On Saturday, June 29 the Chilkat Dye Working Group got together at the museum for some hands-on dye experiments. Here’s some images!
On Saturday, June 29 the Chilkat Dye Working Group got together at the museum for some hands-on dye experiments. Here’s some images!
You’d think you couldn’t lose something on the internet, but the blog post I did in 2009 for the Indianapolis Museum of Art’s blog no longer exists since they revamped their website. So here’s a draft, essentially the same thing but no pictures:
I go to the AIC annual meetings for one major reason: MORALE. I get excited, I get inspired, and my batteries get recharged. I go to a city I have never been to, agonize over attending talks tangentially related to my work or seeing museum exhibits I would otherwise never see. I spend time in a nice hotel chatting with people I really like and get to call it work time and collect per diem. I get to feel that I am part of a community. I like seeing the whole range of personalities…the really well dressed paintings folks on one end and the grungier ethno folks on the other. I like seeing the geeky nervousness of the grad students and try to reach out to them, remembering what it was like to be in their shoes and then feeling stupid when I realize they have more confidence than I did. I like seeing old mentors and giving them a hug and feeling the thrill that maybe, just maybe they think of me as a colleague now and approve of my work. Going to the talks is analagous to going to the movie theater when I could just rent on DVD. Humans like to roam in packs, and I love hearing a buzz go through a room when a provocative comment is made, or the titters of disapproval, or the nodding of heads with a good point, and I am excited when people are brave enough to ask questions after the talk and the sport of seeing how the speaker performs under pressure. Performance! Have you seen Arlen Hingebotham give a talk? Or Paul Messier? Or the NMAI folks giving a tongue-in-cheek Martha Stewart spoof chocked full of great tips?
2.0 definitely has its place. It can function in ways that AIC can’t or won’t. AIC has a hard time responding in a timely manner on current events and 2.0 folks can be the front lines for those opportunites for PR for our profession. I’m blogging for more personal reasons. Not long ago I saw a woman at the mall parking lot trying to wedge a child’s trampoline into her small car. I said, “Hey, it fits in my minivan…where do you live? I’ll drive it home for ya.” Sometimes you have the BE that nice stranger in order to have the community be the kind of place where you’re proud to live. I want to put content on my blog of the kind that I’d like to find. What if David Grattan had all his publications and notes and musings right there on the web? Or Nancy Odegaard? Or Tony Sigel? The web is now a place for (hopefully) useful stuff I generate but don’t plan to jump those those god-awful publishing hoops to share. I have published and I plan to continue to do so, but only a small percentage of what I am doing is unique or mature enough to bother.
I do see museums as the kind of place that is by nature slow and deliberative. Not designed to jump headlong into new things but rather hang back, observe, and help history sort itself out. AIC would have a hard time keeping up with Daniel Cull in terms of relevance anyway. Who runs AIC? How large is the staff and what can they reasonably get accomplished?? Manueverability is an unfair expectation of AIC. Should stick to the things it can do well…providing a platform instead of content. Free up the AIC website as a clearninghouse. Find a conservator. PA Fellow, Annual meeting. Nice to park useful stuff within an institutional structure to insure its survival.
Poster foreign language data aia
Weakness: who is attracted to this medium? Museum-L some of the most vociferous posters have some of the least reliable information.
Culture of exclusivity and elitism. Who is being kept out? Outside the tent pissing in or inside the tent pissing out?? What can MY blog do? Broader collaboration networks.
Tour: check out my blog
Marine mammal necropsy: check this project
Granting agency: here is this prototype
intern, this is what working with me would be like
People often come to museums to visit a specific artifact or collection they have a connection with.
People whose input you might really value are often not hanging out on their computers trolling the internet for places to contribute their expertise.
Closed email listserves…Museum-L.
