Category Archives: Museums

Remembrance of Transit Past

02 Tuesday Oct 2012

Posted by in History, Museums

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Yesterday was staff day at work.  We went, by donated careening bus ride, to the Essex Steam Train & Riverboat. We did not get a ride in a steam-powered seaplane, but the combination of bus, train and boat was pretty entertaining. More sitting than most of us care for; one member of our party said, “This is an old person’s tour–it’s all sitting.” She’s practically a professional shopper, so she’s good on her feet in fairly high heels.

But what struck me, standing by the platform at the station is Essex, was that we were in a museum of transport past, and that it was somehow very strange to be in a place that historicized a means of getting around that many people still use every day. Except for the 6 tons of coal part, my husband takes the train to Boston every day, and has for more than 10 years. And when we first moved back East, I rode the train, too. In the dark ages of grad school, I commuted by rail. The last year at RISD, I had a job in Natick, MA, teaching at a boarding school as a visiting artist, and the question was, how to get there?

The answer was easy, the MBTA of course. I took the commuter rail to Back Bay or South Station, caught the Framingham line out to Natick and walked up the hill from the station to school. Sometimes I’d get there early enough for lunch, and pack extra grilled cheese sandwiches into my tool bag.

I liked the train commute and some of my favorite memories of pulling into Providence are from that year. The conductors were more lax, then, and would let me ride in the vestibule with them while the car door was open, watching the sunset over the west side of town. This was pre-Home Depot and Providence Place Mall and the 6-10 connector, pre-development along Royal Little Drive, pre-development in Pawtucket, so the view was a lot better. The Citizens Bank building was still under construction, it was just a steel frame that the sun would shine through at the end of the day.

All through school, I took the train to New York and then to Philly, enjoying the view of the CT coastline, its loneliness and isolation, the kind of romantic juxtaposition of the marshes and wetlands with the harsh rocks and cold grey skies of the coast. There was a little house the train passed, and every time I saw it I would think, “Someday I’d like to live in that house.”

That never happened, but when I got the job in RI, and we moved east from St. Louis, my father was working in Boston and New York, but living in Noank, CT,  just down the road from the little house. Providence was 45 minutes away by car, but Mr S and the Young Mr (then known as the Monkey) needed the car to get anywhere outside of Noank. The grocery wasn’t very big there and they needed to be able to get into Groton and Mystic, so how was I to get to work? On the train.

I took Amtrak from New London to Providence, and the train would get in around 9:10 (supposedly) and end up back in New London around 6. There were schedule changes, and the bridge at Old Saybrook tended to freeze, and there were coworkers who  didn’t get me to the station on time, and evenings spent at the RISD Library on the laptop waiting for the next train. It worked out, though, since I was writing a book at the time.

The monthly pass that was definitely cheaper than driving, and I walked around Providence when I needed anything. The conductors all knew me, and were very kind. Here’s a tip: be nice to the conductors, and you can ride free if you forget your pass. I’ve even gotten free trips to Boston when they were on duty. The view from the window was pretty much the same, though now there were McMansions and condos in Stonington. The wetlands were still there, and the coves, the nesting raptors and the shore birds. One morning I even saw a harbor seal swimming in a cove, whiskers poking up above the surface. That is definitely the coolest thing I’ve ever seen on a commute.

And then there was a museum to set all that in the past, as if to say that way of life is over. The train we were on was truly steam-powered, and that is a thing of the past. The car was from 1914, with seats that switched direction, though I remember riding on seats like that either on the MBTA back in the dawn of time, or else in Chicago.

What will I do next? Why, make a 1914-1919 traveling costume and go back to Essex to ride the train again, of course. Might as well be a museum exhibit if you’re going to travel temporally.

Support Your Local Museum

26 Wednesday Sep 2012

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I have the sense of two groundswells about to converge: one about museums, libraries and archives limiting access by closing or charging fees, and one about museums spending money on things they shouldn’t. There has been a lively conversation among fellow former-employees about a midwestern museum’s purchase of a piece of real estate. It is a tawdry tale, and seems a grand waste of money and goodwill.

