I've tried a few different ways to say this, but none are politically — or whatever we're calling it — correct.
Simply put, the James Museum is offensive.
I saw it on the media day, and when I made my way past the lobby, where I was directed to take a look at the brothel-esque style bar in the gift shop, I squirmed but took deep breaths; I did not want to be a social justice warrior. A bar reminiscent of a venue for painted ladies in high heels, dancing to a jaunty piano as they fell sweetly into our stereotype of the west, did not a xenophobe make.
And so I went up the stairs, past the gorgeous fountain and — wait, is that a statue of a man dressed in feathers? No, I must be mistaken — upstairs. My senses were immediately arrested by statues of men in various states of hunting — some clad in feathers, some in furs, all cast in bronze, or something like it. Swallowing the bile, I asked a pleasant-enough docent to direct me to gallery of native art.
And they did — past the many, many contemporary (which I read as, "should have goddamn known better") paintings of war-painted, feather-wearing savages spiking their spears into buffalo. The gold-edged ornate frames, I noted, evoked images of a 1970s-era AmeriWhatever S&L lobby. So did the imagery of the white man subduing the red menace.
The native gallery assuaged me; the sparkling colors, the spiritual images, the heartfelt reflections on the land tied to the people before it became the American West, all called to me and drew from me something less violent and more spiritual.
And then I turned into a gallery named "The Jewelry Box" — a room of stones made by these indigenous people, bought by a wealthy couple and worn to impress, with no context offered as to the origin or meaning of each type of mineral on display.
Later, with the media gathered and devouring his every word, collection owner Tom James joked, "my wife, like many of you, likes jewelry."
I looked around. Of the 23 people in the room, 16 were women. I was the only one who flinched — at least outwardly.
But this is not all. We had adequate time to browse the other galleries and yes, there's a Warhol and yes, there are some magnificent pieces from local artist James Michael hanging in the same gallery. But in that gallery as well there are images from Disney's Toy Story, images of Hollywood icons of what we believed the West to be in the 1930s, '40s, '50s — and what is absent is context. Why, nothing told me as I wandered from wall to wall, is this not the West? Why is this instead how we've viewed the West — largely inaccurately, through stereotypes and misconceptions?
Why is the bulk of this museum comprised of recent works from artists who should know better? Why are there only three paintings showing the Chinese experience in the West, but an entire gallery of adorable paintings of bunnies and cat cubs and wildlife frolicking a la Walt Disney Pictures?
Why is the museum's sole Frederic Remington — perhaps the one painter in this whole ostentatious building who has an excuse to be here — why is that not contextualized, explained to people? For that matter, why is nothing in this showcase of fetishization and subjugation that's passing as St. Pete's newest museum contextualized?
And then, as I listened to the head of half of the large investment firm whose name and wealth have made this place a reality, I realized the answer: We are, as a community, committed to equality — as we see it.
But we do not have many indigenous people walking among us in Pinellas County; not compared to, say, Hendry County, home of the Big Cypress Reservation, or even Hillsborough, where the Seminole still maintain a presence. And, by and large, we are removed from the rest of native, or indigenous, or First People culture, and so none of those cultures are here to stand outside this magnificent, gorgeous monstrosity with signs to tell us why we're so wrong.
But we are committed to being a city of artists, and so we look around and nod, and swallow hard. And we murmur about the native art gallery and the Warhol and how absolutely wonderful, isn't it, that we have this sort of museum in our presence?
And we never once say, hey, this is offensive as hell.
Cathy Salustri is the arts and entertainment editor for Creative Loafing Tampa. Contact her here.
This article appears in May 3-10, 2018.