In which I look at built environments

I have to admit that landscapes were not one of the many historical subjects that have caught my attention before I read this week’s readings, Rebecca Conard’s “Spading Common Ground” and David Glassberg’s “Interpreting Landscapes”, both found in Public History and the Environment, ed. Martin V. Melosi and Philip V. Scarpino (2004). In reading these articles, however, I realized the wealth of information that someone, especially a public historian, can find in these built environments. Everything from shopping malls to tenement buildings, from battlefields to railroads, from Native reservations to national parks, they are all part of the built environment, and hold good historical information for those willing to dig deep.

Conard preaches for a collective approach to preservation, without which the public will lose out on a worthy historical narrative. Land managers, preservationists and environmentalists all have their own agendas, and have rarely collaborated together on large projects. Land managers are usually looking for what’s economically viable. Environmentalists want a return to the wild, while forgetting (or perhaps not seeing) that there is no ‘wilderness’ anymore – land that is seemingly wild and natural can also have been as altered by human activity as a field paved over to make a parking lot. Preservationists, on the other hand, don’t see the ‘wild’, natural landscape at all, but only the artistic and historical merit of old buildings. While there’s nothing wrong with this, the buildings need to be situated in their natural setting to further understand their context. Conard wants to banish this either/or thinking of natural vs built, and find the layers of meaning in the interaction between the two.

Glassberg discusses the importance of involving the citizens of the area in the environmental research. People see their own landscapes differently from outsiders, and even differently from their own neighbours. Their perception can depend on class, race, gender, family history, length of time in that area, almost anything can change their view. Good interpretation can help people feel part of a larger environment, as well as enhance their understanding of their landscape.

So many factors have changed the landscape over hundreds of years. Glassberg argues that economic forces were the first to change the landscape in the years after English settlement in North America. New crops were planted and grown depending on European market forces, while animals were forced into pens. By the 20th century technological changes had made the most impact. Not only did trains create new living areas outside of city centres, but streetcars also changed the face of cities with their linear divisions. Soon people were clamoring for a chance to go back into the wild, and national parks were created to appeal to those looking to go back to 'pure' nature. No matter that these parks were artificially created, with new plant life, animal control and modern amenities for travelers.

While an environmentalist would want to tear down these buildings and restore the pristine nature beneath the tourist façade, Conard would argue, as a public historian, that these buildings are an integral part of the historical narrative and can tell us much about building projects in the 1930s. Another problem can arise when discussing historical sites – much of the time, what makes the site special is spread over more than one era. Good interpretation can bring these eras to light - such as the example of Fort Ticonderoga, where a woman dressed as an American tourist from the 1830s discussed 18th century military history. Visitors aren't afraid of different historical layers, and interpreters should take full advantage of people's interest in history to explore new ways of unravelling an environment's history.

The somewhat scary thing about these created sites is that the vast majority of people don’t see these creation as anything else but ‘nature’. While it is difficult to look at a forest, or field, and know whether someone has chosen to plant certain foliage there, there are more obvious factors that visitors miss completely. I have to admit I was surprised when I read that the people in charge of Mount Vernon had forbidden any building across the river from the site. I have visited George Washington’s home a few times and had never once pondered why the beautiful view from the back of his home, looking over the Potomac, remained (most likely?) as it was in Washington's time (minus the sailboats, I assume). While this is a small example (perhaps going back to PEI’s national park featuring Anne’s green-gabled house would be more illustrative), it shows how visitors don’t think critically about landscapes, especially when visiting a park or historical site. Conard fears that people will lose the ability to see the difference between a ‘theme park’ and a real site, and thus will be willing to tear down the real site and replace it with the theme park. While this is an extreme fear, I think it’s an important point to ponder. As public historians, we need to figure out how to reach out to people and show them the rich history these changing landscapes hold.

