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Kitty Calash

~ Confessions of a Known Bonnet-Wearer

Kitty Calash

Tag Archives: museum practice

Safe as Houses

01 Friday Dec 2017

Posted by kittycalash in Museums

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

historic house museums, management, morale, museum practice, work

Collections staff climb wobbly ladders all too often

Someone brought up the Plimoth Plantation workers concerns for safety, and how those outweighed the low wages in their drive to unionize. Uneven streets, low staffing levels and safety requirements placed on them– watching open fires– meant that they were unable to leave the houses even for “nature breaks.” These are all legitimate concerns and the expectation that workers will tolerate unforgiving, dangerous, or humiliating conditions because “it’s all for a good cause” is ridiculous (and, apparently, a darned good way to inspire a union).

The union effort I was part of was not driven solely by low wages. There were other factors, including an executive director with a large but fragile ego, who was inclined to operate rather whimsically. When the drive failed, the need for union was by no means diminished, especially given the retaliations that followed, including the case of a woman who went on maternity leave, only to find on her return that her job had not been saved for her, despite the museum’s need to comply with the FMLA and assurances made before she went on maternity leave.

Bad management makes it hard to get out of bed.

Do not think that cannot happen today, because changes to the terms of employment happen all the time in museums, even when the leave alternate work schedules have been negotiated and put in writing. Museums and their directors are, in general, no more benevolent than any other employer.

But safety seems basic, right? Well….would you like to be the sole person working in a 16,000SF historic house? Granted, no open fires, but you are still expected to answer the door and you will find that people will force their way into the house, even when you tell them the museum is closed. Lucky for you, none of them were threatening.

Some are more equal than others

Except of course the one who was. When the concerns were brought to the executive director, there was a surprising lack of support– It’s one incident. He’s crazy, so what? You’re overreacting. That’s the best neighborhood in [small town redacted]. House staff asked for mirrors at the door and minimum staffing levels of two. Someone suggested maybe Boy Scouts would be good to have come in on the weekend afternoons when the staff person is alone– Boy Scouts need service hours for college applications, after all. In less than a year, the house manager resigned. The exterior lights around the house were not fixed or replaced, and it was pitch dark and empty on the walk to the parking lot. Only when the executive director’s husband said, “Gosh, the parking lot seems kinda rapey when so it’s so dark” did the parking lot lights get replaced– but only the lot, because she used it to park in when she went out to dinner with board members.

The same employer expected staff to come to work even when the water had been shut off at the site all day for repair work; fortunately, they could be convinced to close sites to the public on those occasions. I have worked in modern museum and research facilities without heat, light, or water because no quarter was given, and no exceptions were made for you to work at a different, functioning site.

Toodles might as well have been on security

For years, I was the on-call person for all alarms at the collections facilities. This meant that in the middle of the night, I had to go to the sites if the alarms were tripped. I had to go in alone, and was expected to sweep the facility and site for intruders. Eventually, I talked the police into a policy of staying with me until the sweep was complete, but I can assure you that a 16,000SF facility is creepy AF at 3:00 in the morning when the security alarm has gone off and you don’t know if someone has broken in or not.

Employers send very clear signals about how much they value employees and they punish employees in ways both small and large. Punishing an entire division, and putting the director put on six months probation because the director and division staff tried to follow the employee handbook and procedures to deal with a new hire who turned out to be incompetent and unwilling to work? Not great. The new hire was transferred to another division where the same behaviour played out, and caused great frustration to her new supervisor and colleagues. Eventually, she quit when it became clear that she was going to be let go and could no longer manipulate the system. For a division director to be told, in a meeting with the executive director, that “This isn’t your fault, and this isn’t about you– you’re here because of what other people did,” is not reassuring in the least. Punishing people for trying to follow the rules when the HR staff won’t will not generate good morale, or retention.

Because I said so, that’s why

Employee leaves are another serious pressure point in museums. Often no one extra is hired and no tasks are reduced, but are instead spread across a variety of people. Sadly, when someone like a registrar takes an extended leave, and the museum refuses to reduce collecting or loans, someone has to process all the paperwork. Asking people who are already doing two jobs to take on a third is not uncommon. Directors reveal a great deal about themselves in the response they have when they’re approached with a request to reduce some of the workload because the person covering is burning out. Dismissing the request with “It’s just a few more weeks,” 10 weeks into a 16 week leave with major program planning starting on top of all the other tasks is not helpful, supportive, or collaborative.

