Seven ways of looking at the Fabergé exhibition at Vapriikki
1. As a celebration of an exploitative imperial autocracy, rationalized through the familiar rhetoric of showing that the Romanovs were a family just like ours - only prettier, more popular, and, crucially, at some point in the past stronger and more violent. And thus in a position to give really cool Easter presents.
2. As a tribute to a visionary designer and craftsman. Aesthetic elitism is integrated with power worship through the establishment of hierarchies of taste, with unique and labor-intensive products at the top: by admiring the treasures we have the illusion of raising ourselves to a position of distinction, and of virtually taking possession of our favorites.
3. As an exercise in Finnish nationalism. The overriding message of the exhibition is that many of the Fabergé workmasters and workers were Finns, and Finns made significant contributions to the industrial rise of the Russian empire. Their work is described as the contribution of mobile elites and largely ghettoized guest workers, not as the work of enthusiastic members of the empire or a colonized people. Great play is given to an official of the Finnish Diet of Estates who risked his position by taking a stance on something (what and how, we are not told), and was later given an exquisite Fabergé cigarette case by a boxmaker’s widow in thanks for his service to the Finns.
4. As a rewriting of art history into labor history, foregrounding the role of middle managers and hands-on workers over that of Peter Carl Fabergé who is reduced to a company founder and figurehead. The Fabergé workmasters, particularly Holmström and Wäkewä, have been credited in past books and exhibitions about the firm, but here it is made insistently clear that they (Finns! don’t be misled by the Swedish names!) actually designed the objects and commissioned lower-level craftsmen, and some women, to execute them. The non-Finnish workmasters and workers are still written out.
5. As a showcase of ordinary Fabergé production. The Fabergé firm did not just make the exquisite picture frames, cigarette paraphernalia and egg fantasies collected by Malcolm Forbes and the Queen of England. It also made quite a bit of kitsch, notably some animal sculptures that are only slightly more attractive than the frightful china miniatures that were given away for years in boxes of Red Rose Tea. (When an animal image gets that neotenic, top-heavy look, it’s always kitsch.)
6. As a marketing opportunity for a firm apparently owned by Fabergé descendants that makes ornaments bearing no relation to the best of the real thing. For example: a set of crown-shaped napkin holders in different colors that look like props from a children’s play. I’ve seen things more in the spirit of Fabergé at H&M.
7. As an imperfectly executed translation project. Perhaps I should be grateful that, like the toiling gemsmiths at Fabergé, my contribution was uncredited, since errors like “chrystal” and “jetton” were introduced after I clocked out.
Above, some supposedly Fabergé-themed pastries in the museum cafeteria.