Sensing Silence and Loudness at the Redpath Museum
by Rosalin Benedict
Part 1: General Sensory Impressions of the Redpath Museum and the Ethnology of the Gallery in Particular
The Redpath Museum is silently loud while simultaneously being loudly silent. The floors, the walls, the ceiling, the stairs, the doors, the desks, chairs and benches, the see-through compartments holding artifacts, the fossils, the minerals, the bones of sea creatures and dinosaurs, the seashells, the taxidermy of animals, the African instruments, the ancient Graeco-Roman plates and cups and all other artifacts continuously radiate energy from their own bodies as much as they generate energies and create new atmospheres as they come in contact with different people who perceive them differently.
Also, an artifact, such as the Mother Hubbard Dress displayed in the Ethnology section of the Redpath museum, expresses its creator’s energies. A human being with their own mind, body, heart and soul created this dress with purpose and intention. Although the person who made it is likely no longer living, their personality, purpose and intention are embodied within the artifact today. Appreciating the Mother Hubbard Dress through this perspective evokes a sense of presence that captures its past experiences, acknowledges its usefulness and aesthetics, and honours the specific socio-cultural environment in which creation and initial presence occurred. Thus, the displayed objects radiate waves of the creator's energies while absorbing the energies of the museum visitors. An intangible, yet deeply touching, union forms between the observing human and the untouchable artifact. Combined with the energies of the artifact itself, a synergetic atmosphere flourishes. This synergetic atmosphere embodies the museum and radiates through empty spaces as a harmonious and lively exchange occurs between artifacts and people.
These displayed objects yearn to be seen in more profound ways; they symbolize a lived life. It is not only essential to stop and look at them but to see and listen to them in a way that recognizes their lived presence. To be attentive towards an artifact, like the Mother Hubbard Dress, is to be present with its existence, acknowledge its beauty and appreciate its presence.
The sensory atmosphere of the Redpath Museum is synergetic as it adapts to how humans and non-humans experience the spaces they move around and how they meaningfully exchange emotions and stories together. All three floors of the Redpath Museum tremble with love, sadness, darkness, and warmth. People’s whispers create a silent, soft atmosphere, yet the cries and peals of laughter of displayed artifacts create a thunderous and vibrant atmosphere. So silent, yet so loud.
First Floor
I enter the 140-year-old museum through its heavy wood doors. Kids in snowboots are running all over, and adults chase them down the hallways. I look up, and I see white paint peeling off the ceiling. A Beluga whale skeleton is casually yet dramatically hanging from the ceiling—a ceiling whose white paint is starting to crinkle and crackle and fall like snowflakes. I wonder how heavy the skeleton is as it's hanging from the thin white pipelines… if it were ever to fall…would it fall like a snowflake and gently land on my shoulder, or would it fall and break my skeleton? Oh, Beluga, what is your name? What stories do you tell? What energies do you hold? Thank you for welcoming those who look up to you when they enter the museum.
I look around and admire the interior design that…does not make much sense to me. On each side of the door, there are two brown carved wood columns that only feel like they belong there if one walks further into the museum and turns around to see the whole with the majestic, dramatic door, whose design goes with the columns. Then, tall walls hold the first floor painted in white, offset by brown, carved wood half columns that give depth to the space. As if a story, an emotion, a smile or a tear is held deep within its carvings. Do these walls care for these artifacts at midnight when no humans watch over them? Do these walls and columns recognize that they, together, form a home to these artifacts? Artifacts - wood, stone, bones and minerals - that are still alive as they create presence, induce active listening, and attract curious hearts?
It almost feels as though the displayed items are energetically moving through the spaces of the museum and around us. Yet, these energies embody a melancholic spirit. One where people of various ages smile as they point at a vibrant object while others slowly walk without paying much attention to their entourage. I wonder why I am being pulled through and shaken within a melancholic ambiance when observing the first floor. Are the fossils and bones of these sea creatures drowning in their sorrows, or swimming within their joys?