Directors who say, “I’m the director, I always win,” when direct reports disagree with them, may find their direct reports seeking work elsewhere. I’ve heard directors complain about having to “seek consensus,” and chafe at having to convince boards to support changes to staff structure. Directors who chastise front line staff in front of the public and shake their fingers in the staff member’s face– and then turn out to be wrong about what they’re upset about, but refuse to apologize– are not as uncommon as you might hope.

Safety. Consistency. Respect. That’s all employees want, no matter where they work. They want policies that are applied equitably, and workplaces that do not place them in danger either by condition of the site or the attitude of the management. When any employer fails to provide those conditions, the result will be low morale and high turnover. The cost of those is significant, both in declining visitor experience and increased training.

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I came, I saw, I sighed

18 Wednesday Jan 2017

Posted by kittycalash in History, Museums

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

authenticity, historic house museums, history, interpretation, museum practice

img_8909

Gunston Hall has been on my list of must-visit places for some time, and now I can cross it off my list. I was impressed by their Room Use Study and remain so. They’ve also done some decent work on slavery, and it shows on their website. So my hopes were high. You know where this is going, right? Yup.

The room in which Martha Washington and Mrs Mason may have had a "chit-chat" about the two Georges.

The room in which Martha Washington and Mrs Mason may have had a “chit-chat” about the two Georges.

Pretty sure the guided tour is dead. Also pretty sure most museums need to look long and hard at the actual execution of their mission. Granted, this was another one of those January R&R visits, when it is entirely likely that the multiple “Out of Order” signs were a mere mid-winter fluke. But day-um, I was underwhelmed.

Granted, this house is older than “mine.” And smaller. And I didn’t ask any questions on the tour because I fear my tone will be far too telling. But there was a small, excited-in-a-good-way child on the tour, and several other adults. When asked by the docent what we were interested in, the group settled on “life.”

WHO touched that railing?

WHO touched that railing? THAT’S why I should care?

We ended up with the incantation of “many famous people have sat in this room.” “Many famous people have touched this stair rail.” I might have heard an audible intake of breath when we were told something was original; my right eyebrow shot up in an expression well known to my friends.

The house is lovely, of course, Georgian balance and all that, and nicely decorated, whether the chinoiserie paper in the dining chamber or the Virginia-Chesapeake Neat and Plain office. But why the default emphasis is on famous people touched this, stepped here, slept here, I do not know. My docents do it, too, sometimes. But what troubles me more is what I came away without: A sense of George Mason and his family.

Red damask on the walls, because "they could have had it." Infelicitous phrasing.

Red damask on the walls, because “they could have had it.” Infelicitous phrasing.

Most troubling to me, being Of a Certain Age, was the statement that Mason’s second marriage, to Sarah Brent, was “for friendship and companionship.”

Really?

George and Sarah sign a marriage agreement several days before they are wed, protecting in a limited way Sarah’s individual property. Under the terms of this contract, Sarah gives ownership of her slaves to her husband for the length of her marriage, but regains possession of them should her husband die and there be no offspring between them. Under these same conditions, Sarah is promised as dower 400 acres of her husband’s land at Dogues Neck.

Over the years, it has been pointed out that the marriage agreement between Sarah and George indicates that their relationship was more business-like and convenient, rather than loving. However, the marriage compact also can be seen as a fair solution between two practical people who want to safeguard their property for future generations — Mason for his children and Sarah for the sons and daughters of her sister Jean in Dumfries. In Sarah’s will of 1794, she indeed does pass on to these children and one of their offspring the slaves she regains upon the death of her husband.

Really?

That looks to me like a sensible arrangement between two mature adults. The way that a 50-year-old approaches marriage and relationships in any century will be different. Even in the 18th century, a woman of 50 has an established identity, knowledge of the world, and experience in running a household, if not a business.

Why yes, I may well have some baggage, why do you ask?

Why yes, I do have some baggage, why do you ask?

