At the media preview (16 June) of Namedropping – the biggest exhibition project Mona (Museum of Old and New Art) has had since 2016 – five curators lined up to give an overview of the show, sans Mona’s actual owner. David Walsh himself, whose involvement was constantly cited, was nowhere to be seen. Already the amount of human resources and sheer value of items in Namedropping was evident, something not many public museums can afford, other than at a private empire like Walsh’s.
Apparently he had better things to occupy himself with than presenting to journalists, a move so very much in character that it was hardly remarkable. We seemed to be grateful enough that the professional gambler decides to put his money into the arts at all, regardless of his motives around gaining social status, respect and admiration – a goal Walsh states explicitly and unabashedly in the Namedropping exhibition catalogue.
Usually these details wouldn’t be relevant to this writer’s experience of an exhibition, but in Namedropping they are not only informative, but fundamental as to why this show is being held in the first place. Namedropping takes into account the human psychology and evolutionary biology around why we chase the things and names that give us prestige, status and success, and how these are perhaps more in flux than we think.
A decade or two ago, owning a Picasso would definitely make you an A-grade human subject to admiration; now, people may question your taste as a “collector wannabe”, while slamming Picasso for his (many) character flaws. The art market is more stubborn though, as piles of Picasso ceramics still fetch astronomical prices, selling through a variety of avenues from Sotheby’s to 1stDibs. There is a collection of 10 pieces in Namedropping, arranged in a hot pink display with Wu-Tang Clan’s infamous Once Upon a Time in Shaolin album nearby.
The show also contains another Picasso* by Chilean Australian artist Juan Davila, a mischievous version of Weeping Woman (1937), where the difference isn’t noticeable until the viewer is within 10 steps of the work. Titled Picasso Theft (1991), it’s a clever play on the intellectual theft of producing an almost identical Picasso work, but also referencing the scandalous physical theft of the painting from the National Gallery of Victoria in 1986.
But Namedropping isn’t just for the art folks who easily recognise a Renoir or a Warhol. Commonplace iconography spans from commercial brands to popular culture – Porsche, Bowie, McDonald’s – while ancient artefacts such as the coffin of Ankh-pefy-hery (c. 730–600 BCE) come with fairly agreeable cultural and historic value.
*Here Picasso is a noun, as it is commonly used.
Into Namedropping: what it takes and gives
In the very first gallery of Namedropping, visitors will come upon an example of what is colloquially referred to as “the man cave” or what this writer dubbed “David Walsh’s mojo dojo casa house“. At first glance there are all the hyper-masculine elements of cars, poker and trophies, complete with a timber and leather interior. Yet, granted there is more sophistication than Ken’s version in Barbie.
As Mona Senior Curator Emma Pike advised before entering the exhibition, ‘the more you engage, the more interesting it is’, and this tip immediately hits the mark. From here onwards viewers will be glued to Mona’s digital guide The O to fill in the gaps from the Museum’s customary lack of wall labels.
Within the man cave, a cabinet contains an autographed letter from Charles Darwin, who did some namedropping of his own, to Sir Charles Murray in 1855. Close by is a 1943 Wehrmacht or “Services” Enigma machine (Enigma I), a military cipher device invented by the German engineer Arthur Scherbius in 1918 and deployed by the Nazis, but already successfully deciphered by the Polish who shared their findings with the British before World War II even began.
These objects butt up against the likes of ceramic figurines by Thai Australian artist Vipoo Srivilasa, Vincent Namatjira’s self-portrait with Donald Trump and The advantages of owning your own art museum poster by the New York-based feminist activism collective, Guerrilla Girls.
Walsh’s own voice is very much in evidence in The O, where he wrote the Gonzo section for many pieces from the Mona collection, including Sir Isaac Newton’s own copy of Opticks: or, A Treatise of the Reflections, Refractions, Inflections and Colours of Light (1717, the second edition, with additions). It’s an artefact Walsh holds in high regard. He wrote, ‘All the money I’ve made was made using the experimental method that Newton expounds on in this revelatory masterpiece. That the resources I used to acquire this copy may have been squandered, in no way undermines what Opticksinadvertently gave me, and the human race: reality.’
Namedropping as a whole is bound less to a narrative than to visual thematics. There is the red gallery where Fat Car (2006), Walsh’s customised oozy Porsche by Austrian artist Erwin Wurm, would have sat, had it fitted through the doors (an irony in itself); the Louis Vuitton-wallpapered space with a leather replica of a T-34 Soviet tank; the mirrored and metallic walls containing contemporary obsessions with social media, workouts and stardom; and the final doom and gloom gallery of what this all means in the afterlife.
There are sharp pairings like the Rai stone, once used as currency by the Yap people of Micronesia, with Thomas Struth’s Chicago Board of Trade I, Chicago 1990, capturing the financial rat race.
In Namedropping, burger (Big Mac by Emma Bugg) and (Francis) Bacon go hand in hand; and social critique around class and wealth from artists such as Santiago Sierra and Tom Hunter rubs shoulders with the extravagance of leopardskin coats and crystal chandeliers.
A gambling hypothesis
With its eye-watering array of thises and thats, the curators – Pike, Jane Clark, Jarrod Rawlins, Luke Hortle and Sarah Wallace – have done an extraordinary job of contextualising the artworks and objects within Namedropping‘s curatorial framework.
What is most charming about Namedropping is that it prompts viewers to question everything – any solid indication of what, who and why can be an illusion. Even our own attention span comes into scrutiny: what do the items we linger on say about us?
As Wallace tells ArtsHub, Namedropping is ‘a hypothesis exhibition’ where ‘people come in and ask questions’. At times, what’s contained in The O answers this curiosity; at others, it digs deeper into the rabbit hole, daring visitors to take their enquiry beyond the exhibition experience.
One thing is for certain, however, through Mona and Namedropping, and perhaps aided by the mystique around his lack of physical presence, Walsh has made himself immortal. Indeed, some may know about the “eye of the God” in Mona, a clear tile in the Museum’s ceiling that leads straight to Walsh’s residence and through which he can look down on all those who have come to visit.
Somewhere in The O Walsh mentions that this year Mona had to pull back on Dark Mofo, arguably the most successful revenue-driving enterprise on Hobart’s calendar, in order to fund Namedropping. It’s one big gamble, turned into one big flex for the Museum. The proposition was convincing enough to have afforded a sizeable loan from Centre Pompidou, including Marcel Duchamp’s Roue de bicyclette (Bicycle wheel) (1913-1964) and Carl Andre’s 144 Tin Square (1975) that visitors can step on.
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At times, Namedropping feels like an extension of Mona’s permanent offerings, with the Museum’s usual wit and provocation, rather than a starkly different temporary exhibit. Considering that the show is included in tickets to museum entry, this is but a small observation that doesn’t hinder the overall experience.
Mona is one of the most self-aware museums out there, even though this doesn’t mean it has always got things right. But before PETA can make a ripple in condemning Mona’s stance on animal cruelty in an open letter, Walsh has tossed out the question of ethics in the very first paragraphs leading into Namedropping: ‘The money used to construct the exhibition you are about to enter could pay for annual Vitamin A supplements for about 1.8 million kids. Arguably, that would save 360 lives.
‘Is it profligate to spend our money on this indulgence? Or, does bringing so many people together produce heightened awareness, and ever more potent ministrations? … Do you feel guilty? Should we?’
Namedropping is an opportunity to have a long hard think.
Namedropping runs from 15 June to 2024 to 21 April 2025.
This writer travelled to Hobart courtesy of Mona.
