This essay offers a reading of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian as a diplomatic assemblage, centered on the exhibition Nation to Nation: Treaties Between the United States and American Indian Nations (2014–25). I elaborate on the political geographer Jason Dittmer’s theory of the diplomatic assemblage, which holds that material circulations shape international relations through a surplus emotional charge that can shift political cognition. Throughout Nation to Nation, Indigenous diplomatic arts such as wampum advance geopolitical frameworks premised on kinship and reciprocity with all aspects of a living cosmos. I argue that these arts activate a latent potential for the museum to function as a diplomatic agent in Native nations’ ongoing negotiations with the United States, despite centuries of betrayal. I also consider how the diplomatic assemblage can inform a broader interpretive ethics in the field of Native North American art.
{"title":"Seeing the National Museum of the American Indian Anew as a Diplomatic Assemblage","authors":"Jessica L. Horton","doi":"10.1086/722520","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1086/722520","url":null,"abstract":"This essay offers a reading of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian as a diplomatic assemblage, centered on the exhibition Nation to Nation: Treaties Between the United States and American Indian Nations (2014–25). I elaborate on the political geographer Jason Dittmer’s theory of the diplomatic assemblage, which holds that material circulations shape international relations through a surplus emotional charge that can shift political cognition. Throughout Nation to Nation, Indigenous diplomatic arts such as wampum advance geopolitical frameworks premised on kinship and reciprocity with all aspects of a living cosmos. I argue that these arts activate a latent potential for the museum to function as a diplomatic agent in Native nations’ ongoing negotiations with the United States, despite centuries of betrayal. I also consider how the diplomatic assemblage can inform a broader interpretive ethics in the field of Native North American art.","PeriodicalId":43434,"journal":{"name":"American Art","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2022-09-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"46455560","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":2,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
In 1970, Los Angeles–based artist Frederick Eversley began making parabolic sculptures cast in polyester resin. These “lenses” were visual marvels awash in color, finely rendered by the artist in plastic. At the time, plastics commanded a strong presence in artists’ studios throughout the United States. Eversley was unique in his approach to casting through motion, drawing from his scientific background. He had worked as an aerospace engineer in the 1960s, testing instrumentation systems for NASA during the Space Race. After turning to artmaking, he developed a method of centrifugal casting to capture concepts of energy in sculptural form. This essay follows Eversley’s lenses—from the studio to the exhibition space—to show how his work was informed by his experience as an engineer, his exposure to the Los Angeles art scene, and the pressures imposed upon him as a Black artist working in plastics.
{"title":"Plastic in Motion","authors":"D. O'Steen","doi":"10.1086/722527","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1086/722527","url":null,"abstract":"In 1970, Los Angeles–based artist Frederick Eversley began making parabolic sculptures cast in polyester resin. These “lenses” were visual marvels awash in color, finely rendered by the artist in plastic. At the time, plastics commanded a strong presence in artists’ studios throughout the United States. Eversley was unique in his approach to casting through motion, drawing from his scientific background. He had worked as an aerospace engineer in the 1960s, testing instrumentation systems for NASA during the Space Race. After turning to artmaking, he developed a method of centrifugal casting to capture concepts of energy in sculptural form. This essay follows Eversley’s lenses—from the studio to the exhibition space—to show how his work was informed by his experience as an engineer, his exposure to the Los Angeles art scene, and the pressures imposed upon him as a Black artist working in plastics.","PeriodicalId":43434,"journal":{"name":"American Art","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2022-09-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"43397320","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":2,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Long held as a critique of postwar consumption, Claes Oldenburg’s The Store (1961) took place in a storefront on the Lower East Side, an area at the center of federal intervention into Black and Puerto Rican poverty. This article reinterprets The Store through comparison to Mobilization for Youth (MFY), an anti-poverty organization that operated next door. Both shared an environmental “method”: the operational use of the storefront. MFY revolutionized the practice of social welfare by opening “storefront centers” that integrated its programs into resident’s daily lives by placing its clinics next to neighborhood shops. Using the storefront as a gallery and performance venue, The Store similarly repurposed its space. By aligning Oldenburg and MFY, the article proposes that the transformation of labor circa 1961—when automation began to displace the former industrial workers targeted by MFY—has been overlooked as constitutive to The Store’s meaning. Moreover, the article argues that the politics of The Store’s heralded return to realism are productively described by MFY’s postwar practice of liberal reform.
