Something came across my desktop today that I had to share. It touches on everything I care about: the power of story, the way that people inhabit and experience cities, museums, creative practice, how objects can be reframed to shine a spotlight on their meaning and emotion, and simple human kindness. In this case the story in question is that of Loes Veenstra, the city is Rotterdam, the museum is Museum Rotterdam, the creative practice is knitting, the objects are sweaters—many, many sweaters—and the kindness comes from neighbors.
Loes Veenstra spent the last 60 years compulsively knitting sweaters, until she had amassed 550 of them. They were never worn—each time she finished one she would put it in a box in her apartment and start another. Last year folks from Museum Rotterdam discovered her collection and asked if they could exhibit it as part of a project on her neighborhood, Carnisse. Then artist Christien Meindertsma got involved, and low and behold one day this happened, on the street outside Veenstra’s home:
I’ve seen photos online of the exhibition of the sweaters, and that’s beautiful too—a sea of colorful forms, suspended from the ceiling like a sculptural installation. But this video—it’s something different, something much more. First, the sweaters are worn. Standard museum practice is that nobody gets to touch the objects—they must be protected and preserved. But see what happens when these sweaters are put on bodies and come to life: they are human kindness animated. And second, the sweaters come to life not in the exhibition gallery but on a residential street. In this context—in this sense of place—they become an instrument of community.
I think a lot about the hyperlocal experience—what it means to know every nook and cranny of a five-block square, how each of us is an informal historian, logging the small changes that happen each day in our neighborhoods. We come to learn a lot about our neighbors, and on the other hand, there is always more to learn. I am imagining how this flash mob has changed the hyperlocal history of Carnissestraat—not just for Loes Veenstra but for all her neighbors who participated in and witnessed it. And I am imagining what it would be like if museums’ treatment of objects were always this powerful. Imagine me and you, so happy together.
Thanks Rainey. I thought of you recently in Helsinki– at the modern art museum there they have several works where people are encouraged to touch and interact with the art in non-traditional ways. Some of them were quite powerful and of course the combo of innovative museum + Finland = RT.
I assume you were at Kiasma? Such a wonderful museum. Did you see Jakob Dahlgren’s installation with all the colorful ribbons you can walk through? I think it was supposed to be reinstalled this fall as part of a “greatest hits” exhibition. It’s a happy machine.
Thanks for sharing! Brought a smile to my face. I wonder what the knitter thought of the whole production. For a compulsive person like her, how would that feel to have such an unexpected event like this occur? I like your thoughts about a collection being “touchable” and breaking the rules of conventional museum practice. I would add to that – experience. It’s exciting when museums create experiences so that people feel they are a part of something special together for a limited period of time.
Great comments, Andrea. I too have been wondering how Loes Veenstra felt up there in her throne. So far I haven’t found any interviews with/reactions from her online, although that may just be a language issue–I want to dig a little further. There are moments where she seems to have a look of happiness on her face, but I can imagine that being the center of attention like that could also be stressful.
And yes yes yes: experiences. We have only scratched the surface on the experiences we could create.
I couldn’t see the video (my old computer) but the description and comments made me think of your efforts regarding the commemmoration of the Marathon bombings – too bad knitting warm sweaters couldn’t be involved in some way. Seems like they say comfort like nothing else!
Or one big sweater that the whole city could get inside of at once?
[…] collection and a whole lotta love from her community. Check out this video and then head over to Rainey Tisdale’s Blog to read all about […]
Rainey, hi. I was in your workshop last June at the MA History Conference on “Reading objects for their true value,” and inpsired by how you got me (and the rest of my group) to see objects as so much more. It really opened up a whole new dimension of interpretation that I hope to incorporate into our museum. I loved this flash mob video showing the collection of 550 sweaters. At about a minute in, I started to smile, and by 1:30, out of nowhere, I started to cry. Not exactly sure why — but it was a happy cry, I think for a generous creator and her whimsical objects, and brilliant, creative event organizers bringing a bunch of people together in the place where it all began. Thanks!
Thanks for the kind words, Kathie. I was trying to pack so many big concepts into such a short amount of time with that MA History Conference workshop–concepts that I normally spend an entire semester reinforcing–so it’s great to hear that it did indeed stick with you. As for the sweater story, I hope it raises all of our sights a little higher about what we should be trying to accomplish in our museums. Nice to hear from you.
Wow. What a great event. Thanks for finding and describing, Rainey.
Another thought: I like that the community brought different meanings to the sweaters and her work than she did. She put them in boxes and did not share them–perhaps her pleasure was in the designing and making, or perhaps she is a kind of creative hoarder. The museum saw a different kind of value: as art, but it is the wearing of them and the celebration on her own street that seems to have the most meanings. As you said. But maybe she was horrified. Do we know?
Yes, any given object has so many different meanings and contexts, but sometimes we have blinders on and can only see one or two. One of the things I like about this project is how much it plays with the notion of what a sweater can mean.
So far I don’t know what Loes Veenstra felt/feels about the flash mob, other than the expressions we read on her face in the video. There may be more in Dutch but I still haven’t gotten around to the complicated Google Translate search–I’m only relying on what I can find in English. Some day I will see my colleagues at Museum Rotterdam and ask for the back story.
I think she looks confused and uncertain under her smile. I don’t think she looks delighted. But perhaps she was overwhelmed and feeling uncomfortable under the spotlight. Does it matter what she thinks? I guess not so much anymore. Once her creations were unleashed on the world they took on their own separate meanings and identities and her response is only one of many that matter.