Nevertheless, I dwell in a dramatic space filled with life fueled by breath. I breathe amongst the displayed items that once lived freely across oceans. They sing, speak, and breathe as they encounter each other, while the humans casually admire their bones or passively ignore their existence. In a room filled with wood, stones, rocks, fossils, bones and minerals, people whisper, smile, love and listen.
Second floor
I head towards the second floor, which is only accessible by going up the stairs (since the Redpath has no elevators). The floor presents artifacts that illustrate the disciplines of Paleontology, Mineralogy, and Biodiversity. One of the fossils hanging on the wall going up the stairs is a Limnoscelis, a crocodile-like creature. Like this creature’s aura, the atmosphere in different areas of the second floor felt a little swampy, musky and gloomy as it was crowded. The spirits and energies of different Limnoscelis were probably roaming the empty spaces.
Before walking through the second floor and immersing myself in its spaces and places, I observed it from the third floor. This perspective gives you an aerial point of view that allows you to observe without being observed. From above, the second floor looks enlightened and spacious, which creates a sunny, warm atmosphere. However, standing on the second floor, next to the dinosaur, I quickly realized that my observations from above were not a lived, felt reality from below. The sunny, warm atmosphere I captured from the third floor was an illusion propelled by the sunlight piercing through the windows and bouncing off the plexiglass. Plus, the illusionary atmosphere was not bright and joyful, as I barely saw anyone smile.
And…argh…that smell…what is that? My smell is impaired, yet here I am smelling something I wish I weren't. It smells like sewage. Channelling all my senses together, the second-floor space that holds the paleontology and biodiversity artifacts encompasses a sort of darkness that cannot be seen, felt, or heard from the third floor. The life radiating from the objects feels exhausting and calamitous. As I stand in her, I feel hurricanes and floods beneath my feet and above my head.
Third Floor
A revulsive sense of rage erupts within my heart as I stand in front of the “Eye Treatment and Medical Practice in Sri Lanka” display. I start to embody a state of apathy and push away pain, anger, and tears. I am looking at the objects, yet I cannot see them. I don’t want to listen to them. I don’t want to care for them. When I think about Sri Lanka, all I see, hear and feel are death, decapitated bodies, blood, tears, hunger, cries, screams, orphans, refugee camps, bombs, and guns. Genocide, genocide, genocide. The Sri Lankan government killing Tamil people and erasing their existence, presence and culture from Tamil Eelam. My indigenous land. My people. My ancestors.
I remember; I will never cease to remember… I may not have physically and geographically lived through the war, but the war and genocide live through me. My intergenerational pain and trauma are shadowing the Sri Lankan artifacts displayed in front of me. They are in front of me, staring at me… their home today is a museum in Montreal…a city that I, too, call home. I am unable to appreciate the artifacts and listen to their stories because I am overwhelmed. I also don’t want the artifacts to know how I am feeling. I wish I wanted to hold and approach them with love, but my body isn’t letting me feel joyful. I feel weird. I feel invisible. I feel unseen. I feel unheard. I feel sick. And now…I have a headache. I am here, but am I really here?
13h14 Raw Fieldnotes
“I feel heavy & dense. My heart is full but with darkness; not evil, but an acknowledgement of pain.”
A few minutes pass as I dwell in a state of oblivion. I continue walking around the third floor, going from one display to another. I notice that I spend more time acknowledging the display to its full extent if I sense an energetic pull from an object. Thus, I let myself be guided by these life-filled artifacts, which creates an attentive atmosphere where all my senses are heightened. The chairs placed at the most random places throughout the museum feel like the artifacts are asking me to sit with them. To speak with them. To listen to them. To love them. To imagine a life where they accompany me throughout a mundane day. This “sit with me” energy evokes a sense of togetherness between humans and other-than-humans.
However, I am annoyed and irritated by the weird reflections bouncing off the plexiglasses of almost all the displays. Although they might be clear and made “easy” to see, the intense, blinding reflections of sunlight obscure the artifacts instead of shedding light on their culturally embodied beauty. I cannot see them clearly with my eyes that already need glasses… Although I do remember that the curator explained that this 140-year-old museum is built with a lot of windows as there used to be no electricity. Despite recognizing the historical reasoning, it is unfair that the artifacts are visibly invisible amidst intense sunlight piercing through the windows.