{"title":"The Storefront Method","authors":"E. Feiss","doi":"10.1086/722528","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1086/722528","url":null,"abstract":"Long held as a critique of postwar consumption, Claes Oldenburg’s The Store (1961) took place in a storefront on the Lower East Side, an area at the center of federal intervention into Black and Puerto Rican poverty. This article reinterprets The Store through comparison to Mobilization for Youth (MFY), an anti-poverty organization that operated next door. Both shared an environmental “method”: the operational use of the storefront. MFY revolutionized the practice of social welfare by opening “storefront centers” that integrated its programs into resident’s daily lives by placing its clinics next to neighborhood shops. Using the storefront as a gallery and performance venue, The Store similarly repurposed its space. By aligning Oldenburg and MFY, the article proposes that the transformation of labor circa 1961—when automation began to displace the former industrial workers targeted by MFY—has been overlooked as constitutive to The Store’s meaning. Moreover, the article argues that the politics of The Store’s heralded return to realism are productively described by MFY’s postwar practice of liberal reform.","PeriodicalId":43434,"journal":{"name":"American Art","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2022-09-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"48227271","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":2,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
In 1792, three Taíno cemí were found by a surveyor in a cave in the mountains of southern Jamaica. By 1803, the cemí were displayed in London at a meeting of the Society of Antiquaries by Isaac Alves Rebello. Almost two hundred years later, in 1977, the cemí were formally accessioned by the British Museum, however, they still bear the formal label, “Method of acquisition by BM currently unknown.” This article traces the movement of these cemí from Jamaica to London, adding new information to their provenance. However, it also asks what adding to this provenance means, and interrogates the implication of their possession by the British Museum, particularly considering their status as animate entities. What does it mean to add to an archive of death, and what does it mean for the museum to lay claim to gods?
{"title":"The Cemí and the Museum","authors":"R. Newman","doi":"10.1086/720911","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1086/720911","url":null,"abstract":"In 1792, three Taíno cemí were found by a surveyor in a cave in the mountains of southern Jamaica. By 1803, the cemí were displayed in London at a meeting of the Society of Antiquaries by Isaac Alves Rebello. Almost two hundred years later, in 1977, the cemí were formally accessioned by the British Museum, however, they still bear the formal label, “Method of acquisition by BM currently unknown.” This article traces the movement of these cemí from Jamaica to London, adding new information to their provenance. However, it also asks what adding to this provenance means, and interrogates the implication of their possession by the British Museum, particularly considering their status as animate entities. What does it mean to add to an archive of death, and what does it mean for the museum to lay claim to gods?","PeriodicalId":43434,"journal":{"name":"American Art","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2022-06-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"41593288","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":2,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
In Pieter Wonder’s oil painting, Patrons and Lovers of Art (1830), considered to be an idealised prefiguration of London’s National Gallery, we can identify sixteen British gentlemen collectors and connoisseurs, and forty-four Old Master and British paintings which are today considered collection highlights of major art museums across Europe and North America. This essay focuses on the lives of two of Wonder’s sitters in order to better understand how transatlantic slavery is deeply ingrained in Britain’s cultural past. The painting provides a useful springboard for considering the cultural legacies of slave-ownership, highlighting the myriad connections between the brutal system of colonial slavery and the world of aesthetics and taste, and encouraging reflection about a history that has for so long remained silent. In uncovering the sources of wealth which helped to facilitate the development and lavish display of such grand collections, it becomes possible to reconsider our understanding of the history of art collecting in the early decades of the nineteenth century. The essay argues that today art museums across Europe and North America are faced with an urgent moral imperative to acknowledge and better understand the extent of their debt to transatlantic slavery.
