The Whitworth’s Visitor Team got out and about for a spot of culture across Manchester’s other cultural institutions this spring. Today we hear from Ruby, Steph, Bria and Jake as they tell us about their favourite objects at some of the institutions they visited. From works of art to death masks, there are plenty of fascinating objects and stories to learn more about across the city- we’ve barely scratched the surface!

The Architecture, John Rylands Research Institute and Library

The Whitworth is a complex patchwork of architecture, a labyrinthine building which can transport you through four distinct periods of history; early 20^th century, late 50s, mid 90s and 2010s. Like much of its collection, it is stitched and sewn together, occasionally haphazardly but, more often than not, beautifully. The same can be said about the John Rylands Research Institute and Library.

It, like any other library (even the most underfunded and dilapidated ones) is a temple for knowledge, though this building feels more like a place of worship than most. When walking through the main hall, you feel as though you have entered a great cathedral, its vaulted ceilings and stained-glass windows towering over you. Instead of the eyes of saints looking down from these windows however, the furrowed brows of Cicero and Beethoven cast their gaze at the pews of students, heads bowed not in worship, but in ardent study. Lining the walls are stone statues, which in most cathedrals would depict bishops and important Biblical figures, but instead the figures of Shakespeare and Newton are frozen in boastful poses, hips cocked, quill and apple in outstretched hands. You get the idea.

I’m a sucker for Gothic architecture if you couldn’t already tell- it was one of the things Ruskin was right about. When we think of that style, a cathedral or a ruin is probably what comes to mind. There is something both sublime and grotesque about it, its hewn floral designs and its sculpted gargoyle-like creatures revealing themselves, peering through the stone. As you walk the dimly lit corridors below the main reading room, you’ll find designs of tightly knotted dragons and other fantastical creatures as well as stone roses pinning the ceiling into place like large tent hooks.

“The Gothic ornament stands out in prickly independence, & frosty fortitude, jutting into crockets, & freezing into pinnacles; here starting up into a monster, there germinating into a blossom; anon knitting itself into a branch, alternately thorny, bossy, and bristly, or writhed into every form of nervous entanglement” – John Ruskin [1]

Unlike most cathedrals (but very much like the Whitworth), the John Rylands Library has a combination of old and new when it comes to its architecture. Stark white walls, steel hand rails and glass flooring cut through the gothic building, contemporising its entranceway and announcing its status as not only a historical site, but a modern and public university building. I personally really like the severity of the clash- it adds a certain magic to the gothic parts of the building; it’s as though you are stepping from one century to another. It’s not dissimilar to the feeling I get in parts of the Whitworth, as though I am time-traveling through the decades as I walk through its sprawling halls. – Ruby

Thomas Paine’s Death Mask and a lock of his hair, People’s History Museum

Few of us could ever say that we managed to somehow lose human remains. But one man, it is said, may have managed to do just that.

Around 1819 a political journalist called William Cobbett disinterred some quite distinguished bones- those of the author of Rights of Man, Founding Father and French Revolutionary Thomas Paine (1737-1908 CE). Cobbett’s intentions were good; he set off from New Rochelle, New York with the skeleton of Paine, which he had retrieved from a rather neglected grave, in tow. He intended to return Paine’s bones to England and give them a more fitting resting place. He was perhaps motivated not just by his own changed political views but also by a sense of guilt; once upon a time, Cobbett had been one of Paine’s most vehement critics and he hadn’t been afraid to employ the written word in attacks against his foe.

There are various stories about exactly how the skeleton or parts of the skeleton were lost, with one story claiming that someone nicked Paine’s skeleton from Cobbett’s attic and another claiming that the skeleton was passed on to someone else by William Cobbett’s son after Cobbett himself had kicked the bucket. A woman claimed to be in possession of Paine’s jawbone in the 1930s and in the 1980s a businessman from Australia claimed he had Paine’s skull. The People’s History Museum has neither, but they do have Thomas Paine’s death mask and a lock of his hair, as well as a table once owned by Paine and a rather nice copy of Rights of Man. To some people today, the making of a death mask and the idea of keeping a lock of hair from a deceased person may seem a bit macabre and weird (the hair perhaps less so) but you must remember that photographs weren’t yet a thing.

