New exhibition offers antidote to one-dimensional perceptions
of  "Greatest Free Show"

By Rachel Breunlin and Graham Button

At first glance, the image on the six-foot-tall rear-projection screen seems devoid of any connection to the celebration known as Mardi Gras: it's as if you're looking out of a screen door into a back yard. But when you get within range of an electronic eye—whoa! A life-size Cajun Mardi Gras "beggar" suddenly leaps into view, insistently demanding a "san sous"—a small coin for the Mardi Gras. The effect is as startling as something you might find in a high-tech haunted house.

You've just entered the Courir Gallery, part of an elaborate new Carnival exhibition at the Presbytere museum. "Courir" refers to the Mardi Gras celebrations in southeast Louisiana, in which bands of colorfully clad maskers roam the countryside gathering ingredients and financial contributions for a communal feast featuring a giant pot of gumbo, while engaging in songs, dances and improvisational jokes. The gallery captures the rural origins of their costuming and revelry—for instance, several of the masks on display are fashioned out of a type of wire screen used to crush pecans and sift the shells. There's also a life-size costumed masker standing atop a saddled horse—symbolic of the daredevil antics performed by Courir revelers. He is wearing a "capuchon"—a tall cone-shaped hat that, in medieval times, was a symbol of mockery of royalty.

Courir daredevil

Such home-spun images certainly aren't what come to mind when most people think of Mardi Gras, but as the Louisiana State Museum's Mardi Gras: It's Carnival Time in Louisiana convincingly demonstrates, there's much more to the festivities than francy-dress balls, glitzy parades and flesh-baring exhibitionism on Bourbon St. More a cultural phenomenon/art form than an "event," Mardi Gras in Louisiana encompasses a dizzying array of rituals and customs involving a broad range of ethnic and socioeconomic groups.

But unfortunately, this diversity is often given short shrift by mainstream media, thereby contributing to a perception that Mardi Gras is just one big party—an excuse for excess.

The exhibition at the Presbytere, which opened January 22, thoroughly debunks that superficial stereotype. The origins of Carnival, and how it has come to transcend its European roots, are revealed through a variety of video and interactive presentations, as well as displays of apparel and paraphernalia, including the "crown jewels" of generations of Mardi Gras royalty. In fact, about the only thing missing from the exhibition—understandably so, given that it's meant to cater to visitors young and old—are explicit depictions of the beads-for-flesh ritual that has become a major feature of Mardi Gras in the French Quarter.

Presbytere, in historic Jackson Square

And talk about a prime location. The Presbytere, in historic Jackson Square, occupies a piece of land upon which the Catholic church built a rectory in 1725. A philanthropic contribution financed construction of the first floor of the Presbytere, in 1792. In 1815, the church added a second floor, and by 1822, most of the building was occupied by courts. In 1847, the city added a third floor and the Mansard roof. Occupants of the building in the 19th century also included municipal functionaries like the civil sheriff.

Serious appellate court deliberations once took place in a room on the second floor that now showcases Mardi Gras balls. And a space that has been renovated to resemble a vault-like chamber—it's where scepters, crowns and other accouterments of mock Mardi Gras royalty are displayed—once housed court records.

Mardi Gras is Louisiana's most asked-about tradition, and the new $2-million exhibition, covering 16,000 square feet, is sure to become a top tourist attraction. Unlike the old Carnival in New Orleans exhibit at the U.S. Mint, which was relatively static and offered only a partial sampling of the Louisiana State Museum's extensive collection, the galleries at the Presbytere incorporate various video and interactive offerings designed to immerse visitors in the pageantry, merriment and mayhem of Mardi Gras.

The tour begins with some basic icons: an old-style flambeau (a fuel-burning torch used to illuminate nighttime parades), a ladder with a seat attached to the top (New Orleanians' way of making sure kids don't miss out on the action while viewing parades) and a tractor used to pull parade floats. A series of video of clips will recall familiar sights for locals and introduce novices to representative slices of Carnival life: menhanging over crowded balconies dangling beads to women below; missionaries holding up signs, in the middle of Bourbon St., proclaiming evangelical slogans such as " 'Know God'--the Holy Bible"; two men, their hands against a brick wall, being searched by the police; Rex, king of Carnival, toasting his queen; and revelers roaming the street wishing the viewer, and each other, a happy Mardi Gras.