Part 2: Encountering The Artifacts Up-Close
14:37 Raw Fieldnotes
“Pieces of the souls and hearts of those who have used and carried these objects are now, in this very moment, in front of me. How do I feel? I am in awe. Emotions are stored within these objects, so having the privilege of touching and feeling them, I wonder how the 1st person who used these objects felt. What connection did they express and experience together - the artifact and the human?”
A sense of honour and gratitude surrounds me as I stand in front of seven artifacts. A few hours ago, these seven artifacts were confined in a display and limited to being looked at…Here, they are lying on a table waiting to tangibly connect and be held by five curious anthropologists. When was the last time someone acknowledged these objects the way we will approach them? Despite our sense of touch being muffled by pink and grey gloves, we possess the privilege to touch and hold six objects from Papua New Guinea and one from Sri Lanka. Here I am, present and attentive as I receive and listen to the vibrations emitted by these artifacts. The vibrations are loud yet silent as they are not heard through an aural perspective but an embodied and felt one. Felt through an energy exchange and not simply a physical touch. The seven life-filled cultural bodies are cosmically loud as they pierce through spatial and emotional spheres, living and thriving within and beyond the room. Who else held and touched them? Whose energies were absorbed by these objects? Does being here with these objects connect me to everyone who has ever encountered them?
I sensed an emotional connection and an energetic exchange with the Sri Lankan artifact despite my profound anxieties and sense of unease when I encountered the Sri Lankan display earlier (see above). It is a small round-shaped box used to carry medicinal plants, and it touched me, this beautiful little container made of ivory ornamental with a red and blue mosaic design. I sit down next to it and feel a sense of welcome and warmth. I gently lift it off the table and cuddle it between my palms with love and care. I open the lid to discover old, dark pieces of - allegedly- medicinal plants. I carefully close the lid and admire the ivory box as I imagine every single hand that held it…What medicinal plants did you carry, ivory box? Who were the Ayurdevic practitioners that you accompanied? How do you feel to be removed from your cultural environment? Does the Redpath Museum feel like home to you?
The five of us continue to change places around the table to meet the seven artifacts. As time passes, Maria gently lifts the Kundu drum and asks the curator if she can play it. The curator looks at her and says she may gently shake it while considering its fragility. Made from wood and shaped like an hourglass, the Kundu is an emblematic drum from Papua New Guinea. The head of the drum is covered by reptile skin that is now rough and rigid. Sixteen little white seashells hang from one side and clang with one another as Maria moves the drum. Although the Kundu is right before us, no one in this room possesses the cultural knowledge to become one with it, as the artifact itself is not presently living in its original cultural context and social environment. The curator explains that the Kundu cannot be played the way it is meant to be played because the reptile skin is not soft and malleable due to the cold Canadian winter; thus, there is a loss of elasticity.
Nevertheless, in the hands of Maria, the Kundu awakens as she gently holds it and shakes it. Alive!
In the hands of Maria, the Kundu is alive.
In the hands of Maria, the Kundu is understood.
In the hands of Maria, the Kundu is acknowledged.
In the hands of Maria, the Kundu whispers its secrets.
In the hands of Maria, the Kundu is laughing and crying out of joy.
In the hands of Maria, the Kundu pierces our hearts and souls as its aliveness travels through our human bodies.
In the hands of Maria, the Kundu evokes an atmosphere of togetherness as the clanging seashells vibrate through all the thin wooden walls of the museum.
In the hands of Maria, we become One with the Kundu for a very brief moment, as the Kundu creates an audibly synergetic atmosphere.
Simultaneously paying attention to the Kundu means that, together, we recognize the silence and loudness. One with the Kundu, I enter deeply felt authentic, sonorific and intangible spaces and places of love, sound, and life. The loudness of the once-silent artifact breaks the multisilence dwelling in the museum and propels synergetic connections and encounters that create vibrantly felt atmospheres.