Now that I am more aware of this aspect of public history, I find myself looking for history in the landscapes I know. The house I’m currently renting is a tiny bungalow just south of the UWO campus. Most of the houses in the neighbourhood are just as small, a sign of post-World War II building when people wanted detached housing and large backyards but building supplies were scarce. There are driveways at each house, showing the growing significance of owning a car. In comparison, my house in Ottawa, built in the 1970s, also features a large backyard but also a driveway with a double garage. Even these simple observations tell historians information about these decades. There is a wealth of information to explore in this area of public history, especially with the help of environmentalists, land managers, and the citizens themselves.

In which I look at a photograph

Another museum podcast has inspired an entry. It has brought up some issues we have discussed a few times in class, ideas which I think are important to review for museum studies and public history students. The first issue is everyone's favourite, money, and the second is the museum's effect on perceptions of objects of culture.

This podcast came from the Met, and it featured retired director Philippe de Montebello discussing a photograph, Onesipe Aguado's "Women Seen from the Back", with his curator of photography. The photograph was part of the Howard Gilman collection, a large acquisition made in 2005. Gilman had been collecting photographs from the first one hundred years of photography, and had amassed a large collection in over twenty years. He has been an executive of a paper company, and had his own private curator (!).

The Met had long ago expressed interest in his collection, since they were lacking in this area, and in fact the museum had worked closely with Gilman. Their acquisitions were made with the knowledge of what Gilman had, and he did the same. The museum had long hoped, "with fervent expectation", that Gilman would make a gift or bequest of the collection to the Met upon his death.

They were disappointed (though I think their sentiments were much stronger than what can be mentioned in a podcast) to find that in Gilman's will, there was no mention at all about donating the collection. It then took seven years, rallying support from the Trustees, to fund the major purchase. As Montebello explains in a sidenote, unfortunately, right when they were negotiating the price, there was a "reversal of fortune" for Gilman's paper company, meaning they were no longer in a position to just donate the collection. That doesn't change the fact that Gilman had not made any bequest in his will.

This illustrates many of the financial woes that museums face. After working so long with Gilman, it would have only seemed natural to donate the collection to the Met. Perhaps he believed the Met to be large, and rich enough, despite its being a not-for-profit cultural institution, to support the purchase? What if he had been working with a smaller museum, one that could never afford a large acquisition such as this? Would he still have refused to donate the collection? Economic downturn or no, the real losers in this situation are the public, the visitors to all museums. It's a clear reminder that museums depend on donations to survive, and even large institutions like the Met can have difficulty when prices are put on artifacts. Of course, buying and selling is a normal practice in the art world, and the Met is an art museum. But who sets the price?

Which brings us to the second point brought up in the podcast - the museum's ability to place value, both cultural and financial, on an object, by displaying it, or collecting it in the first place. All museum activities are interpretive: "merely by collecting or choosing to place an object on view, museum staffs were interpreting the object, attributing importance to it within the museum's subject matter, and anticipating the expectations of visitors viewing the artifact or artwork." [1].

This particular photo, "Woman Seen from the Back", had been relatively unknown until the Met placed the picture on the front of the catalogue for the first major exposition of the Gilman photographs. "Did we not create its celebrity?" Montebello asks. He points out a museum's incredible responsibility, and their effect on perceptions of works of art, especially large institutions like the Met. The curator believed it to be their mission to shine a spotlight on these lesser-known works, and not to rely solely on famous artists and their works. I believe the Met is right in their way of thinking. While it can't be forgotten that most of the public perceives museums, especially art museums, as upper-class, more temple than forum, the Met should be lauded in attempting to introduce something new to the public, a work that has power, and beauty, but may have been ignored because it didn't have a famous name attached to it.

Museums must also be careful, however, and must remember that "Museums make judgements and... ascribe meaning (and power) to the objects and the very institutions that contain them." [2]. It is their responsibility to showcase a wide range of artworks, from ancient times to 2009, from different artists with different messages. The authority of a museum is highly valuable, Montebello explains, since the photograph is now in the canon of photographic works. But it must not turn to authoritarianism. Museums must use this power to explore new messages, new artists, and make sure different viewpoints are represented.



