Art Matters by Jennifer Rexford
As an undergraduate engineering student at Princeton, I found an unexpected sanctuary just steps from my dorm room at the Museum. I lived first in what was then Wilson College, and later in Brown Hall, so I passed by the Museum multiple times a day, often popping in to see the latest exhibition.
During my junior year, I took a poetry-writing class with J. D. McClatchy, who was visiting from Yale, and he asked each of us to write a poem about our favorite piece in the Museum. For me, that was, hands down, Hebe and the Eagle (1846–57), a bronze sculpture by the French artist François Rude. I recently stumbled across a copy of my poem, and I had to smile—as much because of the appearance of the faded text from a dot-matrix printer as from the reminder that I am not a particularly good poet! I was struck then, as I am now, by the eagle’s “feathers like fingers, pursed and taut” and how its head arches, almost painfully, around Hebe’s “lazy hip.” The contrast of the eagle’s muscular back and strained face with the goddess’s calm, relaxed, and almost flirty expression makes the piece tantalizingly changeable depending on where you focus your gaze.
The poetry-writing assignment led me to pay greater attention to art, and my frequent visits to the Museum became a chance both to discover new works and to reflect on this particular sculpture. Sometimes, Hebe was not in her “usual” spot, and I would wander around the Museum until, with delight, I found her in a new place, her teasing expression now seemingly directed toward me in our own secret game of hide-and-seek.
After more than a decade away from campus, I came back to Princeton as a faculty member, and the Museum was one of my first stops. Hebe and the eagle were still there, and I was just as happy to wander around the galleries in search of them. Years later, I started taking my daughter to the Museum, and we strolled together through its halls searching for pieces that delighted her. We often attended the Art for Families programs on Saturday mornings, including “Art from the HeART” for Valentine’s Day and the “Mummy Match-Up,” where she learned about life in ancient Egypt and how to write her name in hieroglyphs. Her fascination with ancient Egypt continued through the pandemic, when she spent hours immersed in stories of mummies, the pyramids, and the pharaohs.
Seeing the Museum anew through my daughter’s eyes deepened my appreciation for having world-class art exhibitions and events just a short walk from both my office and my home. While the Museum was closed for construction, we enjoyed visiting the temporary gallery space at Art on Hulfish, getting a taste of what we were missing. My daughter is so looking forward to the public opening of the new Museum on Halloween, and I am excited for her to reconnect with the art of ancient Egypt and find new favorite pieces of her own.
As provost over the past two years, I have had the privilege of watching the new Museum brought to completion—visible as a sliver between Whig and Clio Halls through the windows of my office in Nassau Hall. From my desk, the thin white lines at the edges of the gray ridged facade appear in conversation with the stately columns of Whig and Clio. Like so many of us, I celebrated as the construction fences came down, and my anticipation grew as the art began returning to the building, to the walls and floors, and to the display cases. The gallery spaces are truly magnificent and full of color and light, and the many views out to neighboring parts of campus ensure that you always know where you are. The building entices you to look inward while also connecting outward.
I eagerly await seeing our students, faculty, staff, and neighbors exploring the wonderful building and the art and events inside—perhaps reconnecting with favorite pieces of their own. Today’s students will have the opportunity I once had for the Museum to be an integral part of their courses, their personal growth, and their broader Princeton experience. Once again, the Museum will be at the heart of a liberal arts education, allowing our students to examine critical questions about humanity and develop greater empathy by engaging deeply in other people’s stories. I hope that recent graduates, who never had a chance to experience the Museum, will make up for lost time during Reunions and other visits to campus.
The Museum is a gift, one made possible by the vision and hard work of so many: from the dedicated Museum staff and the Facilities team who shepherded its design and construction, to the generous donors who made the project possible, and to the many artists whose works—like Hebe and the Eagle—educate, delight, and inspire us.
