Anna Perkins

Why Conserve?

Why are we compelled to conserve or restore works of art? Is it better to intervene or leave a work of art be? It is easy to look back in horror at past conservation practices that were permanent, damaged the work, and obscured original material, but hindsight is 20/20. It may be the case that current best practices will be frowned upon in the future, as more progress is made in the field of art conservation, or as attitudes evolve on topics such as authenticity.

“Common Sense”

While there is much debate about how extensively a work of art ought to be restored, we accept the premise that art should be restored in some capacity. Aesthetics philosopher Yuriko Saito examines the fundamental question, “Why Restore Works of Art?” from a philosophical perspective. She starts with the “commonplace argument” in favor of restoration: “Since works of art are primarily objects of aesthetic appreciation, it is desirable to restore their original aesthetic appeal which was diminished or lost through these assaults [aging, damage, or vandalism].”¹ This argument depends on a limited definition of a work of art as a purely aesthetic object and on its damaged condition looking worse than its original state.

Sabi & Patina

In response to the common sense argument, Saito proposes the scenario where damage could “contribute positively to its overall aesthetic appeal.”¹ Degradation over time along with past restorers’ choice to clean away remnants of paint on ancient Greek marble sculptures revealed separate aesthetic value of the works as white sculptures. A patinaed painting may acquire new aesthetic qualities through the darkening and yellowing of the surface that signal the age and, to some extent, the gravitas of the artwork to the viewer. In cases like these, Saito asserts that that from a purely aesthetic perspective, restoration may not always be desirable.

Saito draws from the Japanese concept of sabi and British picturesque thinkers’ “admiration of aged objects” to assert the aesthetic value of the old: “Roughness, complexity, and irregularity, according to the picturesque thinkers, are more stimulating to the imagination than smoothness, symmetry, and order which create boredom and languor.”¹ In the way that a townhouse in a gated community “lacks character” compared to a mossy, old cottage in the woods, we might find a “fresh”-looking work of art aesthetically lacking. One beholder may think that “the aged look of art objects symbolizes neglect, shabbiness, and staleness,” while another would think that the object’s condition represented “maturity, and weight of time.”¹

Such a debate occurred in the twentieth-century art world when the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel was restored in the 1980s and 90s, uncovering vibrant (if not garish, to some) colors. Aesthetic, symbolic, and biographical interpretations of the Sistine Chapel ceiling and Michelangelo had relied upon the long-darkened appearance of the ceiling, and these interpretations, like that of the dark colors reflecting Michelangelo’s own gloom, had to be reevaluated after the cleaning away of the many layers of obscuring varnish that had been applied over the years.

The change was so notable that art restoration made the news – some people favored the pre-restoration patina, while others were wowed by the post-restoration brilliance of the colors. ², ³, ⁴ Because of this marked change in appearance, the public, art historians, and artists challenged the idea of restoration as “good,” fearing that the restorers had removed some of Michelangelo’s handiwork, a controversy that drew attention to restoration as potentially damaging.⁵ Because some of the public preferred the muted and darkened colors to the uncovered bright colors, they wanted to believe the great Michelangelo’s taste aligned with their sensibilities.

Thus, because of public interest, conservators had to contend with arguments about patina vs. clean paintings as well as scrutiny over their cleaning methods, which some perceived as too intrusive and extreme. Conservators felt obligated to share their documentation of the condition before during, and after treatment to convince the public that they had not removed Michelangelo’s original material.

Function

The Sistine Chapel, as religious art in a communal space, serves its commissioned function when the art is readable, such that symbolism and meaning are apparent to the viewer. Many works of art provide narrative or symbolic meaning (e.g. ancient Egyptian funerary paintings), which can be considered more central to the intention of the work than the artist’s hand (see “Authenticity” in Code of Ethics). Accordingly, there is an inclination, if not an imperative, for the keepers of such functional artworks to preserve or restore their readability.

The Vatican and the chapel’s restorers justified their efforts of cleaning and repairing damage since they would prolong the functionality of the art. The chief restorer, Gianluigi Colalucci, characterized the restoration as necessary to prevent further degradation of the ceiling. Colalucci said the impetus for the 1980 intervention was the small abrasions caused by previous restorers’ water-attracting glue application, which, while left uncleaned on the ceiling, continued to breed fungi and bacteria, leading to pigments breaking down over time.⁶ The goal of the restoration was not purely cosmetic but functional – making sure that the work of art could continue to be enjoyed by the public for generations to come.

History of an Art Object

As an art object endures the passage of time, it acquires historical value in addition to its initial aesthetic value, so it can be argued that restoring the artwork erases its history. While Saito describes vandalism to artwork as “violent,” she points out that one could characterize restoration work as vandalism to some extent. The cleaning away of grime or previous restoration work could be perceived as a “violent” act against the work.