[1] Edward P. Alexander and Mary Alexander. Museums in Motion: An Introduction to the History and Functions of Museums. 2nd ed. Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press, 2008, 257.

[2] Ibid, 258.

In which I do oral history

As part of our public history project this semester, each of us had to do one oral history interview with a past employee of a hospital here in London, Ontario.

Oral history interviews are a very popular way of doing public history, and they can be an enriching experience for both the historian and the person being interviewed. The historian can gain primary knowledge from someone whose story perhaps has not been told yet, or about how certain historical events are understood by different people. The interviewee may enjoy looking back on past experiences, in either a nostalgic or perhaps a therapeutic way.

Of course, as Alessandro Portelli explains in "Peculiarities of Oral History", the transcription of the interview implies manipulation of the information in some way or another. Historians need to be careful of limiting this problem as much as they can, since most interviews end up in written form after they are recorded. Even video documentaries are edited, spliced together, and usually erase the interviewer from the situation along with their original questions. In printed transcriptions, gestures may be forgotten, the speed at which the person spoke and the tone of their voice could be erased. Keeping the audio record, as well as keeping a detailed transcription with comments about important changes in the person's narrative, should be essential to be able to get the richest record possible.

I did my oral interview back at the very end of January. My interviewee was an elderly man, and I felt very honoured to be invited into his house for the sole purpose of learning about his experience working at the hospital. Even the original phone call to set up the meeting made me nervous; one classmate mentioned she thought her interviewee might just hang up the phone, not knowing who she was. I don't think my interviewee remembered being contacted previously, but he very readily invited me over without any qualms.

I admit at first it was a bit strange. His wife was watching The Young and the Restless in the room next to us, and I felt slightly as if I was intruding on their lives. But he was very friendly, if a bit baffled perhaps. He wasn't clear on the details of the project, and how exactly we would use this information. I think the fact that we were doing a group project, and building an exhibit rather than writing a thesis, was hard at first to understand - even fellow UWO students think it to be a bit strange.

I had a sheet of questions ready when I arrived, but I knew I might not get through them all. That's the fun part of doing interviews - your interviewee may mention a topic you hadn't thought about, or seem very passionate about another subject, and I would say it's only fair to let them tell you what they wish. My questions led the conversation, of course, since I was there as a historian to gather certain information. But he himself came up with a few statements I just had to follow up with more questions.

I think I was most worried about sounding too official. I hadn't thought of this before, but when I began asking questions, I felt very much like a journalist. When you're talking one on one with someone, you want to answer them in a comfortable manner, since they are talking to you in an unrehearsed way. Sometimes he would go on a long tangent, or tell an interesting anecdote, and it would feel strange to follow up with a perfectly formulated question out of my notebook. I didn't change many questions, but I found myself rewording them as I asked, or asking them in a few different ways, so they wouldn't sound so rehearsed. But then sometimes, they would come out sounding unprepared, as if I was unsure of what I should ask.

This was the first time I had interviewed anyone, especially someone who was so much older than myself, and whom I had had no previous contact. It was natural to be a bit nervous, but overall I think it went very well. He wasn't guarded, he was happy to answer my questions and seemed interested, if not excited, to tell me about his experiences.

The difficult choice now is deciding how to use all this information my classmates and I have collected. I would love to put a full transcript up on our website, but realistically thinking, not many visitors will voluntarily read through 10+ pages of an interview, and especially not 15 of them. Pulling out interesting quotes seems like a better idea, but then again people don't generally speak in quick, catchy quotes, especially people looking back on their lives, and putting their memories into words, perhaps for the first time. My interviewee often spent five minutes answering one question, and I would feel as if I was doing him a disservice by cutting out all but little bits. One classmate suggested choosing questions from our class' list, and putting up a few responses. This could also be problematic, however, because of the nature of interviews. We were interviewing people in different positions, and so our questions were tailored to their experience. Maybe we didn't get to ask all of our questions, because the conversation might have taken a more interesting turn. I know personally I didn't make it through all my questions in the hour I was doing my interview. I have a feeling each interview may be quite different, and it will take some time to decide how to represent this valuable information in our exhibit.

