On November 5th, 2025, the Fondazione Professoressa Carla Barbati awarded Nicole Crescenzi for her PhD thesis “Exhibiting Human remains: an issue at the intersection of ethics, museology and law” defended at IMT Lucca on June 11th, 2025.
Afetr the very successful defense, from the left: Dr Hayley Mickleburgh, University of Amsterdam, Professor Marialusia Catoni, IMT Lucca, Professor Liv Nilsson Stutz, Linnaues University, and Professor Ricardo Olivito. Absent from this photo due to digital participation: Professor Melanie Giles, University of Manchester and Dr Christian Greco, Museo Egizio, Turin.
In her thesis Nicole explores the exhibition of human remains as a contested and controversial subject. She discusses different perspectives related to understanding the practice of exhibiting human remains in museums. The project collected information on the handling of human remains in museums and investigated the perspectives of both museums’ visitors and professionals through surveys and interviews, and compared the results obtained for different European countries. She also applied an ancient historical perspective to a debate that was so far mostly focused on modern and contemporary history. Doing this also meant that, in the line of Ethicakl Entanglements, all human remains, including the archaeological ones, that scholars had, up until now, left on the side, with very few exceptions were included in the discussion. The thesis includes a synthetic catalogue of regulations museums and states adopt in exhibiting human remains, a first catalogue of European museums hosting human remains in their collections, and a broad investigation of museums visitors, covering European and non-European countries. The thesis will be published by Oxbow.
Nicole Crescenzi at the award ceremony, the 5th of November, 2025.
The Fondazione Professoressa Carla Barbati is a non-profit organisation established to honour the memory and continue the work of Professor Carla Barbati, an eminent scholar of cultural heritage. Its mission is to promote the study of cultural heritage in all its tangible and intangible forms, from an interdisciplinary perspective rather than an exclusively legal one. The Foundation awarded prizes for theses that explore the theme of cultural heritage in all its tangible and intangible forms, from an interdisciplinary perspective. Liv Nilsson Stutz who acted as co-advisor to the thesis together with Professor Marialuisa Catoni is incredibly proud of Nicole for receiving this distinguished award for her work, as is the whole The Ethical Entanglements team
Turin, like many other Italian University cities, has a long, illustrious, and sometimes problematic legacy of anatomy. Here, some of the largest anatomical collections were formed in the 18th and 19th century, and Italy is also the place of origin for the development of wax models used to teach anatomy and medicine.
A Cathedral to Science
Named after the anatomist Luigi Rolando, the Museum of Human Anatomy is still on the premises that University of Turin built for it in 1898. It is referred to as “a Cathedral to Science,” and its basic outline recalls the shapes of a basilica. When you enter the museum, you step into a central nave, stretching out in front of you in a unilinear direction, guiding your gaze and movement toward a room at the far end that reminds us of an apse, the place dedicated to the main altar and the holiest part of a cathedral. We will return to that space later. Pillars separate the nave from the aisles, where large wooden cabinets divide the space to form cells of exhibitions devoted to different anatomical parts or functions of the body. Behind glass, human remains, models in wax, wood, ivory, and papier mâché, dried specimens, and mummified remains make up a remarkable collection that once provided invaluable teaching materials to study the function and diversity of human anatomy.
View of the museum. The photograph has been manipulated to blur the human remains exhibited here without their consent.
At the very entrance of the central nave, two individuals are placed to frame your path: “the dwarf” (sic!) and “the giant” (sic!). They are placed there to illustrate the drive to understand human variation. When you scan a small QR code on the side of the cabinet you learn that the individual with giantism was in fact Giacomo Borghello. Born in 1810, he would have experienced exceptional growth and, probably, related health problems linked to his condition. He worked in a circus and passed away at the age of 19. The individual with dwarfism is of unknown identity. On the walls, just under the vaults, frescos depict famous scientists, anatomists and anthropologists, including Andreas Vesalius, Realdo Colombo, Marcello Malpighi, Charles Darwin, and others. It really does feel like a sacred space devoted to the worship of scientific knowledge. It is beautiful, and as preserved cultural heritage of 18th and 19th century knowledge-production, it is sublime. It is also, of course, highly problematic.