在皮特·旺德（Pieter Wonder）的油画《赞助人与艺术爱好者》（Patrons and Lovers of Art，1830）中，我们可以识别出16位英国绅士收藏家和鉴赏家，以及44幅老大师和英国画作，这些画作如今被认为是欧洲和北美主要美术馆的收藏亮点。这篇文章聚焦于Wonder的两位保姆的生活，以更好地了解跨大西洋奴隶制是如何在英国的文化历史中根深蒂固的。这幅画为思考奴隶所有权的文化遗产提供了一个有用的跳板，突出了残酷的殖民奴隶制制度与美学和品味世界之间的无数联系，并鼓励人们反思长期以来一直保持沉默的历史。在揭示有助于促进这些宏伟藏品的发展和奢华展示的财富来源时，我们有可能重新思考我们对19世纪初几十年艺术收藏史的理解。这篇文章认为，如今，欧洲和北美的美术馆面临着一个紧迫的道德义务，即承认并更好地理解它们对跨大西洋奴隶制的亏欠程度。
{"title":"The Specter of Slavery in the British Art Museum","authors":"S. Thomas","doi":"10.1086/720914","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1086/720914","url":null,"abstract":"In Pieter Wonder’s oil painting, Patrons and Lovers of Art (1830), considered to be an idealised prefiguration of London’s National Gallery, we can identify sixteen British gentlemen collectors and connoisseurs, and forty-four Old Master and British paintings which are today considered collection highlights of major art museums across Europe and North America. This essay focuses on the lives of two of Wonder’s sitters in order to better understand how transatlantic slavery is deeply ingrained in Britain’s cultural past. The painting provides a useful springboard for considering the cultural legacies of slave-ownership, highlighting the myriad connections between the brutal system of colonial slavery and the world of aesthetics and taste, and encouraging reflection about a history that has for so long remained silent. In uncovering the sources of wealth which helped to facilitate the development and lavish display of such grand collections, it becomes possible to reconsider our understanding of the history of art collecting in the early decades of the nineteenth century. The essay argues that today art museums across Europe and North America are faced with an urgent moral imperative to acknowledge and better understand the extent of their debt to transatlantic slavery.","PeriodicalId":43434,"journal":{"name":"American Art","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2022-06-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"49497038","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":2,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Scholars have generally treated the abstract painter Frank Stella as a quintessential American artist, whose late modernist canvases catalyzed postwar American art. Yet such accounts gloss over Stella’s significant experiences of international travel, including a formative trip to Iran in 1963, made possible by the expansion of U.S. global power after World War II. Drawing on unpublished photographs, letters, and drawings from his trip, I argue that some of the artist’s most significant formal innovations of the 1960s were a direct result of his encounter with Iranian Islamic architecture. Specifically, I trace connections between the Irregular Polygons, a series of forty-four paintings Stella produced between 1965 and 1967, and the Qur’anic epigraphy he documented at Sultaniyya, a fourteenth-century Ilkhanid mausoleum in northwest Iran. “Islamic Architecture in New York Painting” opens up new geographic terrain in the history of American art while insisting on the significance of U.S. global expansionism to its canon.