Then there are the libraries that have closed, and the state archive that is closing to the public. And the small historical organization that charges per hour for research visits. And the place that charges a daily research fee for non-member, out-of-state residents.

ETA: New York Times coverage today of the upcoming closing in Georgia.

Folks, when you hear the word culture, you need to take out your checkbooks.

If you can “do a google,”  you can figure out who I am. But what do you think I do all day? Do you think I pattern dresses, or catalog muskets, or research painters, or study the stylistic changes in mahogany tea tables over a 30-year span?

I wish.

Do you think I wet-vac basements, change HOBO or PEM batteries, monitor and adjust air handling unit fan speeds, read boiler specs and warranty info, or keep on eye on carpenters?

Each day, I do some of those things, and some of the content-related things.

But mostly I think about money. If I don’t think about money at work, it wakes me up at night. What if I don’t get that green buildings grant? Where will I get that $78,000 for well drilling? How much does it actually cost to page each item requested in the Library? Will we ever be able to microfilm newspapers again? What do we do when the money for boxes runs out–there isn’t any more grant money after we spend this. Is there another grant I can write? How much of that $100,000 budget cut has to come out of my budgets? What will we have to stop doing?

I wake up every day at about 4:00AM, and get up by 5:00; vertical is less panicky than horizontal.

The answer to most of this is money. There’s another groundswell out there to kill the NEH, and what the heck, if places can’t make it on what they can raise, let ’em die.

Really? This is what our history has come to?

Do you know how you can help? The single most important thing you can do to make sure your history is accessible, your favorite museum stays open, your favorite objects are up online?

Join. JOIN your favorite museum. It’s probably pretty cheap. You can join mine for $40. This is such a deal. You get free admission, a magazine, a newsletter, email updates, and the knowledge that you’re helping us, we know, and we appreciate it. Want better catalog records? Become a member, and donate to an annual campaign. Write a check for a museum to buy a better camera. To buy an external hard drive for image back up. Write a check to support archival supplies. Or insurance. Or a new carpet for a gallery. Or to replace a battered book.

Every dollar counts. So does every member.

If you want to know how your museum spends its money ETA: and where it gets its money, in the US you can look them up on Guidestar. There you’ll find the 990s for most 501(c)3’s in the states. This is how I know which place in my state has a budget ten times as large as my museum’s, and which place has one 10% the size of mine. Guess which one I joined.

What time is that dress in the museum?

21 Friday Sep 2012

Posted by in Clothing, History, Museums

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Guess what: they might not know for sure. Many garments donated to museums are given without clear dates, especially older garments donated in the 20th and 21st century. That means that dating the garments is, well, tricky.

You can find many dated to 1776 by donors. Everybody wanted to be associated with such an important event…especially around 1876, and 1976. Where I work, a dress like the one to the left was given to us with the firm statement that the fabric had been brought from England to RI (how did that work with Newport blockaded?), and that the dress was from 1776. Clearly, it is not.

To the right is Deborah Sampson’s dress, possibly her wedding dress: Don’t know who she was? Read here.

Deborah Sampson’s is a closed-front round gown. Look at the catalog record, and you’ll also note the date: 1760-1790, a thirty-year spread. Why is this? Fabric gets remade, for one thing. Deborah Sampson Gannett’s dates are 1760-1827, so if this is her dress, we know she didn’t wear it in this size or style in 1760. But fabric can easily pre-date a garment. The V&A sometimes had three dates for their Spitalfields silk gowns: the date of the fabric, the date it was first made into a garment, and the date it was altered into a new style.

Sampson marries in 1785. That seems like a plausible date for this dress, given its style. That’s where the 1790 comes in; yes, it could be that late, it’s conservative in New England and makes a nice ending to a “circa” date. So how else might this dress be dated? 1785-1790? 1780-1790, fabric possibly earlier? Given the database I know HNE uses, the date field is a little tricky (we use the same one). If I were to catalog the dress, I think I’d use 1783-1788. Why 1783? Because we know Deborah Sampson was probably not wearing dresses in 1783: she was in the Army roughly 1778-1783. I’d add 5 years to that because it encompasses the date of her marriage, 1785, and indicates that I’m not convinced or have no firm documentation that this was in fact her wedding dress. That’s just how I would approach this if the dress was in my museum and is not intended as a criticism of HNE’s cataloging. And it’s not to suggest that my own catalog records don’t need work, because they do.

