Return into the Womb
The Museum of Art and Fecundity in Montpellier, southern France
On my road trip from Berlin to Spain, I of course stopped at this unique museum in the South of France which was founded by a former pediatrician and obstetrician.
“Most of the artworks in my museum are related to prayers made by women who wanted to have a baby, or wanted protection for the health of the baby or protection for the delivery.”
I’m standing with Vincent Fauceau in front of a glass display case. Inside are female figures with round bellies and ample breasts. “Men are also concerned but I don’t think they transmit this into art,” he says. He is unaware of any comparable depictions of men. The figures date from the Paleolithic period—almost. They are the only replicas in the exhibition. Fauveau collected all the other pieces himself over more than forty years during his travels across half the world. That’s how long the tall, balding man workedas a pediatrician and obstetrician in developing countries—in Africa, Asia, and Latin America. “During my travels in these countries, I became interested in how female fertility is artistically, that is, visually, represented. For me, ‘fecundity’ encompasses conception or its opposite, infertility, pregnancy, and childbirth”. He tells this story to the dozen or so visitors who came to the museum that morning.
Entry to the museum costs 8 euros. I wasn’t originally particularly interested in Montpellier; the city is simply on the way to my actual destination: Spain. And so, here I am in Montpellier’s art district. Voilà.
Fauveau gives tours of his museum in English and French; this time it’s French’s turn. Since my school French is a bit rusty, Fauveau occasionally explains some exhibits to me in English as well. For example, the painting depicting the conception of the Buddha, the founder of Buddhism, Siddhartha Gautama. According to Buddhist tradition, Buddha’s mother, Queen Mayadevi, was childless for twenty years until, on a full moon night, she had a dream: A white elephant with a lotus blossom on its tusk entered her right side. From this side, Buddha was then born.
Another image shows a statue of Eve, whom God, according to the Old Testament, created from a rib or side of Adam. “What do you notice?” asks Fauveau. Questioning looks. Answer: The Eve statue has no navel! Fauveau explains: “All other works of art depict her with a navel. But since the imaginary Eve didn’t develop from a placenta, she didn’t have a navel.”
Fauveau’s museum in Montpellier’s arts district is housed in the premises of “Shambhala,” a center for yoga and meditation. It was formerly a shared medical practice of three doctors. One of them is a friend of Fauveau’s and now rents the space to people who, in his eyes, enrich the world with something meaningful – like Fauveau’s ethnographic collection.
Most of the exhibits come from Africa. Long, shield-shaped masks made of carved wood dangle from the ceiling in the large common room. Male dancers used to tie them to their faces and chests during wedding ceremonies. Fauveau stops in front of a display case. The wooden objects inside are from eastern Congo and depict the actual moment of birth. They show the mother, child, midwife, and even the father. These are the only objects in the museum that also depict men, Fauveau explains. They are holding their wives from behind during childbirth. Only one is facing his wife; another looks to the side, his face contorted. “He is suffering for her,” mocks one female visitor amidst the approving laughter of the rest of the group.
In another display case, Fauveau points to a small figure made of soapstone. A baby is visible in the womb. “You can see the baby in transparency. It’s the first ever statue showing the baby inside as if there was an ultra sound scan,” explains Fauveau. In the same display case sit two pregnant women made of clay, slightly bent backwards, as if they were doing yoga. They were created by a local artist, discloses Fauveau - namely himself. The visitors make appreciative remarks.
Next to Fauveau’s clay pregnant woman sits an object from our modern times: a Barbie doll. Made by Mattel in the USA. She also has a large belly – which is removable. His daughter learned playfully with such a Barbie, Fauveau explains. He holds up the removable belly and shows us: There’s even a baby inside.
The former obstetrician makes a distinction between “fecundity” and “fertility”. Fecundity refers to the ability to bear or father children, and fertility to the result, such as the number of children. Fauveau is convinced that he has assembled a unique collection. “I suspect that international museums like the Louvre, the British Museum or the Metropolitan in New York are cautious. They do not want to show objects about fecundity and fertility because some of the public, like people with strong religious feelings, might find it problematic”.