Here, in the temple to science, the human remains appear to be firmly moved to the object-of-science end of the spectrum. Perhaps the most salient illustration of this can be seen in the treatment of two mummified bodies from Bolivia and Peru. The Peruvian mummy is a woman holding a small child in her arms. To the contemporary visitor this would seem quite emotional, but it is hard to make out the shape of these two individuals as they lay behind the glass, placed like objects on an elevated shelf, their surface transformed not just through mummification but also by some form of preservation technique that has left a hard and glassy surface on the skin. They almost look like obsidian lumps: hard and shiny. The shape of the woman’s cranium was modified according to Inca practices during her life time, and to show this phenomenon, the anatomists in the 19th century removed and anatomised her skull. It is now on display, detached and skeletonised, next to her body. None of this would have raised an eyebrow in anatomical circles in the 19th century. But it is still strange that the ethics of the choices made at the time are not addressed or commented on at all in any of the text materials that accompany the exhibition – not even in the online materials accessible through QR code.
Carlo Giacomini’s last will and testament
Portrait of Carlo Giacomini (1840-1898), Professor of Anatomy at the University of Turin and director of the Museo di Anatomia Umana Luigi Rolando.
The room at the end of the nave, which I referred to as an apse above, the “holiest part” of the museum, is dedicated to several collections devoted to the brain, its functions, and variations. The field was of central interest to many researchers associated to The University of Turin, which has even been credited as the place of birth of modern neuroscience. During the 19th century, Carlo Giacomini who was professor of Anatomy at the University of Turin and the director of the Museum of Anatomy from 1876, together with Luigi Rolando, dominated the field in Turin. Giacomini devoted a significant part of his career to describe and understand the surface of the cerebral hemispheres and their variation. He also developed a method to preserve brains by drying them using chloride of zink, alcohol, and glycerine. The preservation technique allowed him to collect 800 brains in a comparative research collection, which is now on display in this part of the museum. In this room we also find a part of his collection of crania (over 1,000) of individuals of known age and sex. The information in the exhibition is scarce (even when using the QR codes provided), and it never speaks of context of acquisition, only about the science these “specimens” were collected to support. In the same area there there is also a phrenological collection which once belonged to Joseph Gall, the founder of the discipline, and his pupil Johann Gaspar Spurzheim. It was donated to the museum in 1913.
Cabinet with a part of the collection of crania. The picture is published by the museum but has been intentionally blurred for this blog.
When considering the exhibitions of the mummified individuals and the ones with dwarfism and giantism described above, it would be easy to conclude that the human body was simply an object of science to be collected and studied. The disciplines represented in the museum seem to objectify the “Other” – the disabled, the poor, and the colonised. Context does not seem to matter, and the identity of the individual is only important as it helps establish scientifically significant variables such as biological sex and age of death. But, then, I encounter the anatomised remains of Carlo Giacomo himself, in a display case in the centre of his own research and teaching collection, and I start to wonder if, perhaps, the ideology extends into other, less scientific realms of perception as well.
When he died, Carlo Giacomo donated his body to the museum to be anatomised so that his skeleton and brain (treated according to his specific instructions) could be studied and displayed. The language of the will specifying this donation to the collection is included in the exhibition. At first it might seem like a straightforward donation to science, but the wording of the text reveals additional layers. It reads:
“Being neither an advocate of cremation nor cemeteries, I would like my bones to be laid to rest in the Anatomical Institute,” (—) “I would also like my brain to be preserved with my method and placed in the Museum together with the others.”
It thus appears that this was not simply a donation to science but an actual “laying to rest.” For Carlo Giacomo, the museum appears to have been a more pleasant place for his body than the traditional places of disposal. Did he feel this way due to the fact that the university was so familiar to him that it provided a sort of “home,” or was it that he felt more at ease being surrounded by science, order and hygiene? If so, did he actually think actively that the others his text actually mentions also were included in this type of care? Or were “the others” simply specimens whom he would now join, providing variation and measurements, growing the comparative sample by one? Here, the position on the spectrum all of the sudden starts to move in interesting, surprising, and potentially contradictory ways. The “Cathedral to Science” revelas itself not just as a place of worship and teaching of a new gospel, but also as a place where the dead rest in a privileged place.
The cabinet containing the skeleton and brain of Carlo Giacomo. The photo published by the museum has been intentionally blurred for this blog.
Given the many triggering aspect of the current exhibition, some of which have been discussed above, it would, of course, be absurd to propose this museum as a model for how to think ethically about human remains. But the example of Carlo Giacomo’s will still invites us to reflect not only on the complexity and contradictions at work in the past, but also, perhaps on productive ways to rethink museums for the future.