I also really liked McCoy’s article. I’ve printed it out and left it on the breakroom table for my co-workers to read. (Funny, they are more likely to read it that way than if I send them a link…something about food and reading.) The Alaska State Museum where I work is in the process of determining how to merge the state museum, library, and archive into a future purpose-built structure. Discussions about areas of overlap & collaboration and ways to serve our constituents invariably come back to distance delivery and the opportunities of Web 2.0. From my five years experience as a curator at a small museum, I realized that many people visit museums to visit a specific artifact or collection they have a personal connection with. Not only is their information about that object potentially valuable to the institution, but in a healthy human animal there is a need to feel like a contributing member of society. Something about being inspired or connecting with big ideas stirs a desire in many people to be creative…to leave their mark…to be generous. However, that tendency can sometimes go awry. Museum-L for example. I have subscribed to that listserve for about 8 years now. Some of the most vociferous posters there have some of the least reliable information, but a huge desire to post. Some folks post there asking for information before doing even the most basic google search. But it is a window into the struggles of small-to-medium sized museums nationwide. I have cringed many times reading horrible conservation advice from non-conservators. But that forum is also where I met and formed my opinion about David Harvey, who can consistently be relied upon to gently correct misconceptions about conservation and steer receptive museum staff in the right direction, wrapping up with a chipper “Cheers! Dave.” I used to play a little game of “what would Dave say?” and usually I would agree with his assessment. Eventually I was able to meet him in person, but my opinion of him was fully formed virtually. I do believe Dave is a bit of an exception. There is a certain personality type who gravitates towards this medium, and I think we’ll see a plateau in the potential usefulness of 2.0 because there are folks whose input we’d really value, but they are busy doing other work and not online looking for places to contribute their expertise. And there will be legions of people who would love to share their opinion, but they don’t have the expertise to make it valuable.
Does AIC tick you off?
I can see why you hate AIC, but…
Rant on AIC, Elitism, and Blogs: Where is the Love?
Straight from Wikipedia: “Elitism is the belief or attitude that those individuals who are considered members of the elite—a select group of people with outstanding personal abilities, intellect, wealth, specialized training or experience, or other distinctive attributes—are those whose views on a matter are to be taken the most seriously or carry the most weight; whose views and/or actions are most likely to be constructive to society as a whole; or whose extraordinary skills, abilities or wisdom render them especially fit to govern.”
First things first: we need AIC and I respect the role it plays in our professionalism. You could say I was suckled at the AIC teat. Back in 1993, I was trying to find someone who would tell me what the heck “conservation” was. I made a long distance phone call to Jay Krueger, who my uncle told me was a friend of a friend and one of this mysterious breed called “conservators.” It was quite a short conversation, and the upshot was “ask AIC.” I sent away for their brochures (by mail!) and poured over the requirements of the programs. It was the first of many times I turned to AIC to tell me what I needed to do. In graduate school at NYU, the conservation professors referred frequently to the standards and ethics outlined by AIC and required us to follow them in our coursework. I became a member in 1997. As an emerging professional, I found myself moving to Alaska, the home of exactly three conservators: one was a contemporary from the Winterthur/Delaware program (Monica Shah) and the other was the man I had just married (Scott Carroll from the buffalo program, soon to be Carrlee.) I also accepted a job as a curator of collections and exhibits, and began a part-time business doing private conservation work. Suddenly I had a ton of questions about ethics and the standards of practice I would have to live up to in starting a business. Again, I turned to AIC and studied its core documents carefully. I became more interested in listserves in order to stay informed about the conservation world, and frequently thumbed through the AIC directory to see if someone who had posted was affiliated with AIC and therefore steeped in the same professional standards I was familiar with. Occasionally, someone with an excellent reputation and interesting postings was not listed in AIC at all, and I would wonder why. In 2006, I jumped through the hoops to become an AIC Professional Associate, which seemed like the closest thing to being vetted by a national professional conservation organization. I have used AIC and its core documents as a touchstone every step of my career.
After I’d been in the field awhile, I began to hear more about why some people didn’t like AIC. It was elitist, some claimed. Critical and harsh to outsiders. It was behind the times. It didn’t do enough advocacy in the wider public arena to benefit its members. It had a history of excluding natural history, archaeology, and ethnographic conservation. It had a history of setting up confrontational or adversarial relationships with various groups of people: people who were not program trained, restorers, foreigners, archaeologists, maritime conservators, etc. And there were a fair number of people who had been involved with AIC their entire careers but declared they were fed up, and membership in AIC had no benefits for them. At first, I assumed they had just had run-ins with some of the more abrasive and powerful personalities that often dominate organizations like AIC. I daresay conservators can be a cantankerous and self-righteous lot. I still think that’s part of the issue. But I also think there is much to be learned (and perhaps a better path for the future) by studying the history of the organization. There could be a thesis written on that, no doubt. Reading the “Murray Pease Report” and other early documents however, makes it clear that AIC in the 1960’s was largely an organization of conservators specializing in paintings and sculpture. Individual artifacts of high monetary value that justified money being spent on their conservation. Those who identified as “conservators” were interested in developing standards to differentiate themselves from “restorers.” Conservators were scientifically and morally saving art from those who were using dubious recipe books and old wives’ tales to turn a fast buck at the peril of our heritage. Was this the beginning of an “us versus them” mentality? Throughout AIC’s history, the institutional culture has time and again organized itself around fighting “them.” Loosely defined, AIC’s critics have come to see themselves in “them” … anyone who disagrees with the AIC.
