At the Museum, we try to collect as much information as possible on artefacts from the source. Sometimes, though, that’s just not an option—either the source doesn’t know, or an item may have been in the collection for 40 years, and the source just isn’t around anymore to ask. This is always a shame, because once the specific history of an item is lost, it’s almost impossible to reconstruct it. But, there’s usually some basic information we can research—and the first thing we generally try to do is establish a time frame for the item.
The material a thing is made of sometimes provides useful information, although this can be deceiving—plastics have been around since the 1850s! Generally, though, most 19th Century goods were made of wood or steel; aluminum was commercially available starting around 1910; bakelite (a certain type of hard plastic) was most extensively used between 1920 and 1940.
The decorations on an item can prove useful as well. Black cast iron painted with gold details was common on 1890s sewing machines, typewriters, etc.; the bold lines and sweeping curves of the Art Deco style date mostly to the 1920s and ‘30s; plastic items with gold flecks were popular in the 1950s and ‘60s; the colours avocado green and harvest gold almost certainly point to the 1970s.
The Industrial Revolution was old news by the time Medicine Hat was established in the 1880s, so most objects we see have been mass produced. The maker’s names, and sometimes the city they were located in, are often painted, or sometimes cast, right into the item. Then, as now, this was an important means of advertising. With a little e-digging, finding out when a company was in business will at least provide a date range of when the item was made. If no record of the company can be found, knowing where they were located might point to a museum or historical society in that area that may have further information.
A lot of products have their patent numbers on them somewhere; these can be looked up on websites such as the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office (http://patft.uspto.gov/). This not only often yields information on when the item was made, but can also tell us what it’s supposed to do, and how to use it.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
From "Thing" to "Artefact"
Have you or a relative ever donated an item to a museum, and wondered what the museum did with it? Or, ever just wondered what the difference is between something in a museum and something in an antique shop? Ever notice a little number painted or glued onto an artefact in an exhibit? Today, I hope to give you some answers about those.
First, we in the museum always want to speak directly to the donors. This is sometimes at odds with the donors, who’d rather just drop the item(s) off and be on their way. We want to speak with them in order to get a full history of the items, as well as to get legal title to the items signed over to the museum (so 40 years down the road, a relative can’t come in and say, “Hey, that was my grandmothers—give it to me!”). Once we have the signed Gift Agreement, the objects usually go into a quarantine room. Here, we check them over, give them a light vacuuming if they need it, and make sure there aren’t any bugs in them that might infest the rest of our collections.
After quarantine, the pieces are “accessioned”—formally brought into the museum collection. This is when the objects get their own identification numbers, something like 2011.2.1, where “2011” is the year the item came in, “2” means the second collection brought in that year, and “1” is the individual item within that collection. The number is painted on the object using permanent ink over top an archivally-stable strip of plastic—the number can be taken off again with a few swipes of acetone, if necessary. From this point on, that number (the “Accession Number”) becomes the item’s identity—all documentation regarding source, history, inventory, etc. is tied to the object through that number. Once an object has an Accession Number, we consider it an “artefact.”
The numbers are usually applied to part of the artefact that won’t show when it’s on exhibit. When I visit museums, I try to spot the numbers on artefacts in the display—try it yourself next time you’re in a museum!
The artefact is then described (“catalogued”) in our artefact database—we have about 60 data fields to record information in (dimensions, materials, colours, maker, age, etc.). We snap a photo of it, and link that in to its database record. All the source information is recorded in another database and linked to the artefact’s record in the artefact database. The artefact is then placed in storage, and its location is added to its artefact record. Both the source information and the artefact catalogue information gets printed out, and stored in paper folders—this is intentional redundancy, in case our computer systems get fried.
The artefacts and their information are then accessible to anyone looking to research that type of artefact, or building an exhibit, etc. The whole process takes about an hour per artefact—one of the reasons why we don’t take everything that might be offered to us. With almost 25,000 artefacts in the Esplanade Museum’s collection, just registering items into the collection has taken about 13 years of effort!
First, we in the museum always want to speak directly to the donors. This is sometimes at odds with the donors, who’d rather just drop the item(s) off and be on their way. We want to speak with them in order to get a full history of the items, as well as to get legal title to the items signed over to the museum (so 40 years down the road, a relative can’t come in and say, “Hey, that was my grandmothers—give it to me!”). Once we have the signed Gift Agreement, the objects usually go into a quarantine room. Here, we check them over, give them a light vacuuming if they need it, and make sure there aren’t any bugs in them that might infest the rest of our collections.
After quarantine, the pieces are “accessioned”—formally brought into the museum collection. This is when the objects get their own identification numbers, something like 2011.2.1, where “2011” is the year the item came in, “2” means the second collection brought in that year, and “1” is the individual item within that collection. The number is painted on the object using permanent ink over top an archivally-stable strip of plastic—the number can be taken off again with a few swipes of acetone, if necessary. From this point on, that number (the “Accession Number”) becomes the item’s identity—all documentation regarding source, history, inventory, etc. is tied to the object through that number. Once an object has an Accession Number, we consider it an “artefact.”