On our way to the EAA meetings in Rome, the Ethical Entanglements team stopped over in Bolzano to see the exhibit of one of the most famous individuals in European prehistory, “Ötzi the Ice Man,” at the South Tyrol Museum of Archaeology, and to meet with the director Elisabeth Vallazza to discuss choices, strategies, and experiences in caring for such an exceptional individual. The visit proved to be very interesting since not only the archaeological find itself, but also the choices for the display, are unique, and inspire reflection and discussion.
Nicole and Rita in conversation with Director Elisabeth Vallazza at the South Tyrol Museum of Archaeology in Bolzano. Photo by Liv Nilsson Stutz.
In 1991 two hikers found the remains of a human body, emerging from the melting ice in the Ötzal Alps, on the border between Italy and Austria, at an altitude of 3,210 meters. The body was so well preserved that it was assumed to be the remains of a recently deceased mountaineer, and local rescue and law enforcement were alerted. The body, still partially encased in the glacier, was pried from the ice with force. The working conditions were difficult because of dire weather conditions and the process was delayed. The body, along with objects recovered at the site, were eventually transported to the medical examiner’s office in Innsbruck. There, archaeologist Konrad Spindler concluded that this was not the body of an unfortunate alpinist, but an individual from the end of the Neolithic period. Closer examination of the human remains would later reveal that he had been the subject of two violent attacks before his death. First an encounter several days earlier, that led to a stabbing wound in his hand. Then an attack by arrow, causing both severe damage to his shoulder and blood loss, and leaving the arrowhead lodged in his shoulder.
The find soon captured global attention from archaeologists and the public alike. The body was given the name Ötzi, and as science uncovered details about his life and death, his humanity emerged and captured the attention of a large public. He soon became one of the best-known individuals of European prehistory. When we visited the museum on a Monday morning in late August, people were lining up in a long queue that spilled out into the street and around the corner of the museum. Droves of people waited patiently in the light summer rain. They were all there to see Ötzi.
The find is spectacular. The naturally mummified body has allowed for a range of studies that have provided insight into his cause of death, his diet, his movements thoughout his lifetime, his health status, and his tattoos. In addition to the body itself, Ötzi’s clothes and gear provide a unique window into a dimension of stone age material culture that is rarely preserved. His coat carefully crafted from alternating pelts of goat and sheep skin creating a striped garment, is stunning, as are his leggings made from small patches of goat skin carefully sewn together in a patchwork pattern, and his shoes padded with dried grass. His toolkit includes, among other things, birchbark vessels, a fire kit of embers wrapped in leaves, a bag pack, a perfectly preserved mounted copper axe, and a soft hammer composite tool with a cylindrically shaped core made of deer antler placed in the centre of a wooden handle.
The staircase leading up to the exhibition floor with the body of Ötzi and all the original artefacts. Note the “photography not allowed” signs (and the number of them!). Photo by Liv Nilsson Stutz.
When Ötzi was found in 1999, the South Tyrol Museum of Archaeology was still just in the planning stages, but the find (and presumably the much-covered border dispute regarding the national claim to the find) prompted an acceleration of the plans, and in 1999 the museum could open with an exhibition centered on these extraordinary finds. How, we wondered, do you curate and care for Ötzi and his artefacts? How do you tell his story, that is so connected to him as an individual, to the public today? What can you show – and how? Bolzano is a town in a conservative region, and there were initially some objections from traditional Catholics about showing the body of a dead person. But the museum decided nevertheless to put Ötzi on display for visitors to see.
The way the museum shows Ötzi is an interesting example of how conservation can be combined with a pedagogical experience for the public. The conservation needs call for a stable environment of -6°C, and to make this possible, Ötzi is placed in a controlled and protected space with limited exposure. The walls protecting him are clad in metal and give off an almost fortresslike vibe. But despite the coldness of the space, the needs to protect and preserve have created a display that in addition to providing an optimal environment for preservation, also guides the visitor to a personal encounter.
The area where the body is on display is shielded off by a convex screen wall, and behind it a short maze created by retractable barriers allows visitors to stand in an orderly line gradually approaching the metal clad wall with a small square window into which one person at the time can look at Ötzi. The queuing system, and the one-to-one encounter may just be the fortuitous result of preservation requirements, but it provides an experience during which each visitor has a period of waiting, a period that allows them to pause and prepare themselves for the privilege of meeting an individual from the deep past. The small window frames the encounter itself to be one of equality. The set up focuses your attention to the window and prevents, or at least hinders conversations among visitors during the meeting. It becomes focused – even personal. When we visited Ötzi we were alone in the museum, and the scene was quiet. As we walked past it later that morning after the museum had opened to the public, the area was a lot louder and more busy – but the short moment of encounter would still provide the opportunity to focused attention – even contemplation.