Saito claims that the value we place on the artist’s expression is the reason we dislike vandalism. This defacement obscures the artist’s intention, which leads Saito to the question of “whether an art object's expressive quality is exhausted at the time of creation.”¹ Since a work of art is completed in a moment in time, its initial context is always lost, and the more time that passes, the more disconnected we are from understanding the work of art as it was created. She cites Paul Philippot and Arthur Danto, who each point out how our perception of art is colored by the art we have seen before: “This historical nature of art indicates that later art history would inevitably alter our perception and appreciation of a work of art, sometimes adding expressive qualities that were not even thought of originally…For example, before the emergence of Romanticism, expression of emotion was not considered as aesthetically relevant.”¹

From this notion, Saito concludes that, inevitably, new qualities are being applied to existing art as art history progresses, so there is “nothing inherently problematic about expressive qualities added to a work of art later on.”¹ The history of the art object itself and the progression of art history since the object's creation can be considered part of the work, and therefore to interfere through restoration is to cause damage, according to Philippot.¹ Saito summarizes this line of thinking: “It is one thing to know that the object is 1,000 years old; it is another thing to see and experience in its look and texture the tremendous time gap between its birthdate and the present.”¹ When an old work of art looks new, it is almost unbelievable that it is actually old, and it doesn’t command the “weight” of something old.

Philosopher Denis Dutton is similarly dissatisfied with describing art as purely aesthetic. He writes, “If works of art appealed only to our formal or decorative aesthetic sense, there would indeed be little point in establishing their human contexts by tracing their development, or even in distinguishing them from similarly appealing natural objects — flowers or seashells.”⁷ Aesthetic arguments alone are therefore insufficient, since they can be used to argue both for and against the restoration of art, leading Saito to reframe the central question: “[W]hy…should [we] be interested in seeing the original condition of the art object, even if it may be aesthetically inferior to the present condition, and even if it takes the risk of deceiving us by contradicting its historicity[?]”¹

Regard for Authenticity

Attempting an answer, Saito pulls from philosopher Mark Sagoff to assert that the reason we restore art is out of respect for the authentic work as it was created by the artist. “[W]hat we appreciate and respect in a work of art is not merely the qualities it presents, but rather the object itself as a product of the artist's creative act…[A] general plea for restoration can be based upon a notion of the original, unique integrity of an art work.”¹ While she acknowledges the debate, she refuses to delve into whether meaning should be based on the artist’s intention or the viewer’s interpretation. Instead, she asserts that the source of meaning in a work of art is its particular assembly of materials, and a degradation in its physical condition diminishes the viewer’s ability to extract authentic meaning from the work, as in the case of religious art such as the Sistine Chapel ceiling. Saito writes:

The viewer cannot properly interpret meaning if the art object’s condition is too different from its original state, and the artist’s intention cannot properly be communicated. We feel this way, according to Saito, out of respect to the original, because authenticity is highly prioritized in art. The conservator is “always concerned with discovering the original condition of the object.”¹ Thus, it is important to restore works like the Sistine Chapel in order to learn more about the art object and correct our interpretations of the work and of the artist.

This answer evidently leads to Saito’s next question, “[W]hy should we respect the original condition of the object as intended by the artist?...Why not…enjoy the possible meaning and integrity emerging from the aged surface of the object, which are different from the original’s?”¹ Our collective agreement that the authentic work as the artist created it is of the highest value, even if we might find it garish or otherwise aesthetically inferior to the weathered condition, reveals that our definition of art goes beyond the aesthetic. Saito connects our desire to restore with our regard for authenticity: “This interest in and respect for the original condition of an art object is an expression of our fundamental conception of what a work of art is.”¹

Regard for authenticity is imbued into the American Institute for Conservation’s definition of art in their “Code of Ethics”: an object of “artistic, historical, scientific, religious, or social” significance, “and [which] is an invaluable and irreplaceable legacy that must be preserved for future generations.”⁸ The notion of the art object as possessing an “invaluable and irreplaceable legacy” reveals our reverence for the original state of the work, compelling us to maintain its condition, or “conserve” such an artwork.

Further exploring the sanctity of the original condition, Dutton discusses two types of authenticity in art, nominal and expressive. While nominal authenticity relates to the provenance of a work (artist name, date, etc.), expressive authenticity is “committed, personal expression, being true…to one’s artistic self, rather than true to an historical tradition.”⁷ He writes, “Establishing nominal authenticity… enables us to understand the practice and history of art as an intelligible history of the expression of values, beliefs, and ideas, both for artists and their audiences — and herein lies its link to expressive authenticity. Works of art…are manifestations of both individual and collective values.”⁷ Dutton and Saito similarly view authenticity in art as founded in the artwork’s unique expression.

After consideration of patina, historicity, functionality, and authenticity, Saito uncovers a justification for art restoration. Saito writes that “works of art are physical vehicles which transmit various experiences and ideas as well as that the process of such transmission is hampered by the change in the physical constitution of the object,…[from which] we can derive a general justification for restoring art.”¹ When an art object is degraded beyond communicating the qualities of its original state (or artist’s intention) – whether religious, narrative, or expressive – restoration intervention is rational.

Code of Ethics goes more in depth of the topic of authenticity in art. Nicole Ex’s four types of authenticity (1993) illustrate that “authenticity” is a matter of perspective, as opposed to a universally agreed-upon state of the artwork. In a similar vein, I discuss the Nara Conference (1994) that revealed cultural differences in defining authenticity.

References

Code of Ethics Historical Practices