‘Cabinets of Curiosities’

The modern museum traces its origins to the “kunstkammer” literally an “art room” that stored and displayed works of art. Another word for it was “wunderkammer” or “room of wonders.” By the 16th century, these became known in English as “Cabinets of Curiosities.” These were ornate cabinets with many drawers and doors that housed collections of curious objects that were classified into: “naturalia” that were objects from nature; “artificialia,” objects created or modified by humans; “antiquaria,” ancient objects; “exotica,” rare plants or animals from distant or unknown places of the earth; and “scientifica,” compasses, astrolabes, clocks, etc.

One can see the origin of the modern museum in over 2,000 objects assembled from the collections of Hapsburg emperors and princes from the 16th to the 17th centuries, wonderfully displayed in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, Austria. This had particular resonance with me because here, I saw bronze busts and other representations of Philip II of Spain and his father Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, who was Charles I of Spain, best remembered in the Philippines for the brandy that bears his name “Carlos I” or “Carlos Primero.”

While I spotted no Philippine objects in this exhibition, I am sure some are lying around somewhere in storage or mislabeled. There are a lot of objects made from precious metals, gold and silver, ornamented with precious and semi-precious stones that attract most museum visitors. I was not distracted by the glitter and looked at other things that came from our part of the world: carved drinking cups made from rhinoceros horn (believed to have magical and healing properties); Chinese porcelain, particularly an image of a small nude boy that was an Asian rendition of the Santo Niño; and two carvings from Portuguese Goa, one of the Virgin Mary and another of a sleeping Santo Niño made from ivory and carved by Chinese artisans who gave an Asian look to Western images.

There are a lot of shells in these Cabinets of Curiosities that are the type we can still buy cheaply from mall-side tourist stores or the handicraft stalls in “ilalim ng Quiapo.” Shells may have been ordinary to people in Asia, but they were rare, curiosities that were set in gold and silver in table objects with no purpose except to be an ostentatious display of wealth and power.

When my students read Antonio Pigafetta’s account of the Magellan expedition, they often spot the description of bananas as “figs.” They also ask why Pigafetta wrote a very long description of the coconut. I then explained that the coconut, an ordinary thing to Pinoys, was new to Pigafetta who had laid eyes on it for the first time. Pigafetta’s description of the coconut is not for us but for 16th-century readers who will never see one. So Pigafetta in his writing wants to capture the wonder he experienced on that historic trip, the first to circumnavigate the world.

There are dried and carved coconut shells in these kunstkammers ordinary in themselves but turn extraordinary when set in gold and silver. In one cabinet were globes and eggs made from nacre, mother of pearl, better known in the Philippines as “nakar.” These were very impressive and, to me, were the origins of the ornate Easter eggs created by Peter Carl Faberge for the Russian imperial family from the late 19th century till they were deposed in 1917.

Museums in Vienna are particularly stunning in scale, architectural design, and the nobility of material used, what we would call “materiales fuertes” in the Philippines. These museums were designed to make visitors feel small in a space of art, science, and imperial power. In our day, we see things differently. We can tell a deeper painful story rather than tearing down these historic buildings. I saw “restorative description” in use at the Maruitshuis Museum in The Hague, where tourists come for selfies with one painting—Vermeer’s “Girl with the Pearl Earring.” The museum is a stately home filled with art and antiquities that hide a dark side. If you read the texts on the walls, you will contextualize what you see. This quote from “We Slaves of Surinam” by Anton de Kom can be seen as you ascend the staircase:

“Maybe you, white reader, learned at school that the Maruitshuis in The Hague was made of the most precious varieties of Brazilian wood.

“As you pause to marvel at this building, we ask that you think of how it was for our mothers, who bore those heavy burdens on their heads day in and day out, lugging them across hilly terrain, through pools and swamps, always under the threat of whips wielded by your ancestors.”

That staircase was destroyed by fire in 1704 and replaced by European hardwood, but the narrative remains. The formal portrait of Johan Maurits, the owner of the house, is given further context. The wall text invites visitors to see beyond an art historical lens that focused on his bringing scientists to Brazil to study land and people and see his involvement in the transatlantic slave trade that victimized an estimated 24,000 Africans. Museums teach us to see beyond the objects to the stories they actually tell.

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