…it is interesting to note that the body itself is so central to how we understand Ötzi. It is his naked body that people associate with the find. It is the image of the mummified remains –with the left arm in extension, rotated inward and lifted across the body–we most often see on book covers and websites. It is also very likely that it is this body that most of the visitors are there to see.
When asked about people’s reactions to the display, Elisabeth Valazza shares that the great majority of the feedback they get is positive, even emotional, but rarely critical or negative. It seems like the exhibition choice is successful. There are no trigger warnings or special instructions to the visitors (except that photography is not allowed). It appears that the embodied experience (the waiting in line, the one-to-one encounter) may serve the purpose of reframing the visit in a more fundamental way that makes these direct communications unnecessary. Of course, we cannot know for sure since we did not interact with the visitors about their experience, but it seemed like a real possibility.
Rita standing at the window looking at Ötzi. Photo (with permission) by Liv Nilsson Stutz.
Ötzi’s body is displayed without clothes. This is partially a preservation choice. Different materials require different forms of conservation and care. Here the choices made clearly privilege conservation and even accessible exhibition over, for example, respect for the dead. Given the exceptional character of the objects and the mission of museums to preserve them, this is not surprising. But it is interesting to note that the body itself is so central to how we understand Ötzi. It is his naked body that people associate with the find. It is the image of the mummified remains – with the left arm in extension, rotated inward and lifted across the body – we most often see on book covers and websites. It is also very likely that it is this body that most of the visitors are there to see. Elisabeth Vallazza shared an anecdote that illustrates this. One day the lighting in the window display stopped working and the staff started to problem solve. Would they have to reimburse the visitors if they were not able to see Ötzi? The fact that the museum was filled with unique artefacts somehow did not immediately seem enough. The body is important.
The impact of Ötzi’s naked body – so fragile, small, and stripped – is, at least for me, one of vulnerability. This vulnerability can be contemplative for the visitor – it may allow them to see Ötzi as a vulnerable human in death, or perhaps themselves, or mortality, at that private privileged moment at the window. But, of course, the ethical issues remain entangled. Is it right to show him this way? Are there any alternatives?
Reconstruction of Ötzi. He is bare chested to show the tattoos on his back. Photo by Liv Nilsson Stutz
The reconstruction of Ötzi is also very telling. In a room dedicated to the reconstruction, he is on display holding his partially finished bow, and wearing his underwear and leggings – but with his upper body bare. The reason given for this is that it was important to show the tattoos on his back. It is interesting that these tattoos are considered more important and more interesting, than, for example the coat – or the full gear. This makes me wonder about our fascination with mummified bodies as rare, and somehow intriguing in and of themselves to the point of overriding other interests. This is especially obvious at the mummy table where visitors can touch an interactive screen and digitally unpeel the layers of his body. This feature stands in very stark contrast to the structured visitation of Ötzi at the square window.
The interactive mummy table where visitors can explore different layers of the body of Ötzi. Photo by Liv Nilsson Stutz.
For the most part the museum display of Ötzi shows him more as a lived life than as an object of science. A lot of room is dedicated to telling the story about his life and death. A parallel narrative throughout the exhibition is that this lived life emerges from the scientific work carried out on both his body and the material culture found with him – as objects of science. Here the two are intimately linked and dependent on one another. The close connection with the museum to this one exceptional individual seems to have created a sort of “bond of care.” This is a phenomenon I have noted elsewhere in museums that have singular, but exceptional human remains. Somehow their uniqueness (in character and quantity) favours care. However, because of Ötzi’s celebrity status, not only his objects, but especially the reconstructions of his body now exist in multiple copies in different museums across the world. What happens to the care for his personhood as his body transitions through versions of virtuality and materiality – at the mummy table and through replicas of his body throughout the world? Is this something we need to consider?
Viewed from the outside, it often seems as if the Nordic countries are very similar in terms of culture and values. But despite their entangled political and cultural histories, and their cultural similarities, a closer look reveals interesting differences, and this is certainly the case for their professional attitudes to the ethics of collections of human remains.
