I recently attended the Cartier exhibition at the National Gallery of Victoria with my partner, eager to look at the production sketches behind the pieces. I was primarily there to scrutinise the designs and pieces inspired by ancient Egypt (there was a photo of one example where the hieroglyphs appeared upside down judging by the orientation of sign M23—make of that what you will). Deciding to make a date of it, we purchased tickets to the NGV Friday Nights viewing, hoping to bypass the crowded weekends while still finding an opportunity to go together.

The pieces were beautiful, with the gallery space set up thematically and guiding visitors through room after room of eye-wateringly expensive creations. Finely crafted gold and diamonds, and everything in between.

At least the half I managed to catch a glimpse of seemed to fit those descriptors.

There were no less than fifteen people clustered around every “main attraction”; the centrepiece of each room drawing people like a magnet. I wouldn’t hesitate to say there were maybe even more people than my guess, squashing together and straining their necks to take in the opulence behind the glass. Or snap a quick photo, more likely. Granted, this comment makes me feel very old and crochety, and also like a raging hypocrite because I had my phone camera at the ready too.

One of these masterpieces among masterpieces was placed just beyond a narrow entryway. It forced those entering the room to acknowledge its beauty before side stepping the veritable column it was embedded in. Only after moving past it did the room open up into a space you could mill about in before darting to the various displays in the walls.

I stood there with my partner, and we shared one glance between us and the growing pass of people before we opted to squeeze along the doorframe and completely bypass whatever was in that case. In fact, we did this several times, often just standing in the middle of a room and waiting for a gap so we could approach something and see it up close. To those who might say “follow the flow of the viewing crowd”, at the very start of the exhibition a security guard was encouraging people to go in a different order and to mill about because the unofficial “line” was banking up and bleeding out into the waiting area!

After just over an hour, our senses had already been fried by the constant thrum of people. It didn’t help that we were still wearing jumpers, because while the people and heating had made the space rather warm and humid, Melbourne was its especially wintry self just outside.

Darting through the rest of the rooms, we swung by the gift shop to pick up a catalogue of the exhibition and began our trek home.

Two days later, the almighty LinkedIn algorithm served me up a series of posts discussing how little time people spend perusing exhibitions and museum displays (and, of course, how to maximise and/or encourage engagement). There are a hundred reasons why people may not spend time in exhibitions or museums, from time constraints to inaccessible signage, but      it was interesting to reflect on them with my own experience so fresh in my mind. 

I would’ve loved to spend much more time looking at the various pieces in detail, but I felt incentivised to keep moving and keep skimming; not just to get out of the crowd, but also to not deprive the people standing behind me who were in the exact same predicament as I was.

The lack of seating also didn’t do much in the way of encouraging staying and observing, and as mentioned previously there were several areas that became congested quite quickly if even  one or more people decided to stop and take in an object. 

In some places, the design did seem optimised to accommodate a good number of people without hindering anyone’s line of sight. For example, the room that housed various crowns and tiaras displayed them in clear cylinders, providing a decent view of them regardless of what direction you approached. Yet, as this room was one of the last in the exhibition by the time my partner and I reached it, I was already at my wits’ end.

Did I enjoy the exhibition itself? Yes, absolutely, as contradictory as that might sound. However, I equally felt that it was a fight to get something out of it, because I had to contend with an environment that encouraged people to slide by an object, grab a quick photo, and start moving again. That is, unless they were willing to become a view-blocking column to someone else.

What I experienced during the Cartier exhibition was not unique. I’ve felt it during many other exhibitions. These spaces are designed for half the number of occupants that end up flooding them at any one time and are exhibiting pieces that deserve slow and thoughtful observation which ends up becoming prevented by various factors.

Perhaps these exhibitions would be fine during the middle of the week, provided one avoids the school groups (though I’m not sure how many would be going to the Cartier exhibition), but it also means anyone with a standard 9 – 5 is put at a disadvantage and deprived of engaging with culture in a comfortable environment. 

Sometimes I feel that these exhibitions are designed to be viewed post-experience through the photographs you manage to take on your phone (while you pray the autofocus doesn’t latch onto the side of someone’s arm). Take your time, steady, let the low light mode do its thing; but not that much time, keep it moving!

Is this the work of galleries or our society as a whole? If we’re honest, it’s probably a bit of a feedback loop. We are living in an era where we simultaneously have all the time we could want and absolutely none of it. We always must get to the next thing, because the next thing could be better, and we have to get to it before our “free” time runs out—and oh how the algorithms have latched onto that!

At least I got to see some shiny things and I have to say, despite the upside-down hieroglyphs in that one photo, the ancient Egyptian inspired jewellery looked pretty cool.