The numbers are usually applied to part of the artefact that won’t show when it’s on exhibit. When I visit museums, I try to spot the numbers on artefacts in the display—try it yourself next time you’re in a museum!
The artefact is then described (“catalogued”) in our artefact database—we have about 60 data fields to record information in (dimensions, materials, colours, maker, age, etc.). We snap a photo of it, and link that in to its database record. All the source information is recorded in another database and linked to the artefact’s record in the artefact database. The artefact is then placed in storage, and its location is added to its artefact record. Both the source information and the artefact catalogue information gets printed out, and stored in paper folders—this is intentional redundancy, in case our computer systems get fried.
The artefacts and their information are then accessible to anyone looking to research that type of artefact, or building an exhibit, etc. The whole process takes about an hour per artefact—one of the reasons why we don’t take everything that might be offered to us. With almost 25,000 artefacts in the Esplanade Museum’s collection, just registering items into the collection has taken about 13 years of effort!
Friday, February 11, 2011
Care of Silver
Many heirloom pieces such as flatware, candlesticks and trophies may be made of silver, or silver-plated base metal. With a few precautions, silver objects can be enjoyed for generations.
The best way to preserve silver is to avoid over-polishing it. Even the gentlest polishing processes remove metal—over time, this will obliterate fine detail and etchings on solid silver, and can wear through the silver layer on plated items. In the museum, we usually allow silver to tarnish, and leave it that way. The tarnish layer, mostly black silver sulphide, is created by the reaction of bright silver to sulphur-containing compounds in the air. Once the bright silver is covered, the tarnish layer acts as an inhibitor to further tarnishing. But, as blackened silver is not necessarily the most attractive, the key to avoiding excessive polishing lies in how the silver is used and stored.
Some foods contain sulphur, particularly eggs and mayonnaise—these will tarnish silver in the same way airborne sulphur compounds will, and should be avoided. Citrus and other acidic foods will not affect pure silver, but can affect the copper used in making sterling silver and silver plate. Harsh detergents will cause pitting on silver, and humidity will accelerate tarnishing, so silver should be hand-washed, and not put into a dishwasher.
If silver must be displayed, it should be kept free of dust—ideally, in a closed cabinet or display case. Silica beads or gel (like the packets that say “Do Not Eat” that you get with a new pair of shoes) may be used to absorb humidity, and slow down the tarnishing process. Otherwise, silver is best stored wrapped in acid-free tissue, then sealed inside polyethylene bags. Even better, the silver can be wrapped in a tarnish-inhibiting cloth, such as Pacific Silvercloth, before being placed in the bags. These cloths contain silver particles that will attract and hold sulphur, leaving your treasures untarnished.
When your silver does have to be polished, use a product specifically formulated for silver—general metal cleaners are too abrasive, and will remove too much silver. Chemical dips should be avoided, as they can pit the metal, and the chemical can become trapped in components such as hollow stems or handles. Electrochemical reduction (using a warm soda bath and an aluminum plate to chemically convert silver sulphate back into silver) should also be avoided, as the soda solution will also pool in hollow components, and the reaction is difficult to control (and can cause plating to be stripped right off an object!). Various waddings, pastes and foams available are generally the safest to use. If any residue is left on the object after polishing, this should be removed by buffing with a soft cloth or brush.
Lacquering or waxing polished silver is not recommended, as it is difficult to apply evenly. Thin streaks or small holes in wax or lacquer can tarnish worse than if no coating had been applied at all.
The best way to preserve silver is to avoid over-polishing it. Even the gentlest polishing processes remove metal—over time, this will obliterate fine detail and etchings on solid silver, and can wear through the silver layer on plated items. In the museum, we usually allow silver to tarnish, and leave it that way. The tarnish layer, mostly black silver sulphide, is created by the reaction of bright silver to sulphur-containing compounds in the air. Once the bright silver is covered, the tarnish layer acts as an inhibitor to further tarnishing. But, as blackened silver is not necessarily the most attractive, the key to avoiding excessive polishing lies in how the silver is used and stored.
Some foods contain sulphur, particularly eggs and mayonnaise—these will tarnish silver in the same way airborne sulphur compounds will, and should be avoided. Citrus and other acidic foods will not affect pure silver, but can affect the copper used in making sterling silver and silver plate. Harsh detergents will cause pitting on silver, and humidity will accelerate tarnishing, so silver should be hand-washed, and not put into a dishwasher.
If silver must be displayed, it should be kept free of dust—ideally, in a closed cabinet or display case. Silica beads or gel (like the packets that say “Do Not Eat” that you get with a new pair of shoes) may be used to absorb humidity, and slow down the tarnishing process. Otherwise, silver is best stored wrapped in acid-free tissue, then sealed inside polyethylene bags. Even better, the silver can be wrapped in a tarnish-inhibiting cloth, such as Pacific Silvercloth, before being placed in the bags. These cloths contain silver particles that will attract and hold sulphur, leaving your treasures untarnished.
