The Romanian Peasant Museum did not want to become (again) an ethnographic museum of peasant in Romania. Logically enough, it did not want to become a "community museum," without being an "art museum". But what is it, then?

There is a classical antagonism, often formulated in the terms of a simple alternative: should a museum of this kind present its objects as artifacts (handcraft objects, as we say), in their specific ethnographic context (which is the ethnographs' position), or, on the contrary, should it present them in such a way that they wipe out their cultural particularities (the lack of indications about their being part of certain categories, about their functions and significances), in order to spot and highlight their aesthetic quality as art objects?

In order to evaluate the Romanian Peasant Museum in this respect, we must start with an example: a number of ceramic plates, of various ages, size and styles (some of which not of a "patrimonial" value), with no indication on their place of origin or their name, are making a "painting" in itself, when placed on a huge wall, one after the other.  Its elements can be replaced at any time with other ceramic plates, without this composition having to suffer any change of sense or value. Moreover: this composition-poem seems to be a permanent incentive for the visitor: play with me, make your own creations with your eyes!

An equivalent of the ceramic halls of any ordinary ethnographic museum, this "composition" raises the following central problem: are the ceramic plates on the wall presented as art or handcraft, or are they staged as art objects or ethnographic objects? The answer seems to be ambiguous: neither one, nor the other. Taken out of their ethnographic context, without any geographical, historical or typological reference, the respective plates are almost explicitly denied their statute of ethnographic object.[4]  Still, Kirschenblatt-Gimblett remarks that, "though multiple in the beginning, while acquiring an ethnographic status, objects become singular and, the more singular they become, the more they are ready to be reclassified and exposed as art" (Kirschenblatt-Gimblett, 1991:391).  From this perspective, traditional bowls do not become, however, in Bernea's artistic composition, a disciplined row of singularities - one bowl of Horezu and one of Corund, for instance - but they keep their multiple and anonymous character, thus avoiding their being analyzed as art objects.

And still, there is a certain beauty that is sought and exhibited on scene. According to Horia Patapievici's remarks in a documentary dedicated to the museum, while expressing Bernea's convictions, "each object must be placed in the light of its own adequacy. If an object was made to bring porridge to one's mouth, its destination - that is, its beauty! - lies in its capacity to bring porridge to the mouth of the person eating it" (our underlined expression).  Objects are what they are by means of their purpose, that is their original "role," and this is what contributes to their authentic statute. Furthermore, this makes their "beauty;" therefore, authenticity is of an aesthetic nature.

[4]  We should not mistake "the peasant's object" which belongs to a peasant community with the "ethnographic object," a result of a selection which is justified in one sense or another, made by an expert among the objects of the peasants' world. We should also mention the horror Bernea had in front of those "mannequins" seen as realistic objects, frequently used by ethnographic museums.