O Say Can You See?

Are we on a slippery slope of national amnesia?

Is American history dead? Are we on a slippery slope of national amnesia? If you look at data from a recent Marist Poll, you might answer “yes” to these questions. Just before the July 4th holiday weekend, Americans were asked “from which country did the United States win its independence?” Only 74% of those polled identified Great Britain, 20% were not sure, and 6% named other countries such as Mexico, Spain, China, Japan, and France. Equally alarming are the headlines about significant budget cuts for museums and historical organizations across the country.

Responses to a recent Maris Poll which asked "from which country did the United States win its independence?"

As director of the National Museum of American History, I need to pay attention to this news. What can the museum do to contribute to an improvement in our historical literacy? Certainly our major exhibitions such as The Price of Freedom: Americans at War offer visitors an opportunity to learn about the major events that have shaped our national experience including a large section devoted to the American Revolution. Our award-winning website, History Explorer, provides teachers and students with innovative content that uses the museum’s collections to build a history curriculum. And we are playing an active role in working with the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Service to give people planning to take their citizenship test—and people preparing applicants for these tests—an introduction to American history through the museum’s national collections.

In my travels around the country, there are many signs of a renewed commitment to preserving and presenting American history. In New Mexico, an impressive state history museum opened last year that reminds visitors of that state’s complex and rich heritage. In neighboring Colorado, the state historical society is building a stunning new headquarters funded through a dynamic public-private partnership. The East Tennessee History Center in Knoxville offers a timeline of regional history and maintains one of the leading genealogical libraries in the country. I have visited historic house museums as diverse as Taliesin in Green Hill, Wisconsin, and The House of Seven Gables in Salem, Massachusetts, and I was inspired by the knowledge, energy, and creativity of staff and volunteers.

Students and museum visitors unfold a student-made replica of the Star-Spangled Banner in the museum's Flag Hall, September 6, 2009.

So rather than being discouraged by the July 4th poll or by any announcements of declining appropriations, I continue to be optimistic that Americans are eager to learn about our past. Our job is to connect our audience with the extraordinary collections and stories of the past, to make history come alive for young people and for new Americans. I do not subscribe to the belief that there was a “golden age” of historical knowledge. However, I do believe we are in jeopardy of losing our collective memory if we fail to invest significant financial and human resources in research, preservation, exhibitions, facilities, technology, and programs and thereby fulfill our mission to tell the story of America.

Brent D. Glass is Director of the National Museum of American History.

Did Susan Holbert make this quilt?

An extravagantly appliqued mid-19th century cotton quilt has been placed on exhibit in an artifact wall case on the first floor of the museum. One of over three hundred quilts in the National Quilt Collection, it was deemed an appropriate choice for the summer months because of its explosion of color in depicting sunbursts, flowers, leaves, and birds.

Susan T. Holbert quilt, 19th century. This quilt is on view in the Artifact Wall on the first floor.

The quilt belonged to Susan T. Holbert who was born in Chester, Orange County, New York, in 1834. “S. T. Holbert” is stenciled in the center of the lining, denoting Susan’s ownership. However, the quilt might have been made by her sister, Emily, who was older by thirteen years. Emily’s talent and skill in quilt making is evidenced by another quilt in the collection that she made in 1847, and inscribed in large appliqued letters, “EMILY HOLBERT’S QUILT.”

Inscription "Emily Holbert's Quilt" found on another quilt in the collection.

Emily was born in 1820. On October 30, 1851, at age thirty-one, she married a younger man, Theodore Finch, who was born in 1827. Theodore died in January 1852, only a few months after their marriage. Emily died in 1858 so did not live to see sister Susan marry William Alfred Lawrence in 1861. The result of this history is that unanswered questions remain. Did Emily or Susan make the quilt? Did Emily make the quilt for Susan? Did Emily make the quilt for herself and Susan receive it when Emily died? The two quilts offer a charming and provocative legacy of an early New York family.

Emily Holbert's quilt.

Certain necessary considerations are brought to bear in choosing a quilt from the collection for exhibition in the artifact wall cases. The cases are meant to show a variety of the kinds of objects in collections throughout the museum. Textiles are very light-sensitive, so the lighting in the section where the quilt is shown has been brought to an acceptable low for cotton quilts in good condition. Even so, the quilt must be removed at the end of six months at the latest, and replaced with another.