WHY DO FOLKS TURN AWAY FROM AIC?
1) They are turned off by a culture of elitism
2) They are round pegs and AIC is a square hole
3) They are not program trained
4) They have unreasonable expectations
5) They are maritime archaeologists (!)
6) They had a run-in with someone irritating who seemed like a mouthpiece for AIC
7) They don’t need the benefits membership offers
Following the recent debate/defeat of certification, it seems that the organization has now entered a period of introspection and re-evaluation. AIC is unlikely to break free of its aura of elitism. It is also doomed to be a venue for those who insist on shooting off their mouths in an undiplomatic fashion. But it does serve a very important role in conservation in the United States: it is our national professional organization. Let’s not underestimate that. But perhaps elitism has been at the root of conservation remaining separate from the museum world: separate programs, training curriculums, and conferences. Chenall’s Nomenclature anyone? Marie Malaro? AAM’s General Facilities Report? Conservation students are not taught what other museum staff do. Often, the conservator on staff is seen as the obstructionist. The one who says “no.” The one who goes by the book and makes everything difficult. The one who does not get invited to the table. Elitism is perhaps the cause of AIC’s biggest failure: no one knows what conservation is. When I give a lab tour, I always have to define conservation. My good friends still mistake me for a curator. Plenty of people think we protect trees. After nearly 50 years (NYU’s Conservation Center was founded in 1960) we still are scarcely known to the public.
As for myself, I feel like I am breaking rank with AIC in some ways. This month, I have joined the AIA and the SAA. As a conservator of ethnographic and archaeological materials, I was not even aware until last week that the SAA has a group about perishables. While I enjoy the AIC annual conference, I think I’ll be aiming to go less often in order to direct resources at attending conferences in allied professions. This has been a talking point in AIC for some time, but there seem to be only a handful who walk the walk. And I am posting information liberally on the internet…info that might have been considered taboo in the past. When I was in graduate school, treatments done as part of the core courses were saved in a file cabinet in the library. But it was locked. Students had to request the key, and it was discouraged. I never found out why, and I was too timid to ask. In some ways, I feel the conservation profession is locked in that way, particularly when it comes to availability of treatment information, lest it “fall into the wrong hands.” After more than a decade in the profession, I have come to believe that in many cases, lack of treatment information does not generally force those objects into the competent hands of conservators. Nor does it mean that the object won’t be treated. People will just give it their best shot. Inside the tent pissing out or outside the tent pissing in?
I have had several stimulating telephone conversations with Jim Jobling at the CRL Texas A&M maritime conservation lab. Certainly there are many ways that his lab is not “AIC compliant.” And you know what? He doesn’t care. He does his work the best he can according to the parallel universe of standards that have developed in maritime conservation world. Google the names of people who treat shipwreck material or wetsite archaeology and most of those names are not coming from the AIC world. In fact, many of those names have been affiliated with the Texas A&M program. Or the program in South Carolina. If AIC cannot or will not be more inclusive then it is up to us. And perhaps our more nimble regional organizations like WAAC and midwest…??MRCG
Elitism is not solely the realm of conservators. There is brand of elitism found among folks who have passion for spending a lot of time with computers. People who are conversant in Blogs, Wikis, Twitter, Ning, Delicious, LinkedIn, Facebook, MySpace…those people are the future. They are connected. They have the answers. Or do they? While the potential of many of these platforms is appealing, the actual content is often rather meagre. Visually stimulating and rather amusing, they remind me of the recent trend toward museums as entertainment. The blockbuster! The wall of graphics! The touch-me interactive! I say, show me the REAL STUFF. Give me content. What is it made of? Who made it? Why?
People who KNOW THINGS tend to share generously, while people who are not sure of their knowledge tend to be defensive and secretive.
