|
|
 |
|
| Feature |
Controversial Collections
Elizabeth Harris
03/01/2008
|
When J. Justin Ragsdale’s great-uncle died at the age of 109, the family was shocked to
find, at the bottom of a trunk, a pair of shackles. Ragsdale grew up hearing
stories about how his Uncle Bub had fought in the Civil War after "Mista" took
him to enlist as a Confederate soldier. But until then, the family refused to
acknowledge that Uncle Bub had been a slave.
Ragsdale was just a teenager, but he
took the shackles. Today, he and his wife, Gwen, live in Cherry Hill, N.J., and
own one of the largest collections of slavery-related objects, with more than
5,000 artifacts, along with several Jim Crow–era pieces. "We believe that to
share these actual artifacts that were used to restrain, and sometimes kill,
truly brings history alive," Gwen says. "To see them and even touch them—hearing
these chains—makes people recognize that despite having seen Roots or
Amistad, slavery wasn’t a story created by Hollywood, and there was nothing
pretty about it."
The Ragsdales hope their collection will educate people about
slavery and its lasting marks on Americans of all ethnic backgrounds. While
their mission seems noble, the Ragsdales and others who collect politically
charged or controversial material face problems that collectors of innocuous
objects like teacups or landscape paintings never will. They may be judged as
cultivating an unnatural interest bordering on the grotesque. Even those who
share a cultural history with the subject material—such as the Ragsdales or
Jewish collectors seeking to preserve historical material from the Holocaust—may
face ethical questions about their collections if they acquire pieces from those
who do not share their beliefs.
Disposing of such collections can also challenge owners because
potential family heirs may defer stewardship.
Often, this material remains a secret, with artifacts hidden
away—sometimes actually buried or forgotten. Ragsdale was alone in his interest
in Uncle Bub’s story. No one else in the family wanted to address the elephant
in the room and acknowledge the inherent meaning of the shackles—that Uncle Bub
likely grew up a slave. They had thought of him as a sharecropper. Ragsdale’s
interest led him to hunt for more pieces. He scouted at flea markets and former plantations, looking for other slavery artifacts. He bought a metal detector and
asked developers for approval to survey land slated for construction—literally
uncovering the past.
TOP VIEW
Collectors
of controversial objects—such as mementoes of tragedies like the sinking of the Titanic or historical abominations like slavery or the Holocaust—face unique challenges.
They can be judged harshly by family or friends and come up against thorny
ethical questions, including especially difficult provenance concerns. How their
collections are viewed often changes with time and context. But for those who
are passionate about a given subject, it is all about facing the truth. |
But Ragsdale realizes that the material upsets many people.
Some would prefer that evidence of hatred, violence and racism disappear. One
African American man told Ragsdale he found a cache of derogatory postcards and
destroyed them. "Some people recoil or are repelled by our collection," Gwen
Ragsdale says.
James Allen, an antiques dealer near Savannah, Ga., who
collects photos that document lynchings in the hope of exposing what he calls
evidence of "repressed history," faced similar questions. Allen and John
Littlefield, his partner in life and work, published the photos in the book
Without Sanctuary: Lynching
Photography in America. They stage exhibits
around the country.
"Early on, no one thought it was a good idea," Allen says.
"Some people even said it was bad karma to have these in our house."
Shock Value
Stephen Brandman, a co-owner of Thompson Hotels, has grown
accustomed to strong emotional reactions when guests visit his New York loft,
which is filled with his collection of politically charged art and objects. He
seeks thought-provoking work that will stimulate conversation. One of Brandman’s
major pieces is a video installation, Crowd Around, which he bought at Art
Basel Miami two years ago. The clay-animation film, created by the Chinese
artist Zhou Xiaohu, includes disturbing scenes and commentary on current events.
One 9/11-inspired clip shows airplanes colliding with office buildings. Another
depicts an abortion, a comment on China’s one-child policy.When Brandman bought
the piece, he knew that Zhou had smuggled it out of China to avoid potential
fallout because of its controversial subjects. Now, screening it in his home on
a permanent loop, Brandman says his friends and guests who see the piece react
differently.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
