Re-presenting ‘The Lust Branch’

Don’t let the title fool you – this is yet another instalment in my series of posts from the MA National Conference. Allow me to explain . . .

The Conference was held at the University of Melbourne, which is also the site of the Grainger Museum. This museum, built in the 1930s, was established at the behest of Melbourne-born composer, arranger and pianist Percy Aldridge Grainger (1882 – 1961). Grainger created it as an autobiographical museum, documenting his life and influences through a collection of publications, correspondence, musical scores and a range of objects including experimental musical instruments.

There is a link to my current work here, hence the stand-alone post: while Grainger spent the vast majority of his life in Europe and the US, he was buried in Adelaide at West Terrace Cemetery, in the family plot of his Adelaide-born mother. Over the past few months I have been working on interpretive text for a self-guided heritage trail for the cemetery, and Grainger’s grave is one of the stops on the trail. His prolific, diverse and eccentric life have proved challenging to interpret in the context of a small interpretive sign comprising a mere 175 words!

The Grainger Museum has recently undergone a redevelopment, and I managed a quick look around during one of the conference lunch breaks. In addition, Brian Allison from the University presented a paper on the challenges presented by a particular section of the collection.

There was a box of items under lock and key, which Grainger had instructed was not to be opened until 10 years after his death. And so, in 1971, it was time for the curators to open the mysterious box to see what wisdom lay within. Brian said he would have liked to have been a fly on the wall that day. And how. What emerged was ‘The Lust Branch’ – a collection of writings, objects and photographs which graphically explored the darker aspects of Grainger’s sexuality.

To put it bluntly, Grainger was a sadomasochist. He photographed his flagellated body, set out detailed instructions for whipping, and left behind an extensive collection of whips, blood-soaked clothing and other home-made paraphernalia.

Grainger believed his sexual expression was inextricably linked with his artistic expression; thus his creative works could not be fully understood without exploring his darker passions. But this was not a story that early 1970s Melbourne was ready for. Consequently, the collection presented a curatorial headache and has been, in effect, ‘censored’ for the best part of 40 years.

As part of the museum redevelopment, the University decided it was high time to tackle this part of the collection. And while they initially set out to present it no-holds-barred, there were legitimate audience and legal concerns – some of the photographs are sufficiently graphic as to be illegal to put on public display; plus the University had to take into account their target audiences, not least the nearby Ladies’ College who use the museum as an important musical resource.

The resulting display consists of a graphic montage of some of the documents and photographs (not all of them are particularly confronting, but it’s by no means sugar-coated), opposite a case displaying a large collection of whips. It is presented discreetly without being hidden, and I think on balance it is well done and unlikely to cause a furore. Indeed, by 21st century standards, Grainger’s views on racial purity (also covered in the museum) are arguably more controversial than his sexual predilections!

But none of these more controversial elements are presented in a way that overshadows or detracts from Grainger’s talent and achievements in other fields. The majority of the museum is all about the music.