INTRODUCTION to the Chilkat Dye Project
Are you a Chilkat weaver at any level of experience? Or have you studied these robes and want to share with weavers? Do you know things about natural dye technology that might help us? Please connect with us… the Chilkat Dye Working Group is exploring many facets of Chilkat weaving beyond the technical aspects of the grant…
A five-year $1 million grant from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation has established the Pacific Northwest Conservation Science Consortium. The consortium is headquartered in the chemistry lab of Dr. Tami Lasseter Clare at Portland State University and includes five institutions:
The initial meeting of consortium members was August 16-17, 2018 in Portland. Among the projects proposed, Ellen Carrlee and Liana Wallace at the Alaska State Museum initiated a Chilkat Dye Project for analysis and identification of the dyes used on particular historic Northwest Coast Native Chilkat robes. Ethnographic sources and contemporary weavers describe some of the natural dyes used in the past, but there are few studies linking known robes to specific dyes. Research on organic dyes is beyond the scientific capacity of most museums. A working group of Chilkat weavers and museum staff meet monthly at the Alaska State Museum to share data and ideas.
Contact: Ellen Carrlee email@example.com
Rhubarb grows well in the rainforest climate of Juneau, Alaska where Owen Hutchinson grew up. His mom, Anni Stokes, has made amazing rhubarb pies from her garden his whole life. The local handmade ice cream shop, Coppa, made its reputation on Marc Wheeler’s signature rhubarb sorbet and rhubarb sherbet. It has since branched out into devil’s club, salmon, and other flavors of place, but rhubarb is a perennial favorite with the regulars. Marc recently started using a bladder press to extract flavor from the rhubarb, and Owen saw potential in the beautiful dusky reddish pink and sage green smashed stalks leftover from the pressings. Fresh off an MFA from the California Institute of the Arts, Owen’s thesis work involved some textile work and he was intrigued with the idea of using rhubarb fiber in his art. He gave me permission to share here some of his experiments in pulling out usable fiber material in the hopes that other folks out there might have some insights and suggestions about using non-traditional fiber sources like rhubarb.
Above is an image of the material he was able to hand strip from the pressed rhubarb…a lovely color, but time consuming to prepare and somewhat brittle.
To encourage drying, the sample in the cardboard box was put in kitty litter, but it became dull, brittle, and ugly.
A salted sample was somewhat easier to manipulate, and it was pliable and bright, though it still retains quite a bit of moisture at this point in the process…
This promising-looking material was retted in water for a week. Retting is essentially controlled rotting, a method used for centuries to remove useful bast fibers from plants…the most widely known example is retting flax to make linen.
The experiments are continuing. It is still not known how lightfast the lovely color might be. Here’s hoping other experimental souls out there with a passion for plant materials, fiber technology, and textiles might want to share helpful insights?
This beaded leather Athabascan vest is the subject of a recent question to the Alaska State Museum: tribal members want to know how to clean leather. The tribe is conducting interviews with members to record the meanings and origins of important regalia and taking photographs. This vest is the Chief’s vest, and still in active use. The tribe does not have a large number of cultural heritage pieces, making it rare and important. Elders still wear items of regalia like this, and some elders may “take them on their journey at their end of this life.” The Cultural Program Manager for the village traditional council is wondering how the normal soiling from years of use might be cleaned, and how they might provide ongoing care for things like this. We need to take into consideration museum care standards but also the cultural need to continue using the vest.
I love this question because we are hearing it more and more at the Alaska State Museum…how to support the care of objects in active cultural use? On the one hand, there are commercial products that might reduce some of the stains seen here, but those chemicals might shorten the longevity of the leather. Proprietary commercial products often contain extra chemicals that are not useful and can be harmful, and the strength of the active ingredients can be much more harsh than we would use in a museum setting. In the museum setting, the prevention protocols would be very strict and we’d be aiming to preserve this vest for around 500 years.