I love objects and stories like these. It’s always fascinating to read about how people in the past dealt with death and, in a way, tales like this prove that you can still go on an adventure once you’re gone. Even if it’s one you didn’t plan. Such objects and stories also speak to the ways in which we deal with death, by highlighting practises some people would be uncomfortable with now and getting us to think about why this is so and what has changed regarding the customs surrounding death. I sometimes wonder what the people whose remains are now displayed in museums would have thought if they were told where they would eventually end up.

There were no skeletons to be found in the attic of the house I live in, just an old wasp’s nest- thankfully now uninhabited. – Steph

“All the Best People Drink Milk”, Manchester Art Gallery

My favourite object from our team’s jaunt to Manchester Art Gallery is the “All the Best People Drink Milk” print collection from the Empire Marketing Board.

I was struck by the colourful inversion of medieval manuscript style. It was the first time I had ever heard of the Empire Marketing Board (1926-1932), and this poster is representative of how the British Empire veils its extractive violence with idyllic scenes.

The brash colours create a vision of swirling robes and clamouring members of the royal court. We see the royal dairy, butlers, scullery, and the nursey, all running on the bounty of good milk. Milk has long been seen as a symbol of purity, but presented in this manner it is reminiscent of seeing a smile reflected in a brandished knife.

The usage of a medieval royal family as an example of “the best people” combines some threads of visual art theory – the prioritising of the family as the ideal consumer and the representation of medieval royalty as a system to be revered. The usage of historical facsimiles asserts to the passer-by, “Look! Drink Empire milk and you will become part of the best people”. – Bria

Only Knives (2022) by Ellie Ora Page, People’s History Museum

Only Knives is a striking work included in The Pride Parade Goes on Without Me, an exhibition at the People’s History Museum of artworks examining the intersection between queer and disabled activist identities in Manchester. The exhibition is presented by Outside In, a group that supports artists experiencing significant barriers to the art world, such as disability, social circumstance or isolation. 

Ellie Ora Page was inspired by Spoon Theory when making this work. Articulated by Christine Miserandino, when over dinner her friend asked her what life was like with a chronic illness, spoon theory has now become a popular way of understanding energy levels within the chronically ill & disabled community. To simplify it, Christine took all the spoons from the table and explained each one as representing a unit of energy. People not living with health conditions can wake up with unlimited amounts of energy. They can get out of bed, exercise, make meals, work and socialise – all without much planning. In contrast, people with conditions, disabilities or mental illnesses may only have a finite amount. Through the day, each activity uses up a certain number of spoons. People who are working with a limited amount to begin with can run out of energy in no time. At this point you might hear someone say that they’ve “run out of spoons.” 

Ellie Ora Page saw the phrase ‘No spoons left, only knives’ on a t-shirt and thought it captured a fierceness and a sharpness embodied by people living with these conditions, but soon after was struck by a sadness as they began to question which way their metaphorical knives often pointed.  The figure at the centre of the image is St Sebastian. Now a queer icon, he was made a martyr when soldiers of the Roman Empire shot him full of arrows because of his faith. Depictions of St Sebastian’s story have found resonance in queer communities for their expression of homoerotic gaze, kink, and resemblance to a coming out narrative. For Ellie however, the figure’s tragic beauty draws them in for different reason; much like St Sebastian, they describe themselves as feeling pain so excruciating it’s like being imprisoned in a cage of knives. – Jake

References

[1] Ruskin, J. The Nature of Gothic, 1853 (p.53), fourth edition, 1900, published by George Allen 156 Charing Cross Road, Online [Accessed 17/04/2024] Available at: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/The_nature_of_Gothic_-_a_chapter_from_The_stones_of_Venice_%28IA_gri_33125006473439%29.pdf

Bibliography

James Grande, John Stevenson and Thomas Richardson, The Opinions of William Cobbett (Abingdon-on-Thames, 2017).

Heather Thomas, ‘The Bones of Thomas Paine’, April 2 2019, Library of Congress Blogs [Accessed 15/04/2024] Available at: https://blogs.loc.gov/headlinesandheroes/2019/04/the-bones-of-thomas-paine/

David A. Wilson, Paine and Cobbett: The Transatlantic Connection (McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1988).