To suggest that sensibility excludes or precludes sex is to miss the point of Jane Austen completely, and is ageist in the absence of evidence. In all likelihood, Sarah is peri-menopausal at least and menopausal at most (it varies widely; some 50-year-old women are still fertile, shocking though that may seem). That doesn’t mean she’s asexual, and while George Mason may well have (probably did) take sexual advantage of the women he owned, that doesn’t mean he’s not interested in, and expecting, a sexual relationship with his second wife.

What all of this suggests to me is a reluctance in museums to talk about sex, unless there are children from a marriage, in which case one can just assume the couple were busy in bed and not actually address it…all in all, a weird thing, and one that turns up in my own museum from time to time.

This is not to suggest that I didn’t enjoy the tour, the house, or the landscape. But I felt dissatisfied, as if the real meat of the place was not to be found on the tour. Exploring the upstairs on our own was much more fun– I would have liked some object labels up there, and downstairs, too– and had more of an air of exploration and discovery.

And that’s what the guided tour kills: discovering for yourself. It doesn’t have to be a full-blown you-paid-for-it Museum Hack bonding experience. It doesn’t need to be a handout with “How many squirrels can you find?”

img_8950

Exploring, reading labels, listening, smelling, touching: using our senses to learn about a place, a space, an object, a person, will be engaging enough.

With so much good, deep, content on the website, I know Gunston Hall has the material a great tour and historic house museum is made of. I know, from reading the labels about slavery at the site and reading the text about slavery on the web, that they know more, do more, and understand more about the enslaved people than their permanent exhibitions indicate.

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What Cheer Day: Emotional Goals and Historical Content

25 Tuesday Oct 2016

Posted by kittycalash in Events, History, Living History, Museums, Philosophy, Reenacting

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

authenticity, emotions, first person interpretation, historic house museums, interpretation, John Brown House Museum, museum practice, Rhode Island Historical Society, What Cheer Day

Petulant Alice faces her first hurdle, Kitty and Goody Morris. Photograph by J. D. Kay

Petulant Alice faces her first hurdle, Kitty and Goody Morris. Photograph by J. D. Kay

I think about three or four things most of the time: food, sex, museums, and clothes. That seems pretty adequate, but from time to time I am forced to consider intersections between these rather broad topics. The intersectionality of clothing and museums seems pretty obvious: from accurate costumed interpretation to proper packing and storage, easy. Food and museums will be much on my mind in the coming year, as we work on “Relishing Rhode Island,” and I’m continually harping on how eating locally and seasonally is the core of eating historically. Sex and museums is a little harder (yes, I know about the Museum of Sex), though one gets a chance even in a historic house museum, and really, it’s not just about the act: it’s about the feels.

Mary assists Alice in the hallway as she prepares to face her mother. Photograph by J. D. Kay

Mary assists Alice in the hallway as she prepares to face her mother. Photograph by J. D. Kay

In the main, I am not particularly good at the feels aside from some very hands-on experience with anxiety, but a number of things have coalesced recently to make me reconsider the intersection of emotions, museums, and history.

Hamilton is one, and if you read this, you probably watched the Hamilton’s America documentary  on PBS last Friday. If you didn’t, go do it now. Really: I can wait. And here’s why:

In the thinking I’ve been doing for some time about Hamilton,* I’ve reached the conclusion that what makes it so damn good (aside from the brilliant writing) is how Lin-Manuel Miranda has captured the emotions. The quotes I wrote down from the documentary are about emotion and drama, because I’m looking for them (confirmation bias for the win) but here they are:

“Each piece of music is specific to an emotion and a character”

“I got into the history through the characters”

“Research is over and you write the character defined by history”

“Write the parts you think are a musical”

Goody Morris helps Alice drink lemon water to soothe her stomach. Photograph by J. D. Kay

Goody Morris helps Alice drink lemon water to soothe her stomach. Photograph by J. D. Kay

What is a museum exhibit but “the parts you think are a musical?” While Our Girl History struggled with being Alice (I know a bit about the part where your ego gets connected to a character), she had to portray a character defined by history, but also by emotion. And in thinking about Hamilton, about What Cheer Day, and about the exhibits that give me pleasure, and art that brings me joy, I have reached a couple of conclusions.