{"title":"Islamic Architecture in New York Painting","authors":"Sarah Smith","doi":"10.1086/720916","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1086/720916","url":null,"abstract":"Scholars have generally treated the abstract painter Frank Stella as a quintessential American artist, whose late modernist canvases catalyzed postwar American art. Yet such accounts gloss over Stella’s significant experiences of international travel, including a formative trip to Iran in 1963, made possible by the expansion of U.S. global power after World War II. Drawing on unpublished photographs, letters, and drawings from his trip, I argue that some of the artist’s most significant formal innovations of the 1960s were a direct result of his encounter with Iranian Islamic architecture. Specifically, I trace connections between the Irregular Polygons, a series of forty-four paintings Stella produced between 1965 and 1967, and the Qur’anic epigraphy he documented at Sultaniyya, a fourteenth-century Ilkhanid mausoleum in northwest Iran. “Islamic Architecture in New York Painting” opens up new geographic terrain in the history of American art while insisting on the significance of U.S. global expansionism to its canon.","PeriodicalId":43434,"journal":{"name":"American Art","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2022-06-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"42210549","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":2,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
In 1967, the photojournalist and curator Cornell Capa curated The Concerned Photographer, which premiered in New York and traveled to Japan and Israel. This essay considers Capa’s notion of “concerned photography” as well as his central place among institutional leaders thinking about photography in light of their recent national pasts. In the United States, Capa adopted Lewis Hine as the spiritual father of concerned photography to make space for the European-born, Jewish photojournalists whose legacies he wanted to preserve. In Japan, The Concerned Photographer was part of a larger reckoning with Japanese fascism and imperialism, and in Israel, the exhibition codified tropes for representing the nation and advanced the collection of photography in Israeli museums. Capa’s efforts culminated in the creation of the International Center of Photography (ICP), whose origins open onto the larger story of Jewish émigrés’ involvement in photography’s institutional development around the world.
{"title":"The International Origins of “Concerned Photography”","authors":"N. Bair","doi":"10.1086/720917","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1086/720917","url":null,"abstract":"In 1967, the photojournalist and curator Cornell Capa curated The Concerned Photographer, which premiered in New York and traveled to Japan and Israel. This essay considers Capa’s notion of “concerned photography” as well as his central place among institutional leaders thinking about photography in light of their recent national pasts. In the United States, Capa adopted Lewis Hine as the spiritual father of concerned photography to make space for the European-born, Jewish photojournalists whose legacies he wanted to preserve. In Japan, The Concerned Photographer was part of a larger reckoning with Japanese fascism and imperialism, and in Israel, the exhibition codified tropes for representing the nation and advanced the collection of photography in Israeli museums. Capa’s efforts culminated in the creation of the International Center of Photography (ICP), whose origins open onto the larger story of Jewish émigrés’ involvement in photography’s institutional development around the world.","PeriodicalId":43434,"journal":{"name":"American Art","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2022-06-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"47529141","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":2,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
In 1862, the Brazilian Imperial Academy of Fine Arts received a damaged cast of The Laocoön Group. An intimate relationship between European academic tradition and the trafficking and compulsory labor of Black bodies unfolded. This contribution looks at the Academy, among several public institutions founded during the Brazilian empire (1822–89), that sustained, and were sustained by, the Atlantic’s largest and most enduring slave society. Special attention goes to the Academy’s entanglements with illegally-trafficked Africans apprenticed to royally-chartered institutions of culture. Through 1865, these Africans were active in the day-to-day operations of the Academy, where they were tasked with direct work with art objects. These Africans also worked to shape the contours of bondage and freedom inside the institution. The essay centers Black bodies and Blackness as constitutive actors in the institutionalization of the academic tradition in Brazil, and globalizes the recovery of the entwined histories of the transatlantic trade, academies, and museums.