This is likely especially true of the image of a crucified pregnant woman wearing a crown of thorns on her head. This exhibit is meant to symbolize the hostile attitude many people have towards pregnant women who want to have an abortion. Or, another of Fauveau’s own creations: a painting he created depicting the actual birth of Jesus Christ. He knows of no other work of art that portrays this aspect of Jesus’ life, Fauveau comments. Out of consideration for the feelings of his visitors, he has not exhibited his painting. He retrieves it especially for me from a private storage space behind the cash register.
Vincent Fauveau opens his very special museum every Monday, when most other museums are closed. This is a great advantage for Fauveau, because if visitors inquire at the tourist office on Mondays, they are informed that the Fertility Museum is open. Montpellier is one of the oldest university cities in Europe and therefore also a very young city, offering a wealth of art and culture – and a picturesque old town with many medieval alleyways. The Mediterranean Sea is only eleven kilometers away.
Fauveau’s museum attracts people for a variety of reasons. A lady followed the recommendation of a friend who had attended one of Fauveau’s conferences on the subject. Kate, an ethnologist from Seattle in the USA, came here specifically to the Fertility Museum. I overhear her and Fauveau discussing Mozambique, the country on the east coast of Africa, where they have both been. As Fauveau greets the next group of visitors, I ask Kate what she thinks of the exhibition. Occasionally, she would have liked more detailed descriptions of the exhibits, she says. “But there are many things I’ve never seen before. This here, it’s a breech birth. Also, what he said about the role of fathers in eastern Congo. And the belly masks.. I’ve never seen them anywhere”.
The next group of visitors arrives. All women. After the tour, they sit down on chairs, take their art supplies out of their bags, and begin sketching the exhibits with focused expressions. Meanwhile, I look at Fauveau’s photo book about the museum, which is on display at the ticket counter next to the entrance door. The painters say their goodbyes. In an adjoining room, Fauveau shows me another of his own creations: a bright red “sitting egg”. I see a futuristic-looking, egg-shaped seating object that would fit well into the Beatnik era of the 1960s and can be sealed with a transparent plastic film. Fauveau designed it and calls it “Return into the Egg.”
He reads the note next to it aloud: “It says: Sit down and relax. We’ll close the door and start the sound. Close your eyes, dream, dream, dream..”. Closing her eyes and dreaming – that’s exactly what a young woman wants to do now. She explains that she’s visiting the museum because she’s pregnant. Fauveau hands her a small bell, which she’s to ring when she wants to leave. The woman settles comfortably into the egg-shaped seat, sitting cross-legged. Fauveau presses a few red stuffed animals into her hands. He plays her the sound of her mother’s heartbeat through a loudspeaker, just as babies hear it in the womb. Fauveau mixed in an African song:
I watch, fascinated, and am delighted when Fauveau invites me to try it too. I find the sounds quite loud. Fauveau suspects that they must sound even louder to the baby in the womb. This would filter out disturbing external noises. “The ear of the fetus is very close connected to the aorta, and it is a strong noise.. tschutu, tschutu, tschutu. Also when the mother sings, the baby maybe remembers later the song of the mother.”
Time to repack. And that’s meant quite literally. I only just noticed: Fauveau has screwed small wheels under the display cases containing the artifacts. He and an assistant roll the display cases containing the exhibits into an adjoining room and cover them with white cotton sheets. Next Monday, they will roll them back into the common room of the Shambala - and then open the entrance door and the Museum of Art and Fecundity to visitors again.
This text was originally published as a radio travelogue in German. I have translated the manuscript and added a paragraph. Those who would like to not only read but also hear Vincent Fauveau and the visitors during their tour of the museum can do so via the link on my German website. Highly recommended.
You can find more photos in my written travelogue about this section of my road trip:
Road trip Berlin to Spain, part 3
From Dijon I drive south to Montpellier. Here, I visit the world’s only museum dedicated to female fecundity and resolve a problem with my car.