The Nordic Network for Collections of Human Remains is an informal forum that organises different stakeholders in human remains collections, predominantly collection managers, but also researchers and museum professionals across the Nordic countries . The purpose of the forum is to provide a space for reflection and support in professional discussions and development of ethical practices. The Network organised a conference at Arkivcenter Syd, in Lund on October 26-27, 2023 (for full disclosure, Liv Nilsson Stutz has been a member of the steering group during the period 2020-2023, and was part of the organising committee for this conference). The purpose of the conference was to come together for the first time after the end of the pandemic, update one another on the state of the field in the different Nordic Countries, and strengthen both formal and informal ties and relationships throughout the community.
The conference invited speakers from several large collections across the Nordic countries to share their perspectives and experiences. Unfortunately the participant from Norway (Julia Kotthaus from De Schreinerske samlinger, at the Medical Faculty at the University of Oslo) had to cancel last minute, since she needed to prioritise her presence at a repatriation from the collection she manages. These presentations were inspiring in the sharing of protocols and experiences, but also showed the differences in approaches between countries.
Careful storage of human remains in a Swedish museum. Photo by Liv Nilsson Stutz (intentionally blurred).
The Danish model is interesting since it clearly separates ownership from deposition and curation. The former is held by local museums, while the latter is managed by essentially two centralized collections: ABDOU at the University of Southern Denmark (presented by Dorthe Dangvard Pedersen), and The human skeletal collection at the University of Copenhagen(presented by Niels Lynnerup, Marie Louise Jørkov, and Kurt Kjaer). This arrangement has interesting consequences for the management of processes. The facilities are all highly adapted for the preservation and study of human remains, and the research facilities support, track and assist in access to the collection by researchers, students, and even the public. It can be argued that this system that separates the human remains from their otherwise historical and archaeological context in order to prioritise preservation, control, and documentation, implicitly or explicitly categorises the remains almost exclusively as Objects of Science. It appears to be a very clear, but also unproblematising approach. The division has interesting consequences for the most significant case of repatriation of human remains in Denmark, Utimut – the repatriation of human remains and culturally significant objects to Greenland. The ownership of the human remains is now held by Greenland, but Greenland has elected to follow the same system for the management of collections of their human remains as that practiced for remains found on Danish soil, keeping them in Copenhagen. This case is always interesting to bring up in debates about repatriation since it is clear here that the Greenland side appears to share the same concerns for these remains as their Danish counterpart, and also feels that a practice that protects them as Objects of Science is valuable for them. But that does not mean that nothing has changed. There is a significant shift in the attitudes on behalf of the collection managers who do not claim control or ownership, but take the role as mediators and assistants. In this sense then, the Danish system is arguably more inclusive and progressive than in the rest of the Nordic countries, where ownership tends to be associated with the institution that holds the remains.
The Swedish system with decentralised practices and control was illustrated by presentations from two Swedish collections. The Historical Museum at Lund University was represented by Jenny Bergman and Sara Virkelyst who presented a newly established flow chart to systematically support repatriation processes in order to make them transparent and predictable for all stakeholders. The collections at the National Historical Museums were presented by Elin Ahlin Sundman. The issues of ethics appear to be top of mind for the Swedish institutions, but the decentralised practices result in great diversity in protocols and processes – which stands out as quite a contrast to Denmark.
Images from inside the Chapel of the Holy Ghost in the basement of the Casagrande House in Turku, a semi private place of worship that also serves as a resting place for excavated human remains from the later medieval and early modern period. Photos by Annina Souninen, and published by Åbo Underrättelser.
Finland seems to have the least regulation and formalised processes for the care of collections of human remain at the moment. With a law that currently calls for decisions of future reburial to be made before an excavation has even started, human remains, in Finland, appear to be treated more toward the end of “Lived Lives” than in the other countries. They are often reburied immediately – sometimes even before osteological study. It should be added, however, that this position in reality is almost directly dependent on the chronological age of the remains, with prehistoric remains being systematically collected, and historical remains more often reburied. The decision is often made by local parishes who hold a lot of the power in these negotiations. Liisa Seppänen from the University of Turku presented a hybrid solution with the case of the contemporary chapel in the Casagrande House in Turku. The historic building, previously known as Ingmanska huset, was built in the 17th century at the previous location of a Graveyard of the Holy Ghost Church in Turku. After being threatened with demolition in the 1980s, the architect Benito Casagrande purchased and renovated the building under supervision of the Finnish Heritage Agency, and it now includes businesses, shops, and restaurants. The remains of the people buried in the underlying churchyard (from the 14th century and to 1650) were excavated in consecutive projects from the 1960s and through the 1980s, and were collected by a dentist at the university who kept them as a teaching and research collection (predominantly the crania). After extensive lobbying, Benito Casagrande, managed to have the remains transferred from the university to a newly built chapel in the basement of the house, where they can both rest in a sacred space and be accessible for research. The chapel is not open to the public, but can be visited upon request. A small working group, of which Casagrande is a part, oversees the collection and makes decisions with regards to access and curation. The impact of a private citizen is, to say the least, quite extraordinary in this case – but perhaps this is not as difficult to reconcile in a system with a tradition of consultation with the leadership of local parishes. From a more traditional collection manager point of view, Risto Väinölä discussed he human remains collection at the University of Helsinki (LOUMUS) which is a heterogenous collection with a long and diverse history of collection, with potential for research but with limited manifested interest both on behalf of researchers and calls for repatriation.