{"title":"Laocoön in the Tropics","authors":"Daryle Williams","doi":"10.1086/720915","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1086/720915","url":null,"abstract":"In 1862, the Brazilian Imperial Academy of Fine Arts received a damaged cast of The Laocoön Group. An intimate relationship between European academic tradition and the trafficking and compulsory labor of Black bodies unfolded. This contribution looks at the Academy, among several public institutions founded during the Brazilian empire (1822–89), that sustained, and were sustained by, the Atlantic’s largest and most enduring slave society. Special attention goes to the Academy’s entanglements with illegally-trafficked Africans apprenticed to royally-chartered institutions of culture. Through 1865, these Africans were active in the day-to-day operations of the Academy, where they were tasked with direct work with art objects. These Africans also worked to shape the contours of bondage and freedom inside the institution. The essay centers Black bodies and Blackness as constitutive actors in the institutionalization of the academic tradition in Brazil, and globalizes the recovery of the entwined histories of the transatlantic trade, academies, and museums.","PeriodicalId":43434,"journal":{"name":"American Art","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2022-06-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"43468600","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":2,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Portrait of Francisco de Paula Sanz is an unsigned, undated portrait of a Spanish-born colonial official. From 1789 to 1810, Sanz served as governor of Potosí, home to the “rich hill” that housed vast quantities of silver ore and likely site of the portrait’s creation. This context points to an Indigenous artist, or group of artists, belonging to a local guild or workshop. The absence of a signature bolsters this possibility, as it was not generally in the Indigenous tradition to autograph or single out an individual’s creation. Taken together, these details place the image at the intersection of two distinct but deeply intertwined institutions: the Indigenous artistic guild/workshops that supported the work and interests of native artists, and the viceregal government that relied on images produced by those artists to communicate its power and authority.
{"title":"Power and Portraiture in a Bolivian Mining Town","authors":"T. Walker","doi":"10.1086/720913","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1086/720913","url":null,"abstract":"Portrait of Francisco de Paula Sanz is an unsigned, undated portrait of a Spanish-born colonial official. From 1789 to 1810, Sanz served as governor of Potosí, home to the “rich hill” that housed vast quantities of silver ore and likely site of the portrait’s creation. This context points to an Indigenous artist, or group of artists, belonging to a local guild or workshop. The absence of a signature bolsters this possibility, as it was not generally in the Indigenous tradition to autograph or single out an individual’s creation. Taken together, these details place the image at the intersection of two distinct but deeply intertwined institutions: the Indigenous artistic guild/workshops that supported the work and interests of native artists, and the viceregal government that relied on images produced by those artists to communicate its power and authority.","PeriodicalId":43434,"journal":{"name":"American Art","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2022-06-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"46004504","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":2,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
This essay considers an application to the British Museum by members of the 1775–76 Mohawk delegation in London “to copy the Portrait of one of the Indians who were here in the reign of Queen Anne.” The Mohawk visitors wished to consult a miniature representing one of their predecessors from the 1710 Haudenosaunee embassy (known in Britain as the “Four Kings”). The archival trace of the Mohawks’ request, published here for the first time, affirms the need for alternative accounts of Indigenous presence and spectatorship in this period. It pierces through the kinds of fiction to which Indigenous visitors to Britain had long given rise, invites consideration of the role of portraiture from an Indigenous perspective within the context of transatlantic diplomacy, and suggests more nuanced accounts of the British Museum as an institution at the heart of empire.
{"title":"Portraiture in Indigenous London","authors":"E. Chadwick","doi":"10.1086/720912","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1086/720912","url":null,"abstract":"This essay considers an application to the British Museum by members of the 1775–76 Mohawk delegation in London “to copy the Portrait of one of the Indians who were here in the reign of Queen Anne.” The Mohawk visitors wished to consult a miniature representing one of their predecessors from the 1710 Haudenosaunee embassy (known in Britain as the “Four Kings”). The archival trace of the Mohawks’ request, published here for the first time, affirms the need for alternative accounts of Indigenous presence and spectatorship in this period. It pierces through the kinds of fiction to which Indigenous visitors to Britain had long given rise, invites consideration of the role of portraiture from an Indigenous perspective within the context of transatlantic diplomacy, and suggests more nuanced accounts of the British Museum as an institution at the heart of empire.","PeriodicalId":43434,"journal":{"name":"American Art","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2022-06-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"47189725","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":2,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
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