only the beginning. Even better, we all go away excited, refreshed and rewarded, and with a very clear visual memory of what we have been looking at.

How then to look at and enjoy the work of art on display in a public place? The worst thing to do is to seek refuge in words and verbal information or explanations. The words simply blind you to what you might see and enjoy with your own eyes. Can you imagine going to a concert and sitting next to somebody who talks throughout the whole performance? You would not be able to listen to a single note of music! Yet that is what happens when some voice babbles at you as you look at a work of art. I have seen groups whose eyes have been fixated on the face or voice of their guide, with their backs turned to the works of art being talked about: they might as well have been blind-folded. By the time they get home, will they remember any of the information or dates that have been thrown at them? Probably not.

Can you imagine the frustration of being invited to share a bottle of rare vintage wine, only to suffer your hosting droning on about its exceptional qualities, burdening you with endless facts and figures about the vineyard, but never actually pulling the cork to allow you to taste it for yourself and make up your own mind?

What to do, then? I can only offer my solution. Whether I am visiting a museum or gallery for first time, or revisiting one that I know well, and whether I am on my own or with another person, I play a simple game. In every room I ask myself this question, and I cannot leave the room until I have answered it: which of these objects/works of art do I really want for myself? Which of them delights the eye, gives pleasure, makes me smile/ think/ feel, makes me want to share it with somebody else?

The game really does make me have a good look at everything that is there. Sometimes, having had a good look, it turns out to be the small, at first glance insignificant and unknown picture or object, that is my final choice, rather than the big, familiar and obvious. Sometimes it is a no-brainer: there is one lovely thing which really stands out from all the rest. The game gets difficult in a room which is full of lovely things: but I can only have one – so which is it going to be, and why? The game is also difficult when the room is full of unappealing nothings, a ragbag of the third or fourth rate. But the rules of the game must be obeyed: I am not allowed to leave without choosing one thing; so, it forces me to look at them all and to find a glimmer of merit, somewhere, in one of them.

I played the game with Paolozzi; I have introduced countless dozens of others to the game. We all have such a good time playing it and sharing our opinions and discoveries. I cannot tell you how satisfying and rewarding the game is. I play it with my wife who enjoys the game as much as I do. We go around independently and then revisit each room and share our choices. Sometimes we agree, but as like as not we surprise each other, and that makes each of us take a further look. Best of all it means that each of us remembers one thing from each room; and then there is the final question: out of all the things that you chose today, room by room, which is the one single thing that you really want?

The game is surprisingly tiring, so best follow the example of a football match: a first half of 45 minutes (let's say 60 as it is an art game); then a half-time break of 15 minutes (let's say 30 if the museum has a nice coffee shop); a second half of 45/60 minutes. Thus, 2 to 2 ½ hours in total: a morning or afternoon thoroughly well spent with the eye and mind well exercised: the reward at the end of it being something to remember, possibly forever. Nobody loses at this game. What could be better?

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Robert Cumming (art historian)

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Robert Alexander Cumming (born May 1945) is professor of the history of art at Boston University. He worked for the Tate Gallery, London, before moving to Christie's auction house where he founded the education department. After he retired from Christie's he joined Boston University. Cumming is a prolific author of art history books aimed at young people and beginners. His edited edition of the letters between Bernard Berenson and Kenneth Clark is published by Yale University Press.

Early life

Robert Cumming was born in May 1945. He received his advanced education at Trinity Hall, Cambridge, where he studied law. He qualified as a barrister and began to practice but returned to Trinity Hall to study art history.[1]

Career

Cumming worked in the education department of the Tate Gallery, London, before moving to Christie's auction house in 1978 where he founded Christie's Education which continues to offer graduate programmes in London and New York, and non-degree programmes in London, Paris, New York and Melbourne. He retired from Christie's in 2000, after which he was responsible for the Boston University Study Abroad London Centre from 2004 to 2012 before becoming professor of art history with the university.[1]

Writing

Cumming is a prolific author and is particularly known for his association with Dorling Kindersley for whom he has written many introductory level and explanatory works of art history. First inspired by his interactions with novices and young people during his time at the Tate Gallery.[1] His subsequent experience in teaching adults and students of all ages has resulted in over a dozen books. His books have been translated into over 20 languages, have sold over one million copies, and been awarded literary prizes in the UK, Holland and Italy.

His knowledge of connoisseurship came to the fore in his 2015 edited edition of the correspondence between Bernard Berenson and Kenneth Clark, published by Yale University Press, which was positively reviewed.[2][3][4]

Personal life

Cumming lives in Buckinghamshire and is married to Carolyn. The couple have two daughters, Chloe and Phoebe.[5]