“Playing house” in the ROM’s European exhibit
Pray tell, what is the point of a museum? Is it to learn about a foreign culture, brought to you, laid out before your feet? Is it to remind yourself that history still exists—that it’s real—to “ooh” and “ahh” at all the pretty things before you return to a real life someplace else? Or is it to play house?
The Royal Ontario Museum (ROM) has been Victoria’s neighbour for over a century. It stands imposing and grand on the other side of Avenue Road, fitting right into the landscape of our historical campus. Many first years go on field trips there. Orientation parties are held beside the dinosaur fossils, next to the East Asian displays. However, just upstairs, tucked into the third floor of the Weston Family Wing, is a glistening treasure that makes all else seem bleak.
Despite having one of the largest collections of Chinese artefacts outside of China, something is lacking in the China exhibit on the first floor of the ROM. A similar deprivation can be observed in the Korea, Greece, Rome, and Egypt exhibits. Upon first walking into the East Asian wing, there is simply too much to see. Everything is piled in a labyrinth of tall displays, innumerous versions of each item lined up behind murky, bizarrely green-tinted glass. The entire space is dimly lit (though I understand some objects may be sensitive to light, sometimes it’s like the ROM is afraid of its electricity bills). Beautiful porcelain vases are hidden on bottom shelves, tapestries near decay from the lack of eyes that feed them (because that is how history survives—when you interact with it and create a space for it in your mind). It incites aimless wandering. It’s almost designed to be forgotten. Hunting for object labels is like a scavenger hunt. Placards beside glass cases give vague descriptions about the periods and the art styles, but I can never tell where one period ends and another begins. I know more about who curated these objects than what they are or where they’re from.
According to the ROM website, “some artworks are so unique to ROM, there are none other of their kind on display in the world, not even in China.” Is this a fact to be proud of? Many of the Chinese artefacts were excavated from Chinese soil by Canadian United Church missionaries in the early 1900s, a period of vast turmoil in all of China, when laws on the exportation of culturally significant artefacts had not been created. Objects were bought for cheap and shipped to the ROM by the thousands before Chinese locals even knew they existed. All this treasure was acquired for very little money—it’s displayed like it too.
Two floors up, double doors open into the John David & Signy Eaton Court. A mosaic on the ground paints an image of the globe, and you’re greeted by what is almost an altar, with wings branching off on each side. In the dim room, gold artefacts glisten against red velvet. The display cases are in-lit, beautiful and consistent. Turn to the right and you will see a map ready to guide you through Europe: Evolution of Style. A winding path from room to room leads you in linear fashion from the Medieval Ages to modern times. Little booths play period music along the way. Statues on their altars glow beneath spotlights. Clear glass cases are framed by polished wood—framed, as art should be. Arches and colours divide each era as the wallpapers and flooring change for each display. Silver is polished and shining, especially beautiful pieces are illuminated, arrangements are tastefully made, and everything radiates intention. The space helps tell a story as much as the artefacts themselves. The lighting feels like the halos in Baroque paintings, brushing every artefact in a stroke of divinity.
The most impressive feature is the vast displays—the life-size recreations—of living spaces, from Tudor bedrooms to Rococo dining rooms. Pieces like chests, chairs, writing desks, and sewing kits are placed in context, creating spaces using period-accurate materials that showcase not just how artefacts look, but how they were lived with. Small items are used to imitate life, like coins tossed on nightstands, napkins askew on dining tables, and religious figurines sitting on fireplace mantels. Dresser drawers are half open, for animation but also display. The attention to detail is astounding. Some rooms show out-of-period artwork that was popular at the time, like the Greek vase sitting in the Neoclassical display. Whereas objects in the Chinese collection are labelled scientifically (though often lacking details), most of the artefacts on display here are not labelled at all. Where the China exhibit is meant as education for the West on the East, this collection is equally for education as for pleasure. It offers a window into a bygone life, representing a fantasy, a European ideal, that was never attainable for most of the people viewing it now. You are immersed not just into a past life, but into the past life of the most wealthy and privileged people at the time. The result is breathtaking.
After witnessing both sides of what the ROM can do, there is no help but feeling like the different intentions that went into these exhibits are value judgements of what is important, what is beautiful, and what is worthy of remembrance. One shines, because it is allowed to. One will be remembered, because it evokes emotion in its viewer. The European exhibit is not just a display; it is an experience. It tells a story not through placards, but through space, ambiance, and lighting. Context is given not through labels, but what can be considered a performance. Imagining yourself in those curated rooms, fantasising about that ideal life, playing house—this is a performance, and it is one that is remembered. The more ‘foreign’ artefacts of the ROM fall victim to cultural and political sensitivity, but there is a line between carefulness and neglect. Beautiful artefacts from all corners of the world deserve to be remembered as the ROM’s European collection is.