I’m not certain the exact leather technology we are seeing in the photo, but if I had to guess I would think perhaps a Native-tanned moosehide (perhaps similar to the technique currently being collaboratively studied at the Anchorage Museum…keep an eye out for the report on that project). The thickness, color, and Athabascan origin make me think it might be moosehide. You can see a fuzzy suede-like layer on the front of the vest, and a grain layer on the interior of the vest. If a leather is flexible, everything but the grain layer is like a felted tangle of collagen (skin protein) fibers. The grain layer is the layer that had the fur…the layer we typically see on the outside of a motorcycle jacket or baseball glove. Some Native-tanned leathers have the grain layer removed. But behind the grain is that felt-like tangle. The suede-like part. The flexibility of leather is maintained by the tanning process which lubricated the fibers to prevent them from binding up with each other. This happens BEFORE the leather is dried, which is part of why WE DON’T USE LEATHER DRESSINGS: https://museumbulletin.wordpress.com/2012/11/21/alaska-state-museums-bulletin-58/
Here’s the tricky part…the cleaning techniques conservators like to use on leather are usually done dry (things like vacuuming, the dry use of soot sponges or urethane sponges, gentle cleaning with unvulcanized rubber such as Groom/Stick or vinyl such as a white eraser…) These can be a little bit abrasive, pull up fibers, or deposit crumbs of the cleaning sponge in the structure of the leather, but it is hard to cause serious damage with those techniques. Unfortunately, those techniques don’t tend to get rid of greasy soiling, such as from body oils, sweat, or food residues. In order to remove that kind of soiling, conservators might turn to wet techniques (distilled water with various substances added to enhance cleaning, detergents, solvents etc). But the danger in going with wet cleaning is that the things intentionally put in the leather during its manufacture that keep it supple and soft can ALSO be cleaned right out or moved around by wet techniques. This can result in stiff, shrunken, darkened, or distorted leather. It could also cause the stains to simply move around or go deeper into the leather and not actually come out. In other words, the kind of aggressive techniques needed to make stains like that come out might actually make things worse. Museums often accept a certain level of use-related staining as part of the object’s history. This might not be appropriate for ongoing cultural purposes.
I put this posting out on the blog here to stimulate discussion about the risks and possibilities for cleaning and caring for this kind of item. It is more precious and special than most of the things in our closets at home, but it is also unreasonable to expect museum-level protection for something that is still in active service. I think where we are headed is for folks with museum expertise to provide as much USEFUL information as possible to the folks tasked with caring for these items, and empower them to pursue the kinds of solutions that work in their communities. I’ll provide an update to this post when the conversation has gone further…
I asked others in the objects conservation profession for ideas on this cleaning dilemma, and as usual my colleagues were very generous with their knowledge and advice. Choices for cleaning this vest include a wide range of options, each with pros and cons. On the most conservative end of the spectrum is the possibility of doing nothing, and accepting the “wear polishing” as a confirmation of the history, heritage, and authenticity of the garment. Next gentlest is the use of relatively crumb-free cleaners used dry, such as white foam cosmetic sponges, or “soot” sponges marketed under such names as Absorene, Smoke-off, and Gonzo. Sometimes soot sponges (vulcanized rubber sponges) do leave some crumbs, but they are often sizeable and easy to vacuum off. Someone suggested there might be risk of removing or reducing possible smoke tanning in the leather with a soot sponge. Dry, powdery cleaners were also suggested for soaking up the oily staining: warm dry cornmeal, baking soda, corn flour, Fuller’s Earth, or powdered erasers were mentioned. Any of those would then need to be removed from the surface, and might be difficult to remove entirely or might leave a residue. For example, corn flour might leave a scum of corn oil? A thin absorbent tissue in between might reduce the residue transfer, but might also block absorptive action. Removing the powdered cleaners might be trickier than expected, and enough suction to remove the powder could also remove some leather fibers. Somewhat more aggressive is the suggestion that roughing up the surface to scatter the light might help the stain look lighter, even if it did not go away. For example, gently rubbing the surface in a rotary motion with a paintbrush, or even micro-abrading the surface with a scalpel under a binocular microscope. On the most aggressive end of the spectrum were techniques that might use petroleum distillates such as Naptha or white spirit to dissolve the oil, or other water/detergent or solvent-based cleaning options. There were even suggestions of solvent cleaning mixed with lecithin to replace fats that might be pulled from the leather by solvents. Oily substances are both a stain component but also a natural part of the leather. The “wet” cleaning techniques offer the highest risk for damage in the form of stain movement, tidelines, stiffening of the leather, matting of the surface, or other undesirable effects. The wet techniques are most likely to give dramatic results, but come with the most dramatic risks too. Anything attempted along those lines (or the use of commercially available leather cleaners) should perhaps start with a really tiny area inside the pocket? Testing inside the pocket is a good idea with any technique. What this all comes down to is the ultimate goal the community has for the cleaning of this vest, and comfort caretakers have for the risks. Museums can share the ideas and techniques used in the conservation lab, but my goal is to make an object last for 500 years and that might not be the purpose of this particular vest. One final thought …investment is often made in retaining skills, relationships, and knowledge about technologies so new beaded leather vests can be made, too. There are Athabascan beaders and skin sewers who know how to make new vests, and this is a complementary preservation technique too. Thank you to everyone who shared in this conversation! I hope to post another update later on…
So, my photography-loving friends, what are “mammoth plates” and do these count? Glass measures 24″ x 20″ and framed they are 26″ x 22″. They are a lot like lantern slides because they have some sort of emulsion trapped between two sheets of glass and the image is hard to see without light shining through it. But when you do shine the light oh my! Because of their size, the detail and relationship to the viewer is impressive. Are these rare? Is the technique itself compelling? They were cataloged into our collection in the 1960s, and the database suggests they are “dry plate” or “transparency” but I’m not sure those are the correct terms for the photographic process used.