I think oral history interviews are a great way to introduce students to a different way of doing history. Most history undergraduates use books, articles, and other print sources for their research. Many graduate students probably don't use interviews either, even if they are looking into 20th century history. But talking one on one with someone, hearing firsthand their experiences, is a valuable tool for historians, especially those looking to show audiences multiple viewpoints, as Jo Blatti points out in "Public History and Oral History". It can also be a personally enriching experience for the historian, and I hope as well for my interviewee.

In which I write for the public

As other UWO public history blogs have mentioned, we recently completed an exercise of writing a newspaper-type article (an op-ed) on a historical topic. It had to be a specific length (no more than 400 words), have a snappy opener and closer, catch people's interest, and answer everyone's favourite question about history: "So what?" How did this topic relate to life today?

At first, I got a bit worried. I never read the newspaper, nor even op-eds online, so I wasn't sure how to proceed, what style or tone was expected, what kind of subjects to discuss. I was also not a student of modern (19-20th century) history, nor North American history, and could hardly imagine relating a topic from the early modern period to the present day. We also had a tight deadline - just under two days - which left me with little time to research a new topic. I began to think of anniversaries, as these are many exhibit planners, writer, archivists, etc favourite way of bringing the past to life. I remembered my earlier blog post about Henry VIII and the 500th anniversary of his ascension to the throne. Sounded good - but how to relate it to the present day?

I began to think of the 'thesis' of the article, the message I wanted to get across - that the Henry VIII constantly represented in pop culture is an older, more angry Henry. In 1509 Henry was a very young, athletic, handsome man, educated, artistically talented, and the country was filled with hope. The image of Obama popped into my head and the idea of a very strange comparison between the two came to mind.

Here is the article:

