Paola Bascón
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©2024 Paola Bascón
In their absence, together we mourn
2024
Goldsmiths, University of London
The underworld has been doomed to be sacked and mined, they say.
How should a space of rest host so many stories buried in silence?
Displaced and looted burial vessels have been reclaimed, stolen for a second time as flawed copies. Once passing through the landscapes of extraction, one finds them floating above whispering sounds. Brought together—perhaps against their will—to share stories of forced exhumations. The objects are 3D-scanned copies taken from the British Museum, and no permission has been asked or granted. This space is conceived as a site of transition, as the copies embark on a journey of reburial. Before returning them to the underground, we might imagine landscapes of potential reparation while acknowledging their impossibility.
Installation - ceramics, cotton, natural dyes, copper, steal, wood, sound, wool, sand and spices.
Degree Show 2024 Art & Ecology MA , Goldsmiths
Paola Bascón
and metal shelves.
They are kept on display for thousands of eyes to see,
for thousands of lenses
to capture.
They remain abstained from the encounter of touch.
Their surface may eventually
be removed from dust,
but rarely do they recall the contact with human skin,
the grip of fingers and
the motion they enable.
As a distant memory,
the feeling of the breeze of air,
the texture of the earthy ground,
or a wooden table.
Long ago they used to endeavor in long journeys.
Filled and emptied,
again and again.
To the river and back,
to the river and beyond.
When the eyes
of the living were shut,
so did they accompany
the sleep of the gaze
into the comforting darkness of an underground robe.
Today they are within reach
of eyes that look but do not comprehend.
Installation view
To enter the building, one must stand in a queue delimited by temporary metal fences. The queue ends at a white tent, where several guards await. The security procedure does not take long. I open my bag and allow them to look inside with the help of a lamp. Past the tent, a monumental 19th-century Greek Revival style building awaits. Inside, around 80,000 objects are kept for public display, from the 8 million objects comprising the collection. The institution states that the small and large collections were gathered by officials, diplomats, missionaries, and during the time of the empire.
I go inside the building towards the inner courtyard, a huge space covered by a gigantic modern glass and steel roof. The architecture of the courtyard reminds me of what could be the hall of an airport or a shopping mall. This association is triggered by how my body reacts when I find myself in these kinds of spaces. A feeling of slight dizziness and disorientation takes over, perhaps related to the scale of the building, the lighting system, the climatized air, or the pace at which many people are walking. In this sensorially overwhelming courtyard, I remember a vague reference to the term “non-place.” Can museums be ‘non-places’ for objects?
Installation view