Who Does Art Belong To? Exploring Ownership, Legacy, and the Ethics of Repatriation

The question of art ownership extends beyond historical claims, touching on fundamental issues of cultural identity, global power structures, and how societies assign value to creativity. At its core, this debate invites reflection on whether art should be regarded as a shared global legacy or as belonging primarily to the cultures that produced it. The Elgin Marbles, removed from the Parthenon in Athens in the early 19th century, exemplify these complexities but are far from an isolated case. Recent discussions, including UK Prime Minister Sir Keir Starmer’s meeting with Greek Prime Minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis, have reignited the debate, with Starmer deferring to the British Museum’s operational independence despite Greece’s appeals for repatriation. This case represents one of many instances where art becomes a focal point for broader conversations about cultural stewardship and the ethics of preservation.

Lord Elgin’s removal of the marbles was ostensibly sanctioned by the Ottoman Empire, the occupying force in Greece at the time. Yet critics argue that this permission, granted by a colonial power rather than the people whose heritage the marbles represent, was fundamentally illegitimate. This debate extends beyond legal frameworks, compelling us to ask whether agreements made under imperial rule can hold moral weight today.

The Elgin Marbles are emblematic of a larger tension between institutions that present themselves as universal stewards of culture and the realities of how such collections were assembled. Proponents of keeping the marbles in the British Museum often claim that their presence in London allows for greater accessibility, educational value, preservation, and cross-cultural dialogue. However, the concept of the “universal museum” frequently obscures the power dynamics that allowed such artefacts to be removed in the first place. By framing these objects as part of a shared human narrative, whose stories are being prioritised, and whose voices are being marginalised?

For source nations, the loss of cultural artefacts represents more than a physical absence; it is a disconnection from objects imbued with historical and symbolic significance. While artefacts like the Elgin Marbles are celebrated in the British Museum for their aesthetic and educational value, their original cultural contexts are reduced to background information. Consequently, Greece is left without access to cultural artefacts that are symbolic of national identity and memory. This asymmetry reflects enduring legacies of colonialism, where cultural power remains concentrated in the hands of former imperial powers.

The implications of art ownership extend beyond academic discourse or institutional pride. They shape how history is remembered, whose perspectives are legitimised, and how cultural identities are preserved. For Greece, the demand for the return of the Elgin Marbles is not solely about national pride, but about reclaiming a connection to a heritage that continues to resonate deeply within its cultural identity. This debate brings us to these pivotal questions: Can the ideals of global cultural exchange and appreciation coexist with the restitution of artefacts to their places of origin? Does housing art far from its source foster meaningful cross-cultural dialogue, or does it perpetuate a legacy of inequality?

There is a longstanding history of looted art, deeply entangled in narratives of conquest and displacement, and questions of ownership are far more nuanced than just legalities or logistics. The discussion surrounding restitution should not be an end to cultural exchange, but an opportunity to enrich it, ensuring that art continues to serve as an expression of humanity’s shared and diverse experiences.

Among the many cases of art displaced through conquest and conflict, the systematic looting carried out by the Nazis during World War II remains one of the most infamous, with Klimt’s Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I standing as a poignant example of cultural erasure. Commissioned by Ferdinand Bloch-Bauer, a Jewish banker and sugar producer, the artwork was seized by the Nazis in 1941 during Austria’s annexation and displayed at Vienna’s Belvedere Museum. For decades, it was celebrated for its artistic brilliance but stripped of its connection to the Bloch-Bauer family, and in the late 1990s, it was revealed that the Belvedere Museum held several artworks stolen from Jewish families and had resisted returning them. Maria Altmann’s legal battle to reclaim her family’s heritage was a landmark case, culminating in the painting’s restitution in 2006. Today, it resides in the Neue Galerie in New York, a symbol of justice, resilience, and the restoration of severed ties.

Similarly, the Benin Bronzes, which were looted during the violent British punitive expedition to the Kingdom of Benin in 1897, serve as a reminder of colonial exploitation. During this campaign, British forces massacred thousands of people and raided cultural treasures, including the famed bronze sculptures. The slow return of the Benin Bronzes to Nigeria since 2021 not only acknowledges marginalised historical narratives, but also begins to restore cultural histories. Repatriation is often framed as a logistical or moral question, but at its core, it is about redressing historical imbalances and redefining the relationship between art and cultural identity. To return a stolen work is not simply to reverse a transaction; it is to restore connections severed by imperialism and war.

At the heart of these discussions lie broader questions about the role of art in a globalised world. Can art remain a bridge between cultures while acknowledging the power imbalances that often dictated its movement? Can institutions that house artworks evolve into spaces of collaboration rather than unilateral authority?

These questions take on particular resonance when examining how Western institutions are attempting to address their histories through the re-presentation of their collections. A notable example of this is the recent "rehang" of Tate Britain’s permanent collection, which spans 500 years of British art. The rehang demonstrates a desire to create a more inclusive and socially relevant narrative of what it means to be British. Building upon past approaches, the collection now employs a contextualised chronological format that connects the historical artworks to their broader social, cultural, political, economic, and technological contexts. This effort to engage with the complexities of representation and relevance is a step toward bridging historical narratives with contemporary society, ensuring that art continues to serve as a meaningful bridge between cultures in a globalised world.