He killed his wives, he created his own Church, and he was a big fat slob. Say the name Henry VIII to anyone and those will be the first thoughts to come to their minds. A lot can change in a thirty-eight-year reign, however, and many people forget that when Henry came to power, he was only two months shy of his eighteenth birthday and beloved by his subjects. He was young, charismatic, and the first non-disputed king in almost one hundred years.
2009 marks the 500th anniversary of Henry’s accession to the throne, and England is throwing one hell of a party for their most memorable and controversial king. New exhibits, ghost tours and a jousting tournament are in the works. I cannot think of a historical figure that has captured the public’s attention more so than this larger-than-life king. His immense popularity in pop culture is reflected in the Showtime series The Tudors, starring a brooding, womanizing Jonathan Rhys Meyers as Henry, as well as in last year’s film The Other Boleyn Girl, though it’s popularity may have been due to featuring two young, popular actresses who spent two hours purring “I love you, sister” into each other’s ears while their breasts heaved inside their corsets.
While the sixteenth century may feel like the dark ages to most, there is much about the excitement and hope surrounding Henry’s accession we can understand, even today. Our American neighbours’ new president came to power with similar fanfare and recognition that a new era was about to start. Like Obama, with his degrees from Columbia and Harvard Law, Henry was bright and educated by the best tutors in England. Like Bush, Henry’s predecessor, his father Henry VII, was seen as old, stodgy, unpopular and conservative, and international communities breathed a sigh of relief over both new regime changes. At eighteen, Henry was in the best shape of his life, and enjoyed dancing, hunting, and jousting. For Christmas this year, many people got to enjoy the ubiquitous pictures of a topless Obama frolicking on a Hawaiian beach. Both men definitely caught the public’s attention.
It seems there’s something about Henry VIII that keeps us coming back for more. Perhaps it’s our infatuation with the rich and powerful. Perhaps it’s our innate respect and excitement for someone who ushers in a period of change. Or perhaps everyone just likes a good sex scandal.

~~~

One of the hardest challenges was getting the word count down to 400. Historians like to use large words, such as subject jargon, and they don't like to edit. As Professor Vance quipped, "Why use ten words when you can use twenty?" This is fine for an academic audience, but a short newspaper article, being read by those without historical backgrounds meant that this article needed to be short, easy to understand, and interesting.

I decided to go out on a limb with this piece, and I don't regret the attempt. I think it worked out pretty well in the end. While some did comment that the Obama section was a bit surprising, I still agree with my original sentiment - that by comparing the hope that Obama brought with him to the presidency, people would better understand an event that happened 500 years ago. Perhaps a story like this would peak someone's interest, and instead of renting The Tudors they might visit a library to learn more. Isn't that what public history is all about?

In which I think of new forms of exhibits

This week in museology we've been reading about exhibits - who is listening and looking (students? the upper class? the 'public'?), who is talking (curators? designers? educators?), the problems with interpretation, the concerns with 'blockbusters', the ethical questions that need to be thought through. "Museums are not museums without exhibitions", writes Kathleen McLean, and they are "the soul of a museum experience". I thought I would share with you, readers, a very interesting exhibit I saw recently: the Met's The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions.

This was a very strange exhibit for me, especially as a public history student. Traditionally exhibits are thought of as visually appealing, 3-D versions of an academic paper, in the way that there is a thesis, and objects are used to illustrate this idea. We are used to exhibits talking about one historical subject, perhaps two; but this exhibit was very different.

Philippe de Montebello was the director of the Met until his recent retirement. His 30+ year influence, as well as the respect given to him by his colleagues, is obvious. The show really is a celebration of his time at the museum, and it was well-advertised; the Met's Special Exhibition podcast had been doing shows about the objects featured in the exhibit for months.

This exhibit was not on one historical topic, nor did it centre on one historical era or country, and it didn't talk about a certain art movement. Th exhibit featured the Met's most important acquisitions over the past thirty years, most important being defined in this case as the most transformative to its collections. As the exhibit website describes, it is a celebration of the diversity of the museum's collection. Three hundred objects were placed in the gallery's largest exhibition space, and in it was created "an explosive kaleidoscope of works in various materials representing artistic traditions that range across the globe and across time".

The show was organized in a completely different way than a usual art gallery. The objects were organized solely by acquisition date, meaning that a visitor moved from an 18th century French dress, to a 4th century BC Egyptian figure, to a 14th century Burgundian deck of cards, to a 5th century Indian Buddha, to a Sienese medieval painting, to a picture of Marilyn Monroe. The artifacts spanned thousands of years, hundreds of countries (even Easter Island), and included everything from famous painters (Rembrandt, Picasso, van Gogh) to little-known 19th century photography, from clothing to quilts, from pistols to armour.

Walking through the exhibit was slightly overwhelming. I'd never seen an exhibit that literally centred around acquisitions and ignored any sort of thematic organization. But I, as well as my father who was with me, both agreed it was a new and wonderful way to see the objects. There was no attempt to relate the objects to one another; the accompanying text panels spoke only of the individual artifact. The exhibit let the visitors make their own connections between the objects, between styles, between countries, between eras. It also did a great job at illustrating the sheer size of a world-class art museum like the Met, whose collections mandate must be very long indeed.

While it might seem counterintuitive for curators to put together a large exhibit without a historical (or artistic) theme and which had no prescribed learned message for visitors, this sort of exhibit still worked. It let visitors see objects that had never been displayed together in the same room, allowing for new meanings to come out of the objects. It broke traditional museum rules and moved some of the interpretation from the curators to the visitors. Overall it celebrated the efforts of a single man, who helped the Met become one of the most important art museums in the world.