I believe that museums, where we currently set educational and interpretive goals, and increasingly experiential goals, need to begin setting emotional goals for their programs and exhibitions. You could argue that experiential and emotional goals are the same, but I disagree: I believe that interpretation helps define the experiences that create emotional responses, and within the intersection of experience and emotion we will find the educational goal revealed, because we are always working within a content-driven context.

James checks on sister Alice. Photograph by J. D. Kay

James checks on sister Alice. Photograph by J. D. Kay

I also believe the reason gun-based reenactments retain their popularity is their easy emotions. “Boom!” is exciting anywhere: there’s an immediate reaction of shock, surprise, a mild fear, and excitement. Traditional reenactments have those “boom!” emotions embedded within them, which is how they retain their potency. Until we locate the emotion within the everyday– and trust me, it’s there– we will not see the primacy of non-military reenactments and living history.

*Yes, I was aware of it when it was in previews at the Public Theatre. I am *that* kind of hipster, but really, it was because Oscar Eustis went from Trinity Rep here to the Public and there’s a PVD-NYC theatre connection.

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That Belongs in a Museum

11 Thursday Feb 2016

Posted by kittycalash in Art Rant, Collecting, Museums, personal

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

art history, collections, historic house museums, museum collections, museum practice, personal, philosophy

Sotheby's Sale 8278, Lot 586. Easy Chair, Philadelphia ca 1770

Sotheby’s Sale 8446, Lot 20. Easy Chair, Philadelphia ca 1770

We’re taking a brief break from this week’s nightlife programming to bring you this special report. Regular snark resumes with the next post.

It’s not a secret that I work in a museum. I operate in a world of objects that cannot be touched, sat upon, slept in, worn– you get the idea. Well, sometimes things that I believe belong in a museum don’t end up in one. Sometimes beautiful objects with great stories and deep resonance with the museum I think they belong in don’t make it there. Sometimes museum professionals take phone calls from irate family members who are incensed that you’re even talking to someone in the family about how to organize their materials. Sometimes objects do make it,  but then, before the paperwork is executed, the gift is rescinded. People get weird about stuff.

Sometimes they get weird about stuff because of what it’s worth. Eleven years ago, a family chose not to fight over objects, but instead sold their family furniture. They grossed nearly $13 million. Thirteen Million Dollars: Enough for a baker’s dozen of Dr. Evils. With chairs that sell for $204,000 (Sale 8278, lot 586), it’s no wonder people get weird about stuff because of money.

Lot 586. It’s a pity the catalog is no longer available online, but even Sotheby’s has to conserve server space. It was a beautiful chair: a 1763 upholstered easy chair– upholstered by Plunket Fleeson of Philadelphia.* I pored over that catalog page in the Important Americana sale catalog. It would have come in just before Christmas, or just after, slick clay-coated pages printed with fine ink. When the auction catalogs arrive at work, we stand in the kitchen-mail room and bury our noses deep in the gutter: smells like money.**

Staircase Group (Portrait of Raphaelle Peale and Titian Ramsay Peale I) Charles Willson Peale. Philadelphia Museum of Art, E1945-1-1

Staircase Group (Portrait of Raphaelle Peale and Titian Ramsay Peale I)
Charles Willson Peale. Philadelphia Museum of Art, E1945-1-1

I wanted that chair, Lot 586, that walnut easy chair made in Philadelphia. Wrong town, you say? Mais non, Philadelphia was the place to buy fancy goods– especially upholstered goods– in the 18th century. Providence merchants were trading with Philadelphia, the town that set the style for the colonies.*** It was sophisticated, urbane, refined. So, when Sarah Brown was pregnant with their first child, John Brown sent to Philadelphia for an easy chair. It would be the best.

He’d already ordered a tea table and roundabout chairs from Newport at the time of his marriage in 1760. These objects were about more than function: they were signifiers of taste and sensibility as much as wealth. So, as the time came closer for Sarah’s confinement, John Brown became increasingly agitated with Plunket Fleeson, who was delaying the delivery of the chair. John Brown was concerned for Sarah’s comfort postpartum, and said so in a letter. I can’t quote or link to it, because it’s in private hands, quoted in the catalog entry for lot 586.****

So what about that chair? Well… I got permission from the Authorities (a Board-level committee, with the support of the Executive Director) and we bid on the chair by phone. You know already we were not the winning bid. We were willing to bid a lot– really, a lot of money for us– for this chair.

