It is a simple, elegant little chair. In another context, say on Antiques Roadshow, it might pass as an Empire-style child's chair of the early 19th century, a little worn perhaps, but it has not been refinished, which is good. But it is a "Chair from tomb of Yuya and Tuya," with carved wood and gold side and rear panels, and clawed paws on vaguely anatomical legs. Made for the daughter of King Amenhotep III (1390–1352 BC), it was left in her tomb in the Valley of the Kings, respite on the perilous underworld voyage it was believed her soul took.
The ancient Egyptian trust in the afterlife has been a blessing for successor generations. They outfitted their prominent dead stupendously, confident that the daily drama of the sun god Re (also known as Ra), of day's re-emergence from night, secured the eternal renewal of life. In the process, they ensured a kind of immortality that carries through generations, from the Empire style of Napoleonic France to Tutmania.
The Quest for Immortality: Treasures of Ancient Egypt, at the Guggenheim Hermitage in the Venetian, is not a Tut-like extravaganza, but rather tries to set a context for understanding why Egyptians left a legacy, as their dead sailed for new shores like children leaving home. It does roughly cover the age of Tutankhamen, the XVIII dynasty, but the earlier Thutmose III (1479-1425 BC), who extended the Egyptian empire to the Euphrates and presided over the zenith of the New Kingdom, figures deeply. A granodiorite sphinx of the emperor inscrutably grins at its reflection, a fragmentary sculpture of Thutmose, in one of the Corten steel-paneled halls.
This show seems an oddity for the Guggenheim, but the local satellite's association with the State Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, Russia, entitles it, perhaps, to claim an antiquities bailiwick. "I was very blessed," Managing Director Elizabeth Herridge explained at a recent press conference outside the museum. She had planned a show organized with Guggenheim Hermitage lending partner, the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, but that fell through and the museum was fortunate to find a spot on the touring schedule of Quest.
The exhibition has been on the road since 2002, when it opened at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. The loans from the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, the Luxor Museum of Ancient Egyptian Art in the real Luxor, and the Deir el-Bahari temple site are said to comprise the largest collection of ancient artifacts to leave Egypt. Organized by United Exhibits Group of Copenhagen, with Betsy Bryan, chair of the Department of Near Eastern Studies at Johns Hopkins University, as curator, Quest has drawn throngs in five other cities. But that hardly counts against its prospects here. Well-marketed, it could be a huge draw.
The show's strengths lie in its artifacts and its intimacy. Rem Koolhaas' splendid chamber museum continually proves itself a gem, even without paintings clinging to the russet hull plates that divide the space. Instead, some spectacular objects take the foreground, like the black graywacke sandstone statues of Isis and Osiris, from the 25th Dynasty reign of Psantik I (664-610 BC), or objects as tiny and peculiar as gold finger and toe "stalls" for New Kingdom mummies. Their presence here could spark a new club-scene trend.
Quest could be a coup for the Gugg, helping—you have to hope—secure its future. But the museum has not scheduled its next exhibition, so here's hoping it can get something going with the partnerships that make it unique, with the ability to exhibit modern and premodern art in enlightening contexts. An occasional touring show of Quest caliber would be icing.