We are considering pursuing treatment of this collection of 1903 images by the Miles Brothers. Seems these photographers came to Alaska during the gold rush at the behest of a railroad company and took pictures meant to attract investors? It was probably the Valdez, Copper River and Tanana Railroad Company. We believe the images were later displayed at the AYPE (Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition) in Seattle in 1909. The Miles Brothers are better known for their early motion picture work, and had a studio in San Francisco. The negatives from this Alaska venture were apparently lost in a fire following the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.
I don’t know if we’ve got a complete set here, probably not. Our first image is from Southeast Alaska, and then they seemed to go up to the Valdez area and headed for the Yukon River and finally out to the Bering Sea. The sequence below is my best guess, corrections welcome.
This posting is a gift for a certain clan caretaker and woodworker who is interested in making some of these chests. It is easy to find photos of the exterior. This post is heavy on the visuals and interiors, to help understand the construction technique.
These chests are ubiquitous in museum collections that include Tlingit and Haida material culture, even small museums in Southeast Alaska tend to have several of them. Alaska State Museum Curator of Collections Steve Henrikson has a research file on these chests, and added the following information into the museum’s database regarding them:
“These chests were made in China beginning in the mid 1800s or earlier for the export market. They were popular in Europe and the United States, especially during the Victorian era. In Alaska, these chests were very popular among the Tlingit and Haida people, who used them for storage of ceremonial regalia, clothing, and other property. The resins in the camphorwood were believed to have repelled moths and other insects. There are two basic forms of Chinese camphorwood chests that were traded in Alaska: one made of varnished boards, and the other made of boards covered with painted pigskin. Both have brass hardware and reinforcements on the corners and edges. The pigskin covered chests are also decorated with rows of brass tacks, which usually outline the brass fittings…. To save room in the ships’ holds, the chests came in at least 3 sizes, and designed to nest together; the smallest chest contained a stash of Chinese tea. The earliest visual representation of these chests is a drawing by I.G. Voznesenskii of a Sitka potlatch ca. 1844; other seafarers mention purchasing chest in China even earlier.”
ASM 92-13-1 from Yakutat 37″L x 17 1/2″W x 16 1/2″H
Here is one with no painted pigskin on the outside. Nice dovetail details in the corners.
ASM 91-48-1 from Old Kasaan, early 1800s. 33″ L x 16″W x 14 1/2″ H
Another plain one, no tack holes so we know it never had pigskin covering. Sometimes things that are a little damaged reveal the most about methods of manufacture. The way the corners are done on this one is really nice. Also, you can see how the brass parts are set in…the wood is ever so slightly recessed so the whole surface will be flush after the brass is added.
ASM 90-17-1 from Sitka, the Wolf House, Gootch Hit. 1790-1850.
38 1/2″L x 18 1/2″W x 15 1/2″H
One more plain one without leather. Notice how the lock mechanism is similar on the three plain ones. Also, this one seems to have a repaired area on the lid? Generally each side of these chests was a single big plank. On all the chests the lock on the front face is met along the edge with a beveled feature on the wood.
ASM III-O-128 unknown provenance 34 1/2″L x 17 1/2″W x 15 1/2″H
Most of the painted ones I have seen are green or red, with perhaps red being more common? The foliage design I have once or twice seen on carved silver bracelets. I guess camphorwood is the equivalent of cedar in some ways, highly aromatic and with an insect repellent quality to it. That would be quite important in keeping pests away from wool robes, furs, feathers, and other elements on regalia that might be at risk for infestation.
