THE MUSEUM OF MOURNING ART – DREXEL HILL, PENNSYLVANIA BY ALISON NASTASI
We’ve always been fascinated by what happens when we leave this world. The 19th century’s post-mortem daguerreotypes
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and images of widows draped in heavy, black gowns dominate our knowledge of mourning customs. Though many of the mourning rituals we associate with the period started centuries earlier, in different parts of the world, they really evolved into an art form in England during Victorian times. And while today’s funeral industry often feels like big business – trading sorrowful expression for capitalist sentimentality – there are still those who try to bridge the gap be- tween the past and present. Upon entering the gates of the gorgeously green
Arlington Cemetery in Drexel Hill (not to be con- fused with Arlington National Cemetery), it’s hard to believe you’re just minutes away from down- town Philadelphia. The Toppitzer Funeral Home, lo- cated on the cemetery’s 130-acre property, is an image that will send you reeling back to the 18th century. The building was modelled after George Washington’s Virginia home, Mount Vernon, in part because it was Washington’s death that roused an interest in mourning art amongst early American settlers. The architecture of the mausoleums on site were also inspired by the colonial period. One is set behind the never-ending tendrils of a group of weeping willow trees and contains a bronze bell cast at Paul Revere’s foundry, while the other’s wrought-iron gates are an exact replica of those at the historic Christ Church in Philly. A residence on the property – once the home of
Isaac Price Garrett (brother of abolitionist Thomas Garrett) is believed to have been part of the Under- ground Railroad. A perimeter of cherry and tulip trees (Washington’s favourites) leads you to the entrance of the Georgian Colonial-style building. The paintings that decorate the waiting area,
depicting scenes from the time period, carry the history lesson inside. An antique organ located in the chapel just beyond the front doors is an eye-catcher, but the real draw for Toppitzer’s living guests is The Museum of Mourning Art.
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eople often reminisce about times past when our society wasn’t so… morbid. The truth is, our preoccupation with death has existed long before the introduction of vio- lent cinema and graphic video games.
The small museum’s dense but impressive collec-
tion of American and European funerary art and ob- jects was assembled in the early ’90s by Anita Schorsch – one of the foremost interpreters and col- lectors of American neoclassical, popular and mourn- ing art. Her family has owned the cemetery for generations, and many of the artifacts are from her personal collection. The museum’s curator, Elizabeth Wojcik, says the objects are a draw for a variety of people including artists, bereavement groups, medical students and embroidery guilds – she’s also noticed an increase in young visitors who take mourning classes since the 1999 Columbine massacre. As Wojcik leads me through the collection, she
points to seemingly innocuous details in various prints, old timey books, commemorative ribbons and heraldry to explain their hidden meanings. Clearly, the depiction of a weeping woman draped across a gravestone symbolizes grief, but the sub- tle and near imperceptible gesture of a single fin- ger pointed to the sky is a quiet representation of the possibility of life after death. It’s pretty simplis- tic in its meaning, but a reminder of the pride and care that artisans took with their work. Wojcik ex- plains that this kind of attention to detail was ram- pant in every aspect of mourning and created an unspoken language that told everyone you were paying tribute to the deceased. Black crepe, rib- bons and wreaths on a person’s door would tell passersby that the family had lost someone. Black armbands or memorial pins were also an outward symbol of grief. These things, combined with the museum’s collection of death announcements and funeral invitations – many adorned with simple black trim – represent the kinship that existed within various communities, when sorrow was as commonly shared as joy. Walking through the mu- seum is like see-
ing a timeline in motion, showing the transforma- tion of public attitude about death from the 16th century onward. I learn how death changed from fire and brimstone to a more serene experience, when having a “good death” was as much a com- fort for your loved ones as it was for you. The safety and care of your soul as it made its journey was of the utmost importance, as illustrated in var- ious museum objects. “Mourners [prayed], and prayers meant your
soul might be saved,” Wojcik says. A bell on dis- play is a reminder of this. The peal of the bell called attention to the passing of a person’s soul and served as a way to ask for prayers to help guide it along. The number of times it rang told people the age, sex and other information about the de- ceased. A lantern clock from 1660 exemplifies how time was stopped to indicate the moment a person died. The timepiece wasn’t started again until the deceased’s soul had moved on – an event that was thought to occur roughly three days after the per- son’s passing, or once they were buried. The collection’s pièce de résistance is a deco-
rative, wrought-iron gate from 1856 enclosing an ornate funeral carriage (circa 1890) that looks like something straight out of a Hammer film. The fu- neral home actually uses a replica of the horse- drawn hearse for some of their processions. The hatchment – a coat of arms symbolizing the de- ceased’s life achievements – decorates the car- riage, along with a beaver top hat that would have been worn by any number of mourners. Additional bereavement garb in the exhibit will please the goths, and a 17th-century wooden casket resting nearby adds a chilling touch to the display. Grave robbers beware: a cemetery gun, dated around 1707, guards the funerary box. It was a nasty booby trap, mounted on the
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