In addition to the presentations of the state of the field in the respective countries, I also want to highlight two more conceptual papers. Karin Tybjerg from Medicinsk Museion in Copenhagen presented an interesting paper on historical medical collections as a foundation for amemnesis – the clinical medical process of recovering the medical history, usually referring to patient history, to understand medical states in the present, but here expanded to include a broader investigation into the field of medical science, medical history and medical humanities (she has published these ideas in an interesting paper in Centaurus 65(2), in 2023). Equally interesting was Eli Kristine Økland Hausken‘s paper Adressing Bare Bones and Human Remains about her work with exhibitions at the University Museum of Bergen and the underlying ethos of their activities to engage the local community by “lifting the curtain” on the process knowledge production and the history of institutions. I was somewhat surprised at the choice to exhibit a shrunken head, a South American Tsansta (an issue that has also been debated by curator Åshild Sunde Feyling Thorsen from the same intitution), and while I am personally not convinced, I was interested in the arguments in favour of making such an unconventional choice today.
The Old Department of Anatomy at Lund University. Image by Väsk, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.
During the course of the conference, three panel talks explored several fundamental issues for the care of collections of human remains. The following topics were explored:
Panel 1: What is the value of collections of human remains? This panel explored the broader topic of the value of these collections for science, pedagogy and history in a time when they are increasingly questioned. Are they valuable? And if so, how?
Panel 2: How to make the collections accessible (including perspectives on digitalization, exhibition, and access for researchers). Should we? And how best to do this?
Panel 3: Accession and deaccession. What are our current challenges? This panel talk will discuss the responsibility (and cost) of accession and deaccession, and discuss the connections to repatriation and (re)burial.
Throughout these conversations it became clear just how entangled these issues really are. The final discussion, on accession and deaccession, also linked up the the local history of anatomy in Lund where a large part of the old and seemingly “worthless” or “problematic” collections from the Department of Anatomy were unceremoniously discarded in 1995 when the department was closed down permanently. Some remains were transferred to the Historical museum (the institution that received most of the skeletal remains) and to other institutions that had previous ownership of remains in the collection, but a shocking amount of wet specimen, ended up in containers to be destroyed or haphazardly collected from the street by private people, potentially to take on another life, now even more in the shadows and even further removed from ethical care. The date, 1995, serves as a reminder that it is not that long ago that these issues were hardly problematised at all.
Featured image: Poster for the General Art and Industry Exhibition in Stockholm 1897 (licensed CC BY-SA 4.0). While this poster from the 19th century shows a different political reality, it can be veiwed as a good illustration of the continued entanglement of the Nordic nation states.
After our visit in Amsterdam I continued to Groningen which aslo has an anatomical collection on display in its University Museum. Here, the anatomical collection is part of the exhibition on the history of the university and its scholars, and it is thus clearly inscribed in the broader history of research and scholarship. A separate room is dedicated for this purpose. The anatomical display is arranged on stepped shelves organised in a semi-circle, with mounted skeletons on top and with preparations of body parts and organs on the lower shelves. The room has a claire-obscure quality with dimmed lights and spots illuminating the white bones, and the body parts almost glowing through the amber coloured liquid of the old preparations. The display is accompanied by an interactive screen where visitors can see close-up photographs of each displayed specimen and read descriptions about pathologies and preparations. The exhibition is extremely interesting, quite moving, and, I must admit, very aesthetic.