The mounting on which the quilt is exhibited is a wooden stretcher frame that has been covered with a sturdy undyed cotton fabric. A piece of Velcro (the loop side) equaling the width of the quilt is machine-stitched to a cotton strip of similar length and the latter hand-stitched across the top of the reverse side of the quilt, with the Velcro side out and the fabric side next to the quilt. The matching hook side of the Velcro is attached across the top of the covered stretcher frame. The loop side of the Velcro is joined to the hook side, suspending the quilt on the covered frame by the Velcro, with nothing touching the quilt but cotton fabric and hand-stitching with cotton thread. The frame is placed in the exhibit case with the upper edge against the back wall and the lower edge about 4” out from the wall, creating a slant that provides additional support to the quilt.

Both quilts and ninety-six more from the collection can be seen in the museum’s online collections. Watch for more to be added in the near future.

The quilts in the national collection date from the 18th through the 20th century. Most were donated, frequently with information about the people who made them. They offer a window into the lives of Americans throughout the years, representing not only the materials available to their makers and the needlework techniques practiced, but clues to their circumstances, their sentimental and societal concerns, and their interactions with family, friends, and community.

Behind-the-scenes quilt tours are offered on the second and fourth Tuesday of each month. For reservations, please call 202-633-3825.

Editor's note: Do you have a quilt in your family’s collection? What story does it tell? Share with us in the comments below.

Doris Bowman is Associate Curator in the Division of Home and Community Life at the National Museum of American History.

The digital draft: preserving process in a computerized world

They say the devil is in the details and as a student in the Humanities I know all too well how difficult it can be to get those details right when writing a first draft. Where before a stack of hand- or typewritten notes signaled a hard day’s work, in today’s digital age the ease with which we can delete our mistakes makes it significantly harder to let anyone (including ourselves) inside our thought process. As technology continues to make our lives increasingly high-speed, interconnected, and paperless, how do we negotiate between leaving no trace and recording the method to our madness?

This question is particularly important when we consider the Smithsonian’s role as disseminator of knowledge. As the museum strives to find the balance between the original artifacts in its collections and virtual representations of them, photography serves as a fascinating case study in what happens when the digital literally becomes the physical.

 

 

I recently had the opportunity to sit in as my supervisor, Shannon Perich, Associate Curator in the Photographic History Collection, presented a valuable lesson about the importance of process to a group of summer camp students who paid us a visit. At first glance, the alternately light and dark blue rectangles she showed the group appeared to be nothing more than simple geometric shapes. Yet, as we soon learned, these images were actually preliminary sketches by American digital photographer John Paul Caponigro that reveal the photographer’s visual thinking behind his breathtaking ocean view Sonata I. By first drafting various options with regard to spatial proportions and color saturation in structured ways, Caponigro demonstrates his attention to the details of balance and composition. And by juxtaposing these original figures with Caponigro’s richly detailed final product, we come to see these rectangles in a new way; the process of creating digital photographs is brought to life and to light.

 

 

Just as importantly, by exposing the time and planning the photographer took to create his final print, these sketches highlight the fact that today’s works of art, though digital, nevertheless do not simply fall from the sky. In a world that is increasingly instant, this documentation of a digital art photographer’s process reminds us of the importance of slowing down and going through experimental drafts before committing to a final decision, a timely reminder for artists and patrons of the arts alike.

 

Despite the time-saving advantages technology affords us, or perhaps because of them, it’s safe to say we’ll always want to know where things come from and how they are made. An idea’s journey from conception to realization will always be something we want to know, and as Caponigro’s attention to process shows us, even the digital world strives to leave its trace.

What kinds of digital drafts do you produce?

Carolyn Ureña is an intern in the Photographic History Collection at the National Museum of American History.

Meet Libby Folsom, Spark!Lab docent

The Lemelson Center for the Study of Invention and Innovation wants you to know more about our staff! You may have seen them in action in the lab; now learn how they came to be Smithsonian volunteers. Allow us to introduce you to one of the dynamic members of our Spark!Lab staff: Libby Folsom.

Q: What are your career and educational backgrounds?
A: I graduated with a degree in Russian and then went on to get my MBA in finance. I have worked for both the government and in the private sector, along with volunteering in my children’s schools and at our church. Needless to say, I’ve always been a busy woman!

Q: What brought you to the Lemelson Center?
A: When I was applying to be a museum docent before the reopening in 2008, I remember reading the various descriptions and one in particular caught my attention. “Hands-on science, working with children,” it read, and I was immediately intrigued. I had plenty of experience working with children of all ages and knew that I could apply that strength here, and as I have no background in science, I jumped at the opportunity to exercise my brain and learn something new.