ASM 95-37-4-3 from Wrangell 23 1/4″L x 11 1/2″W x 9 1/2″H
This one is the baby brother of the two that are on display in the first image. This size is the smallest of the typical sizes, and you’ll see the underside is different. No “feet” on this one. This seems typical of the small ones.
ASM II-B-1584 unknown provenance 39 1/2″L x 20 1/4″W x 18 1/2″H
This is the largest one in the Alaska State Museum collection. You’ll see the back is undecorated. That seems typical, too. Front, sides, and lid tend to have the foliage decoration (sometimes including birds) but I have not seen the back decorated.
II-B-1367 unknown provenance 35″L x 17 1/4″W x 15 1/2″H
The leather and the wood react to changes in humidity differently, but they are not allowed to move independently because they are tacked all together by the brass tacks and trim. Consequently, almost all of these pigskin-covered chests I have seen have extensive tears in them. Treatment-wise, the most straightforward repair would be to insert a layer behind the tear that would match, and tack the edges to it as best as possible. The chain on this one is not original. Typically they have hardware like the previous one.
Looking for some input on approaches to thin brittle skins of small furbearing creatures. I’m thinking of garments made of rabbit, hare, and arctic ground squirrel in particular, where the skins are sewn together and we often see tears through aged or brittle skin that threatens the integrity of the garment. Included here are some specific images and examples.
Below are some images of a coat that belonged to beloved photographer Michio Hoshino. The garment has some substantial tears that make exhibition difficult.
I know there are many people in Alaska who have beautiful parkas still in use and much treasured, and when they begin to tear there are difficult decisions about when and if to wear them as well as whether they can be passed down to daughters and granddaughters for continued use. Sometimes the skins are still flexible, and other times they are brittle and cracking. For the reasonably supple ones, lining with Reemay and BEVA 371 film is a decent approach. But brittle skins of course have a lower shrinkage temperature due to degradation and heat set adhesives are more risky. For garments that are bearing the stress of their own weight or will be in active use, maybe there is a way to stabilize the damage while also making the garment more robust, perhaps with a supplementary lining that extended to more stable seams. Looking forward to your thoughts!
It has been more than a year since I last posted, and it would be an understatement to say we are working hard. SO much has happened in the past year! I promised myself I’d keep this one short and just get blogging again, so here is a glimpse of conservation from the Oil and Timber Section we recently installed. YES installed, Opening Day is June 6!
How about this gorgeous chainsaw? Gotta start with an image of Alaska State Museum registrar Andrew Washburn, we’ve been with the artifacts through the whole process and keeping track of the info at breakneck pace. Documentation!!! And really interesting conversations about the strangeness of the out-of-context museum world and what it means for artifact interpretation. In conservation, we have been endeavoring to make industrial objects look reasonably cared for without removing evidence of their useful life. Andrew’s pose captures our discussion about which way the blade faces.
Iron! Here we have a couple of boom chains. The blacker one was treated with OSPHO and the lighter one got a tannic acid treatment. Most of the iron that needed help from the collection got tannic acid and stayed brownish. The brown boom chain was the one selected for exhibition. Incidentally, there were some prop desk legs also treated with OSPHO…they accidentally got wet and a tough white substance showed up on the surface. So difficult to remove! Anyone have experience with that white crust? In general, I wouldn’t OSPHO a museum object but if a blackish appearance is desired a controlled phosphoric acid like OSPHO does the trick. If the white crust had happened on a museum object, that would have been a disaster.
A giant round of spruce. For many many years this was an exhibit prop in the old museum and treated as such. When I came on staff in 2006, it was strapped to the basement wall and only recently been added to the permanent collection. This sturdy iron support had been added years ago to support a large crack. Note all the disfiguring drips.
Most invasive treatment of my life: I took a Festool sander to the face of this spruce round to remove severe staining. I’ll spare you the long in-house decision making process that made that choice even possible, but suffice to say I am in love with Festool now. When the spruce round had been an exhibit prop, there were also large holes drilled to mark certain rings as a timeline. Paintings conservator Gwen Manthey is shown here filling and inpainting those holes. There were four holes, but I dare you to find them now!
Here is the jacket Click Bishop wore back in his days working on the oil pipeline. Yes, that Click Bishop, the Alaska State Senator. There are pants and hat with this outfit too. Here is an image of humidifying the pocket flaps so they would lay flat when the mannequin was dressed.