The anatomical collection arranged on stepped semi shelves organised in a semi-circle. Photo by Liv Nilsson Stutz (intentionally manipulated)
On the opposite side in the same room, an exhibition is devoted to the contribution of Petrus Camper (1722-1789). Camper was Professor Medicinae Theoreticae, Anatomiae, Chirurgiae et Botanicae at the University of Groningen from 1763 and to his death. He was an academic celebrity of his time and a leading scholar in many fields, including comparative anatomy.
Tibout Regters – De anatomische les van Petrus Camper. Amsterdam Museum, Public Domain.
As part of his research, Camper studied the anatomical differences between humans and apes, in particular crania and larynxes. To address the context of this research, the museum signage both celebrates and problematises his legacy. The exhibition called “Bitterzoet Erfgoed” (Bittersweet Heritage) informs us that while Camper lived in a time of colonialism and slavery, he “did not accept this worldview” (i.e. slavery). That being said, the text continues “Camper’s work cannot be separated from colonial history,” as “he collected specimens (human and animal) from colonised regions including the skulls and skin specimens on display in this exhibition.” The next sentence sums up the central dilemma:
“This raises complex questions. We want to tell the story of Petrus Camper, but also treat the remains of people who did not choose to become subjects of scientific research with respect”
Text in the exhibition about Petrus Camper at the University Museum in Groningen.
Several human crania are on display in this part of the exhibition, and a color coded map indicates their provenance including Madagascar, Europe, Java, Russian Republic of Kalmykia, Angola, China, Jakarta, and Mongolia.
Display of skulls from different parts of the world. The crania wee collected by Camper for his research into comparative anatomy. Photo: Liv Nilsson Stutz, intentionally blurred.
The transparent and honest way in which the exhibition communicates about the content of the collections and their problematic history, is interesting and quite admirable. The display of remains such as skin samples brings the hot button topic of racism into focus. The exhibition strikes the balance between communicating that while Camper’s research was not seeking to support racism as an ideology and a “scientific” concept, he still worked within a context of colonialism and othering. And while not explicitly stated, the knowledgeable visitor can probably fill in the blanks as to how this research tradition came to be enmeshed with race science only a few generations later. While taking risk with this display, the museum paradoxically takes responsibility for its collections as it does not try to avoid confronting difficult issues or hide its collections.
Skin samples on display in the museum. To the left, skin samples form humans from different parts of the world, displayed in the Bittersweet Heritage exhibition. The samples were used by Camper to understand human variation between white and black skin. To the right, human tattooed skin (the face of a woman and the British and Norwegian flags) exhibited with the skin of whale to illustrate Camper’s work in comparative anatomy. Photos by Liv Nilsson Stutz, intentionally blurred.
Interestingly (and typically) the problematisation is limited to the anthropological research and exhibition, and does not discuss the medical collection displayed only a few meters away in the same room. The context of the “bitter sweet heritage” is not extended to include collection practices from other contexts (such as, presumably, maternity wards and other care facilities). This relates to a more general pattern that we can see in how different categories of human remains sometimes are treated with different consideration and levels of problematisation.
In early November, we (Sarah Tarlow and Liv Nilsson Stutz) visited the Netherlands with the objective of viewing two different exhibitions of human remains: Museum Vrolik and Body Worlds, The Happiness Project, Amsterdam. While we realised it would be two distinct experiences, we were not quite prepared for just how radically different these two exhibitions would be, and how entangled the ethics of it all would appear at the end of the day.
The signage to the museum in the hospital foyer underscores the medical context of the collection. Photo by Liv Nilsson Stutz.
The Museum Vrolik is located on the bottom floor of the Amsterdam University Medical Center. As you enter the building you find yourself in a contemporary hospital, but as you turn left and enter the dark space of the museum you take a step into the past. A sign at the entrance cautions you that the exhibition contains human remains and may not be suitable for sensitive visitors. Photography is not allowed. The Museum website states:
“You should compare your position as a visitor to the Museum Vrolik with students of medicine during a practical anatomy session in the dissecting room. They observe and dissect mortal remains, but do so with proper respect and they are not allowed to take photographs of whatever they see in the room”
Museum Vrolik has an impressive collection. The remains were collected between 1750 and 1950. It contains 3300 human bones, skulls, and complete skeletons, 840 anatomical preparations with congenital defects, 1230 human anatomy preparations, 7400 glass negatives, 600 preparations related to dentistry, 530 plaster models and casts, 1760 drawers of brain slices, and 410 wax models. In addition the museum also contains animal bones and preparations. Only a small sample of this impressive collection is exhibited.