Q: What do you think makes Spark!Lab special?
A: Spark!Lab offers a one-of-a-kind experience to both children and their parents. We work hard to encourage children’s creativity and interest in the sciences. Spark!Lab is a tremendous resource for parents, especially as their kids are reaching the age of science fairs and other at-home projects. Also, today science education varies greatly from school to school, so not every child receives a quality education in the sciences; some have never even seen an experiment. Here in Spark!Lab we provide programs that are both educational and fun for all ages and all levels of knowledge. The experiments often provoke an eye-popping response (even we are surprised sometimes!), and we all get excited when things go exactly as we planned. In this way we encourage innovation, by conducting first-time experiments and then exploring ways to make it better.

Q: What is one of your favorite memories from Spark!Lab?
A: I’d have to say my fondest memories are focused in the first six months of my working here in Spark!Lab. The museum had just reopened, we were entering the holiday season, and the country was preparing for a historical inauguration. In short, things were crazy! We were overwhelmed with visitors, but we managed to create a worth-while experience for all who came through. It was a time of great energy and enthusiasm, and we made it through. I was inspired by the knowledge that if we could handle those few months, we could handle anything, and that’s a great feeling.

Elizabeth Dowdle is an intern in the Office of Public Affairs at the National Museum of American History.

Editor's note: Spark!Lab relies on volunteers to stay open and running smoothly. Please e-mail us at sparklab@si.edu for more information about how you can become a volunteer. If you're interested in volunteering elsewhere in the museum, please check out our Volunteer Opportunities. Maybe our next volunteer profile post will be about you!

Americans with Disabilities Act turns 20

There are a lot of people in town this week for the anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act. And being Washington, along with the parties, receptions, and congratulations, there are serious policy symposia, workshops, and advocacy events. It is a lovely thing to witness and of course my history-minded thoughts turn to all the people who got us here, from the anonymous citizens caught in snapshots stored in our collections, to the revered leaders no longer with us, like Justin Dart, Ed Roberts, and Helen Keller.

We have been gathering and collecting images of people with disabilities, especially those from decades ago. They are in their chairs at school graduation, standing on an artificial leg in a field feeding a foal, surrounded by friends and family on a porch, or doing their equivalents of ADL’s (Activities of Daily Living).

Early 20th century postcard.

It is relatively easy to document events. You can collect buttons, photographs, ephemeral literature, and furniture used or clothing worn at the time. But how do you collect feelings? The history of the ADA is wrapped with so many feelings. Such as the present happiness, hope, and promise of continued inclusion and opportunity. There are also the feelings of exhaustion from the struggle to get laws in place that protect people in the workplace and the community, ensure kids get an education, and stop abuse and discrimination. And the feelings of belonging that arise from finding your place in the world, making up with friends, raising children, and passing on your wisdom or your old assistive device. And there is also the despair of being stuck in poverty because no one will venture outside of their comfort zone and hire you or the righteous anger built from barrier after barrier that has blocked your basic civil rights.

Graduation photograph, c. 1925-35.

I have been working on the history of disability for quite a while and we have a pretty significant collection of objects. Yet I look at the old photographs and wish I knew what they were feeling on the day their picture was taken, with their body moving however it moved, people staring or not, and what material thing in their life expressed their emotion at that moment. (We’re lucky that intern Meecha Corbett was willing to share her feelings about working at the museum on disability history below.) 

You can feel the excitement in the air this week but in what material form can it be captured?

Katherine Ott is a curator in the Division of Science and Medicine at the National Museum of American History.

Wow, it is the 20th anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act! The ADA covers so many things—like employment, housing, public accommodations, education, transportation, communication, recreation, institutionalization, health services, voting, and access to public services. I am a summer intern and as I was researching, I was thinking about what life would be like if these laws were not in place.

Intern Meecha Corbett

I am seventeen, so life with the ADA seems completely normal. You get to see your parents yelling at companies or businesses when something is wrong with their access or services. In those situations, I try to blend into the background but it doesn’t always work—you have to know my mom.

Without the ADA, there might be no integration in schools or employment. The disability community might be banished and treated like a burden to society. We might be confined to our houses or institutions. Some of the nastier laws might still be in place, like the ugly laws prohibiting unwanted people on the streets, in the public eye. Or the sterilization laws that gave medical authorities the right to sterilize people in institutions. Euthanasia might be legal. After I thought about this for a few days I realized I would have no life.

 Then I found this quote from Senator Ted Kennedy on the fifteenth anniversary of the ADA, five years ago today. “Today we celebrate the enactment of the Americans with Disabilities Act in 1990, one of the greatest civil rights laws in our history.” I agree with this statement. Let’s celebrate the hard work that people have done before us.

Meecha Corbett is an intern in the Division of Medicine and Science at the National Museum of American History.