Next comes an introduction to the many ways people dress up for Carnival. In Louisiana, "mask" is used as both a noun and a verb. "To mask" is to step outside one's everyday life and assume another identity, if only for a day. On Fat Tuesday, the streets become a stage—literally so, in the case of The Bourbon Street Awards. A costume competition started in 1963 by the late Arthur Jacobs, a restaurant owner and retired policeman, it has evolved into an "adults-only" event showcasing "flesh and drag," while also providing an opportunity to show off costumes designed for Gay balls staged earlier in the season. (In a gallery on the second floor, a matching pair of light blue seahorse costumes worn at the Amon Ra ball reveal the craftsmanship that goes into these balls.)

Amon Ra Seahorse

In a video depicting the creativity Mardi Gras inspires, it's possible to catch a few glimpses of the Society of St. Ann, whose namesake—Jesus's maternal grandmother—was known for being nurturing and permissive. Donning impressive costumes, which incorporate ornamental fabrics reminiscent of Venetian Carnival, the marching group, accompanied by The Storyville Stompers New Orleans Brass Band, starts out in the 9th Ward on the morning of Fat Tuesday and heads towards Canal St., picking up dozens of merrymakers along the way. Questioned about how people come up with such elaborate attire, one masker remarks: "Think about your biggest fantasy, and bring it to life."

To be sure, Mardi Gras has long served as a forum for expressing sexual fantasies. In the Costume Gallery, an excerpt from the Times Democrat in 1889, presented alongside historical pictures of maskers not affiliated with organized processions, laments the "degree of immodesty exhibited by nearly all female masqueraders seen on the streets" on Fat Tuesday.

Invitation, Two Well Known Gentlemen, 1895   Photo courtesy of the Louisiana State Museum

Ultimately, however, efforts to socially sanction female maskers proved unsuccessful. By 1910, women taking to the streets on Fat Tuesday typically traveled in groups for protection and sometimes carried whips to ward off unwanted advances. Even women of "good standing" took advantage of the anonymity afforded by the mask to attend the balls of The C.C.C. Club and Two Well Known Gentlemen. Euphemistically known as the "French Balls," these affairs, frequented by prostitutes, were notorious alternatives to high-society balls. Invitations from the state museum's collection are on display for the first time at the Presbytere.

Other representations of "alternative" Mardi Gras focus on African-American traditions—specifically, Baby Dolls, the Skull and Bones Gang and Mardi Gras Indians.

Baby Dolls were African-American prostitutes who, in the early 1900s, cavorted on Fat Tuesday in skimpy outfits—skirts and bloomers, satin blouses and bonnets tied under their chins with ribbons. They were known professionally as "baby dolls," and drew inspiration for their costumes from baby-doll pajamas.

Appearing early in the streets of the Treme neighborhood on Mardi Gras morning, wearing large skull-like heads and black body suits with bones painted on them, the Skull and Bones Gang are mysterious, and to many youngsters, intimidating. Legend has it that the tradition began after a merchant marine returned from Mexico, where he had been impressed with the Day of the Dead celebrations that occur at the end of October.

Mardi Gras Indians represent a folk tradition dating back to the post-Reconstruction era. As racial repression intensified, organized groups of black men masking as Indians began to appear on the streets on Fat Tuesday. These Mardi Gras Indians, as they came to be known, identified with Native Americans, in part because they shared a common experience of subjugation under colonialism and in part because tribes indigenous to Louisiana once provided refuge to runaway slaves. By "masking Indian," these men expressed ritual freedom and provided continuity to Afro-Caribbean forms of festive merriment.

At one time, rivalries between tribes (usually defined by neighborhoods) often escalated into violence. But these days, the competitive aspects of their revelry tend to revolve around singing, dancing and who has the "prettiest" costume, known as a "suit." Big Chief Allison "Tootie" Montana, the founder of the Yellow Pocahontas tribe, is credited with encouraging aesthetic competition rather than physical confrontations.

Darryl Montana succeeded his father as chief of the Yellow Pocahontas in 1999. The suit he created for Mardi Gras that year is among those displayed at the Presbytere. There are also video clips featuring Mardi Gras Indians sewing their suits and explaining their craft. The process, involving countless hours and thousands of dollars of materials, brings families and communities together in a collaborative artistic endeavor. The results are stunning: the vibrant colors of dyed ostrich plumes, which recall the ceremonial attire of Plains Indians, are complimented by intricate beadwork, the stylistic origins of which can be traced back to West Africa and throughout the Caribbean. (Look for pictures of similar costumes from Trinidad and Haiti.)

