Visions of Egypt is a captivating exhibition that ultimately falls short. It posits that contemporary racism towards Egypt can be traced back to the Battle of Actium in 31 BC, when Octavian defeated Mark Antony and Cleopatra, Egypt’s ruler, leading to the annexation of Egypt. The Romans not only plundered Egypt’s artistic treasures but also tarnished Cleopatra’s image, paving the way for the enduring negative perceptions in Western culture.
However, asserting that ancient Rome continues to shape contemporary views of Egypt is an oversimplification. It disregards the rich complexities and transformations that have occurred over two millennia. Why not consider ancient Greece, which admired Egyptian artistry in Kouroi statues, while Herodotus depicted Egypt as an enigmatic and exotic civilization? By compressing 2,000 years into one continuous narrative of Western bias, this exhibition fails to honor the art it seeks to critique. Clearly, when Andy Warhol represented Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra or Kenneth Williams delivered his comedic performance in Carry On Cleo, they were commenting on the 1960s, not the first century BC. Yet, these references are absent from the exhibit, which instead awkwardly combines Victorian art with mediocre contemporary pieces to support its flimsy argument about Cleopatra.
While some exceptional pieces are on display, they ironically contradict the exhibition’s central narrative. For instance, a Roman-era illustration of Emperor Diocletian worshiping a mummified bull clad as a pharaoh illustrates the interaction between cultures. Similarly, a portrait of a boy, found on his mummy, showcases a creative fusion of Egyptian ritual and Roman realism.
The Romantic architect Sir John Soane exemplifies the Egyptomaniacs overlooked by the exhibition’s simplistic approach. In one of his architectural designs, he positions St. Paul’s Cathedral next to the Great Pyramid, clearly indicating his preference for the awe-inspiring artistry of Egypt over European classical styles.
Yet, Soane’s enthusiastic studies of Egyptian architecture are relegated to a small, uninspiring alcove, awkwardly fitted into an abstract narrative about the rise of European imperialism. Nearby lies one of the world’s most peculiar books, the massive Description of Egypt, commissioned by Napoleon during his invasion of the region in 1798. Although he hadn’t yet declared himself emperor, his imperial ambitions and Romantic perspective were evident, as he famously told his troops, “From the top of those pyramids, 40 centuries are contemplating you.”
The exhibition falters in its details. A deeper exploration of such stories could provide a richer commentary on the relationships between archaeology and empire, rather than the confused anger it currently conveys. Cultural theorist Edward Said, in his book Orientalism, argued that Napoleon’s cultural venture fashioned the ‘orient’ as something to be ‘known’ and thus dominated by European empires. If only this exhibition could adopt his nuanced insights. Victorian Orientalism is starkly showcased by Edwin Long’s painting, The Gods and Their Makers, which depicts women in a harem creating the little Shabti figures found in Egyptian tombs. This characterizes pure Victorian fantasy, featuring anachronistic representations including a black servant attending the unusually pale ‘Egyptian’ women.
The crudeness of this painting parallels the gruesome tales spun by authors like Bram Stoker and Arthur Conan Doyle, as archaeology fueled increasingly sensationalized visions of Egypt. A notable example is the Egyptian Theatre in Hollywood, a cinema designed as an extravagant imitation of an Egyptian temple, built in 1922, the same year Howard Carter discovered Tutankhamun’s tomb. Why is Hollywood’s portrayal of Egypt neglected? The horror genre surrounding mummies receives minimal attention, with only a reference to an early edition of Arthur Conan Doyle’s tale, Lot 249, and a somewhat frivolous video by Sara Sallam titled You Died Again on Screen. A caption wryly notes that “Two hundred years of theatre and cinema have cemented mummies as figures of horror and evil in western popular culture.”
However, it is ironic that Howard Carter, often criticized as a colonial Indiana Jones figure, is portrayed here as a sensitive artist. His 1908 watercolor depicting a hoopoe perched in a tomb, seemingly safeguarded by a wall painting of a vulture goddess, exudes a profound passion and reverence for ancient Egypt that approaches a near-worship of its deities. This exhibition implores us to renounce our fascination with this lost world, yet it cannot help but draw us in.
