I saw models throughout my visits to the New York museums. Some were architectural models (31.0). Some were studies for larger pieces (31.1). Many depicted people who modeled for the artist. Plenty of works were tomb figures from different cultures (31.2, 31.3).
Some of the relevant meanings for model are: “a usually miniature representation; a pattern of something to be made; archetype; a person or thing that serves as a pattern for an artist; a description or analogy used to help visualize something (such as an atom) that cannot be directly observed; or a structural design.”
Why do we make models? We want to deal with problems on a smaller scale before we attempt something larger. Modeling is a way of thought, just like language, imagery, mathematics, and motion. We accept that microcosm and macrocosm correspond.
Much of the ancient art we’ve collected was preserved in tombs. We believe that these miniaturized objects accompanied a dead personage and provided for their needs in the afterlife. Some Chinese still feel this way, supporting their ancestors by burning bamboo and paper models of mobile phones, computers, televisions, appliances, and luxury cars.
Ancient Chinese tomb models represent a deeper story. In the Tang Dynasty, for example, the government regulated burial objects. Precious materials like gold and jade could not be used for a person of lesser status. Thus, Chinese tomb models are proxies for real items needed in the afterlife, imitations of more valuable items in earthly life, and depictions of society from centuries ago.
Bringing this all back to the present, I came upon a scene of mass modeling at the Brooklyn Museum. Families were helping young children make models of buildings. Architects and builders use models to construct things in life. People use models to cope with death. We use models to root our children.
Our children take us as models—and they’ll remember us by the modeling we modeled for them.