What does this mean for researchers and costumers? When I do research, because I know how the process can work, it means I’m often skeptical, or wish that the reasoning behind the date was explained—especially behind a 20 or 30 year range. It also means you have to fact check yourself, with independent verification. For that, I use period images, which I’ll explore in another post.

Just Keep Stitching

18 Tuesday Sep 2012

Posted by in Events, History, Museums

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It is going to take a long time to finish, and longer because I’m doing it alone, have little room for the frame in our apartment, and have a family to sew garments for. But if I just keep stitching, it will get done.

The photo is from Sunday at Coggeshall Farm, and gives an idea of the set up. The frame worked well, though the pegs did fall out in the drier weather. No wobbles, though. It’s a little tricky to stitch from different angles and to maneuver around, but I’m accustomed to lap quilting even large pieces. This needs a frame, so I’ll just adapt.

The sandwich is comprised of a linen backing, wool batting, and a plain-weave silk and wool top. I’m quilting with some silk twist from Wm Booth Draper that matches pretty well. This is a compromise, given that I can no longer buy tabby and calamanco, or fine plain weave wool. The wool (calamanco/tabby) originals in the RIHS Collection are lined with wool, not linen (the silk petticoat that belonged to the Browns is lined in a fine white linen plain weave), but I could not find materials that satisfied my requirements for weave, sheen, color or fibre. The compromises I made I will have to live with—one hopes without recriminations—but they are balanced by the panels I stitched at about 13 to 13.5 inch intervals to match the dimensions of the originals. I’ve also laid the petticoat out in the same proportions as the originals.

Now all I have to do is keep stitching…

The Public: Not Quite the Enemy

17 Monday Sep 2012

Posted by in Events, History, Museums, Reenacting

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Ah, the public. We’re not really much without them—we need an audience, don’t we? Living history practitioners/costumed interpreters/re-enactors are all looking for an audience. We like to tell people about the past, so we need the public. Sometimes, though, the public is a trifle confounding.

In one weekend, I heard or heard about the following questions or comments:

Are you Jane Austen? (This from a 10-year-old girl in a grocery store, so it’s actually score one to the girl for knowing Jane and getting the dress period right, and one to Dana, who answered with grace.)

Look, it’s the Pilgrims!

Gosh they must have been hot back then. I guess they had to adapt, but they must have been awfully hot, even if they didn’t know any better.

Why is it like it used to be in here? (My favorite!)

Did children chase chickens back then?

What are you chopping all that wood for?

Oh, look, the fire’s on!

I thought you’d all look pretty like the ladies on British TV. [i]

There was also a group that trouped in and just stared. Stared. Hard. I couldn’t manage to say anything, though Vicky and Johanna did an excellent job explaining what we were doing. By the time it was my turn, they’d stared in silence for several long minutes and it was just too weird to say anything.

So, what to do? Not much, I think, but to join and support your local history organization to encourage history education for all. And for those of us on the receiving end? Take a break, eat a snack, stay fresh, and park the snark. Wait until the tour has left the building to react.

I had only one not-great experience. A child came behind my quilting frame, popped on my bonnet, and left the room while I asked several times, “May I have my bonnet back, please?” Her mother turned to me and said, “We thought this was interactive!” Well, yes, but that is my personal bonnet. So the lesson for me is hide my bonnet better, and for the public? It never hurts to ask if you can try on the item sitting next to the interpreter, or to touch the things they’re clearly working with. And never touch an interpreter or re-enactor unless invited to. Yes, it has happened.

Manners transcend centuries: please and thank you always work.

[i] This is similar to what a guide at work said the first time I did a program in period dress, wearing a linen gown. “I guess they were more comely at Colonial Williamsburg than in New England.” I am not a fancy lady. But not comely? Well, maybe I’m built for speed.