Why?

Not because it’s worth so much. Not because of Plunket Fleeson, or the quality of the carvings, or the craftsmanship, really.

Because Sarah Brown sat in that chair cradling her son, James Brown, in 1763. She sat in that chair with the children who came after him, the babies who lived, and the babies who died.

Because that chair told a story about a family, about a relationship between a husband and wife, a man and a woman, at its most basic level.

That chair told a story about love.

Even I am a sucker for love.

Love is why people get weird about stuff, about the chairs, the family photos, the workbaskets, heck– the drill presses. We imbue objects with meaning, with memories, that substitute for the people we love when they’re gone. Sometimes it’s a t-shirt that smells of a lover. Sometimes it’s sewing basket used by three generations of women. And sometimes it’s a chair.

In the case of the easy chair, imagining the cradling comfort of the chair and the memories it recalls is simple. In the case of, say, shield back side chairs, the leap is a little harder. But perhaps– just perhaps– arranged around a festively set table, those chairs conjure memories of holiday meals, birthday dinners, graduation parties. Maybe those chairs take you back to the people and times when you felt loved.

Or maybe they’re worth $100,000, and you consign them to auction.

But if you value the story as much as the object, here’s the funny thing: you can keep that memory forever, and share the story with everyone, if you give that object to a museum.*****

When people really love an object and are fighting with their families over who gets to keep the things, I don’t play Solomon. I tell them a story about memory, and preservation, and about endurance. Sometimes I can convince them. Sometimes I can’t.

When I can’t, I tell them I understand, and that my priority– and my institution’s priority– is not things, but people. They can keep their object: we’ll be here when they’re ready. It’s all true, and I do mean it.

But inside, I feel like Indiana Jones, soaking wet on the deck of a pitching ship.

That belongs in a museum.

When-you-visit-home-and-see-your-parents-outdated-computer

*If money were no object, I’d buy it for that name alone.

**The quality decreased in 2008, when the financial crisis hit everybody hard, but the paper weight and ink have been creeping back up in quality of late.

***I know, it sounds crazy now, but it was true. At the time of the American Revolution, it was the second largest English speaking city in the world, after London.

****You are correct, sir: I’d like the letter book it’s in, too.

*****Subject to acceptance. Some rules and regulations apply. Leaning is touching. Don’t lick it.

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Glaciers in the House

19 Thursday Mar 2015

Posted by kittycalash in History, Museums

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

historic house museums, historic interiors, history, interpretation, museum practice, Museums

IceDamFeb2015

I don’t mean the ice dams and icicles that plagued the house and streaked the service ell’s windows as they melted: I mean change.

I’m reading The Half Has Never Been Told (it kept selling out, so I only just got a copy), and thinking about the representation of a past that people would rather forget, and sometimes actively deny in the North– and the South, as you will tell from reading African-American History Fail.

Change in historic houses can be glacially-paced, as staff and docents alike resist changes to interpretation. Resistance to change is usually about comfort and confrontation, especially when the change is large.

I get that: Oh no, new stuff to learn. What was wrong with what we did before? But docents and staff get comfortable and loose sight of the context of the content they present. They say some interesting stuff.

Most jaw-dropping of all: Sometimes I like to pretend I’m Mrs Owner of the House. That one was creepy, to me. But it did give me some insight into the “ooh, wish I lived here” backwardly aspirational tour motivation.

How would you feel if living here meant you owned and traded slaves? Defended the slave trade in Congress? If a small girl had the care of your horses? We don’t ask those specific questions, but I think we need to. Slavery is slavery.

In the 1790 census of Rhode Island, there are 948 slaves, representing 1.3% of the population. That would be 13,000 people of Rhode Island’s total population today, less than the city of Central Falls (19,383 in the last census, and one of our smallest towns).

We think it’s a small number, but to those 948 people, being enslaved was everything. I don’t necessarily want to make our visitors feel personal guilt about slavery– that’s up to them–but I do want to them to think about what slavery meant, and what it did, as an economic system.

I want visitors to understand that the beauty of the house they see is built in part on the ugly and forced exploitation of a class of people. If they relate that to the rest of the world they inhabit today, even better. I think we owe at least this much to every site where enslaved people worked or lived.

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