Cover of the catalogue of the Museum Vrolik “Forces of Form,” for sale in the museum shop. While I do not want to link to any online content of the displays, I show the cover of this book to provide an impression of the kind of specimens exhibited in the museum.
The exhibition consists of one square shaped room with dimmed lights and aesthetically illuminated glass display cases forming four areas in the center of the room displaying anatomical and pathological specimens, and along the perimeter of the room, a series of display cases that chronicles the history of the collection. It is breathtaking.
The collected are categorized as “objects of science” – but the display invites us to see people who once lived with pain, disability and strength to survive many years under difficult circumstances. It is moving and unsettling all at the same time.
In the historic overview the collection is contextualised with a focus on the collectors and their roles in the history of research. The presentation is honest and transparent and mentions collections from cemeteries and medical wards. In contrast to the matter of fact tone in the texts, the actual exhibition in this part of the museum is sometimes very moving – especially the mounted skeletons of physically disabled individuals, one of which is still leaning on their cane. The juxtaposition between the factual narrative on the signs with the emotional displays is interesting. While only the collectors are visible as agents in the narrative, the collected demand our attention in the display. It suddenly dawns on us that there is contextualisation but no problematisation. The collected are categorised as “objects of science” – but the display invites us to see actual people who once lived with pain, disability and the strength and support to survive many years under difficult circumstances. It is moving and unsettling all at the same time.
The main part of the exhibition focuses on anatomy and pathology. Here there is very little contextualisation of the collection beyond that of the human body itself, which presents itself as a timeless medical fact. The preparations of fetuses and new borns, or of more complete body parts, add a dimension of subjectivity to the exhibition, bringing to the fore a shadow of individual lives – viable or not. But in the end, these remains are exhibited as objects of science.
While an explicit reflection on the ethics of collection is absent from the exhibition, the museum webpage includes a statement that recognises that collection practices in the past were very different to contemporary medical practices, and that it is not possible to know if the deceased or their relatives consented to, or were even aware of the fact that the remains were collected. Just like in the exhibition itself, it is in the voids between what is explicitly stated and what is implicitly felt, that the ethical entanglements emerge for us to reflect on. It is interesting and moving.
Entrance to Body Worlds in Amsterdam, advertising the exhibition of “over 200 real human specimens” in the midst of the Amsterdam tourist district. Photo by Liv Nilsson Stutz.
Later the same day we visited Body Worlds, The Happiness Project, Amsterdam, located in the tourist area of the city center, and marketed at the entrance by a man who, like in a manner that reminded us of old time fair ground exhibitions or freakshow, enthusiastically invited us in.
Three separate displays of plastinated human bodies at Body Worlds Amsterdam. Note the sexualised position of the woman (left), the active position of the male (center). To the right an arrangement of sexual intercourse. Photos by Liv Nilsson Stutz.
Body Worlds has become a world wide sensation and a lucrative private enterprise. Günter Hagen who developed the plastination process which makes it possible to display the anatomical structures of the human body like sculptures, has marketed the venture as a mission to educate lay people about anatomy and health. Body Worlds has been criticised for using unethically sourced bodies, but today claims that all bodies on display are of people who have given their informed consent.
The Amsterdam exhibition mixed the exhibition of plastinated bodies staged in evocative poses with the display of individual organs. The whole bodies were positioned in a way that was always gendered and sometimes even sexualised, with female bodies placed lifted, lying down or leaning to the side with their legs apart, and with male bodies jumping a fence, playing a saxophone and steering a ship. One room was devoted to sexual intercourse. The theme chosen to frame the exhibition was happiness, and it was communicated through basic educational texts about health and well being, and through inspirational quotes. Despite the unique selling point of Body Worlds – the display of actual human bodies (in the middle of the tourist district no less) – the experience seemed artificial. It was difficult to connect to the material/humans on display. The commercialisation of the venture added to the confusion. Was the purpose of the exhibition to provide education, and the plastinated bodies were used as a way to lure people to pay over 20 Euros for a mediocre learning experience? Or, was the educational theme just added on as a justification to show dead human bodies? It was impossible to say.
The contrast between the two exhibitions could not be greater. Museum Vrolik showed old and admittedly sometimes problematic collections, but managed to inspire compassion and emotion, while Body Worlds felt like a commercial carnivalesque display trying to pass as education. Even if these bodies were displayed with consent, the ethics seemed more muddled than ever.
Ethical Entanglements 