In contrast to Mardi Gras Indian regalia, the ball gowns worn by Carnival queens tend to reflect contemporary fashion trends rather than pay homage to historical antecedents. On display in the Balls Gallery is a prime example: an elegant, cream-colored gown worn by the queen of Rex in 1953, Adelaide Benjamin. Covered with approximately 29,000 rhinestones, and subtly imbued with gold embroidery, it has a high, narrow waist and a very full, floor-length skirt—characteristic of the so-called "New Look" popularized by Christian Dior in the post-World War II era, notes Wayne Phillips, curator of costumes and textiles at the Louisiana State Museum.

Traditionally, families of Carnival's debutante queens have borne the cost of such opulent attire. Time was when they'd also have to pony up for fancy costume jewelry—i.e., scepters and tiaras, which were often custom made. But by the mid-1950s, the cost of outfitting a queen had become so expensive that krewes began supplying these accessories, which would be reused from one year to the next. As a result, the older scepters, tiaras and crowns tend to be less generic. Take, for example, some of the royal paraphernalia from the 1935 Krewe of Athenians ball, which depicted the theme "How Ireland Got its Name." Reigning as queen was Murray Pearce, who carried a scepter with a shamrock motif and donned a stylish Art Deco headdress. Both pieces are on display at the Presbytere.

Queen of Comus Jewels, 1893 Photo courtesy of the Louisiana State Museum

Also noteworthy are a pair of small tiaras—one silver, one gold—worn in 1892 by the queen of Argonauts, Josephine Maginnis. (In the 1890s, the Twelfth Night Revelers were called the Krewe of Argonauts.) That year, male members of the krewe participated in a Renaissance revival jousting contest at the Fair Grounds Race Course. Each maid in the court "sponsored" a participant, and whoever emerged victorious in the tournament won the right to crown his sponsor queen of the ball. Maginnis probably donned the silver tiara at the tournament, says Phillips, whereas the gold tiara would have been presented to her at the ball. (The latter has a diamond mounted in the middle, making it the only piece in the collection with a real gemstone.)

Louis Armstrong as King Zulu, 1949 Photo courtesy of the Louisiana State Museum

Krewes not associated with New Orleans high society also get their due at the exhibition. There are sections dedicated to the Zulu Social Aid and Pleasure Club, a predominantly African-American organization, and so-called "superkrewes," known for their huge floats, celebrity royalty and raucous post-parade "extravaganzas." Comparing the costumes of royalty, one can see how they hint at the image the different krewes wish to project. Zulu regalia, to cite one example, has evolved from faux leopard skin to fancy gowns and evening attire incorporating elaborate beadwork and sequins.

Also on the second floor, visitors can get a feel for what Mardi Gras is like from the perspective of the float rider. Climb aboard a float constructed by the famed Blaine Kern, and watch projected images of a crowd clamoring for beads. There are also "photo ops": for $5, visitors can have a computer-generated picture taken of themselves in a virtual costume. And keep an eye out for the blue Port-O-Let doors, symbolic of the bathrooms that are often a saving grace during the festivities. (Behind two of the doors are real bathrooms.)

Want to sample the various styles of music associated with Mardi Gras? You can stand under a parabolic dome and punch up tracks by the likes of Professor Longhair, one of New Orleans' most beloved piano players. He performs "Big Chief," a song that evokes the boasting of a Mardi Gras Indian chief. Other selections include a version of the traditional Mardi Gras Indian prayer chant, "Indian Red," by The Wild Tchoupitoulas, a now-defunct Uptown tribe, and the Dixie Cups' version of "Iko Iko." (Its lyrics make a lot more sense once one has an understanding of the tradition of rivalry among Mardi Gras Indian tribes.) Other performers represented include The Meters, the Young Tuxedo Brass Band, The Jimmy Maxwell Orchestra and Cajun musician Wade Frugé.

Although Mardi Gras: It's Carnival Time in Louisiana is classified as a "permanent" exhibition, meaning that it will run for at least ten years, one room is reserved for rotating exhibits. This year, visitors can experience "Mardi Gras at the Movies." Posters of movies that depict Mardi Gras, as well as monitors showing the movies themselves, fill the room. Remember Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper stumbling around the French Quarter in Easy Rider?

Upon completing the tour, visitors can browse the Mardi Gras paraphernalia in the museum's gift shop. In addition to the usual beads, buttons and other trinkets, works by local craftspeople, artists and photographers are also for sale. Examples include Cajun masks made from window screens and original metal sculptures by Luis Colmrnares.

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The Presbytere is located at 751 Chartres Street, next to St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square. The exhibition is open Tuesday through Sunday, from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Admission is $5 for adults, $4 for senior citizens, students, and active military personnel, and free for children under 12. For more information, call 504-568-6968.