When your silver does have to be polished, use a product specifically formulated for silver—general metal cleaners are too abrasive, and will remove too much silver. Chemical dips should be avoided, as they can pit the metal, and the chemical can become trapped in components such as hollow stems or handles. Electrochemical reduction (using a warm soda bath and an aluminum plate to chemically convert silver sulphate back into silver) should also be avoided, as the soda solution will also pool in hollow components, and the reaction is difficult to control (and can cause plating to be stripped right off an object!). Various waddings, pastes and foams available are generally the safest to use. If any residue is left on the object after polishing, this should be removed by buffing with a soft cloth or brush.
Lacquering or waxing polished silver is not recommended, as it is difficult to apply evenly. Thin streaks or small holes in wax or lacquer can tarnish worse than if no coating had been applied at all.
Friday, February 4, 2011
The Ivan Rand Desk
Museums are about more than just collecting things—what we really collect are stories. That’s why we recently acquired the rather plain looking desk pictured here.
The desk is a bit small by today’s standards--five feet, or 1.5 meters long. It might remind you of the kind of teacher’s desk that stood at the front of every grade school classroom (at least in the 1970s and early ‘80s, when I was in grade school myself). It’s solid wood, likely oak, from around the turn of the 20th Century—and otherwise looks rather unremarkable.
But, this was a lawyer’s desk. Specifically, it’s the desk of Ivan C. Rand, of the firm Laidlaw, Blanchard & Rand, Medicine Hat. Rand himself was from New Brunswick, and graduated from Harvard Law School in 1912. That same year, he, like a good number of other people, headed to Medicine Hat, “the smokeless Pittsburgh of the west,” to make his fortune in the city that was a booming manufacturing centre due to its huge reserves of cheap natural gas. Unfortunately, his timing wasn’t great; Medicine Hat’s boom went bust by 1914; world war, drought and depression followed.
Rand stuck it out in Medicine Hat longer than a lot of other people, though. He continued to practice law here, at this very desk, until 1920, when he returned to New Brunswick (leaving the desk behind). He did well for himself—named Attorney General of New Brunswick in 1924, and served as a member of New Brunswick’s Legislative Assembly. In 1943, he was appointed to the Supreme Court of Canada, and developed the “Rand Formula,” a cornerstone of Canadian labour law, in 1945. Following World War Two, he was on the United Nations Special Committee on Palestine, chaired a Royal Commission on improper stock trading, and was the first dean of the law school of the University of Western Ontario. He was made a Companion of the Order of Canada shortly before his death in 1969.
So, Rand wasn’t a native Hatter, didn’t stick around town all that long, and all of his major accomplishments were made elsewhere. But, Medicine Hat is where he first practiced law, which laid the foundation for his illustrious career. More importantly, though, this piece represents all those who brought their hopes and dreams to Medicine Hat during the boom years of 1908 through 1913, only to leave again when the ‘Hat fell on hard times.
So much more than just a plain, old, small desk….
The desk is a bit small by today’s standards--five feet, or 1.5 meters long. It might remind you of the kind of teacher’s desk that stood at the front of every grade school classroom (at least in the 1970s and early ‘80s, when I was in grade school myself). It’s solid wood, likely oak, from around the turn of the 20th Century—and otherwise looks rather unremarkable.
But, this was a lawyer’s desk. Specifically, it’s the desk of Ivan C. Rand, of the firm Laidlaw, Blanchard & Rand, Medicine Hat. Rand himself was from New Brunswick, and graduated from Harvard Law School in 1912. That same year, he, like a good number of other people, headed to Medicine Hat, “the smokeless Pittsburgh of the west,” to make his fortune in the city that was a booming manufacturing centre due to its huge reserves of cheap natural gas. Unfortunately, his timing wasn’t great; Medicine Hat’s boom went bust by 1914; world war, drought and depression followed.
Rand stuck it out in Medicine Hat longer than a lot of other people, though. He continued to practice law here, at this very desk, until 1920, when he returned to New Brunswick (leaving the desk behind). He did well for himself—named Attorney General of New Brunswick in 1924, and served as a member of New Brunswick’s Legislative Assembly. In 1943, he was appointed to the Supreme Court of Canada, and developed the “Rand Formula,” a cornerstone of Canadian labour law, in 1945. Following World War Two, he was on the United Nations Special Committee on Palestine, chaired a Royal Commission on improper stock trading, and was the first dean of the law school of the University of Western Ontario. He was made a Companion of the Order of Canada shortly before his death in 1969.
So, Rand wasn’t a native Hatter, didn’t stick around town all that long, and all of his major accomplishments were made elsewhere. But, Medicine Hat is where he first practiced law, which laid the foundation for his illustrious career. More importantly, though, this piece represents all those who brought their hopes and dreams to Medicine Hat during the boom years of 1908 through 1913, only to leave again when the ‘Hat fell on hard times.
So much more than just a plain, old, small desk….
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