Phenix Building, Providence, RI. Photo credit: Caroline Nye Stevens
Over the course of ten weeks this past spring, I explored, blogged, and tweeted my way through twenty of Providence’s endangered properties. The challenge came to me by way of the Providence Preservation Society (PPS), which is celebrating the twentieth anniversary of their Most Endangered Properties (MEP) program this year. What began as a straightforward project of disseminating information developed into a dynamic experience of knowledge-sharing around the built environment. The project strengthened and empowered Providence’s community of scholars, experts, and activists. Continue reading
The Lost Stories Project seeks out little-known stories about the Canadian past, transforms them into inexpensive works of public art installed on appropriate sites, and documents the process by way of a series of short films. Along the way, forgotten moments from Canadian history come to light, and viewers have an opportunity to see the choices made when a story transforms into a work of art. Continue reading
Students in Black’s seminar learning collections management software in May 2015. Photo credit: Ron Faraday, Greater Pittston Historical Society
Last September, an undergraduate approached me to inquire about potential internship opportunities. As a new faculty member in a department with no formal public history program, there were few established connections with local community partners that I could tap. Yet the main obstacle to placing this student in an internship was her need for income; as a single mother, she had to support herself and her son. In fact, financial constraints often prevent history majors from engaging in educationally rich internships because they are unpaid. If we can find a way to invest in our students, however, we can provide them with worthwhile educational experiences that pack a bigger punch in terms of professional development because paid fellowships are attractive to potential employers. Continue reading
Images from the Community of Gardens project. Photo credit: Smithsonian Gardens
Gardens are personal. To some they are a way to grow food, to others a space of serene retreat, and to others still a background for celebrating culture and friendship. For many, they encompass a host of meanings and uses. How do we collect these ephemeral stories? How do we celebrate garden diversity?
Community of Gardens is Smithsonian Gardens’ answer to the call to preserve our vernacular garden heritage. The Horticulture Collections Management & Education department has embarked on a new initiative to crowdsource garden histories. With help from an internal Smithsonian grant, we collaborated with Curatescape to customize its Omeka-based web platform for “curating the landscape” with location-based content. Visitors to the website can contribute stories of gardens and green spaces in their own communities and explore other stories from around the country. Our goal is to create a participatory archive that enriches and adds diversity to the Archives of American Gardens collection and encourages engagement with gardens on a local, community level. In the coming months, we will introduce online exhibits and educational materials for teachers. The website uses a multimedia platform that supports images, text, audio, and video, and we welcome stories from the general public, museums, schools, universities, and public gardens. It is our hope that the project will encourage our audience to get their hands dirty and go out and unearth the everyday, untold stories in our own backyards.
~ Kate Fox is Smithsonian Gardens educator.
“What’s that? Horses?” the elderly man with the eye patch said loudly, in Norwegian, as his neighbor described the picture on the screen. “I remember when things were delivered by horse carts.” He didn’t elaborate and perhaps the memory ended there. But I thought of him months later when another nursing home resident told me about her grandmother. The previous evening, we had looked at pictures of Norwegian kids on vacation, and she explained the photographs made her think of spending summers at her grandmother’s home in the countryside. The photographs had clearly lingered in her mind. “I loved it there,” she said, “There were horses and cows and animals.” I wondered then whether the man with the eye patch had gone back to his room that cold evening in February and dreamed of horses on the streets of Oslo. He hadn’t even seen the picture, but hearing about it was enough to elicit memories of that time before. Continue reading
“A Great Day In Bronzeville,” May 28, 2005. Photo credit: John Moye
Editor’s Note: This post is part of a special online section accompanying issue 37(2) of The Public Historian, guest edited by Lisa Junkin Lopez, which focuses on the future of historic house museums. The contributions in this section highlight the voices of artists who engage with historic house museums as sites of research, exhibition, and social practice. In this post, Faheem Majeed reflects on his efforts to both animate and protect a remarkable collection in a historic home as the former executive director of the South Side Community Art Center in Chicago.
My entrance into to the South Side Community Art Center wasn’t as a trained professional or as an academic. I came there as a young figurative metal sculptor trying to find support and a community. I walked through the doors in 2003 because I was new to Chicago, and some artists told me that this was the place to go when you didn’t know anyone. To be honest, I didn’t really understand the gravity or importance of the space until some time after I first walked through its worn doors. But like many before me, the center became my home and the foundation for all my future networks and successes.
The center is fascinating on a number of levels. Based in Bronzeville, a predominately black neighborhood on Chicago’s South Side that has remained in a state of flux for many years, the center has an accumulated history that can sometimes be lost in its layers. After a couple of years working as Curator and Executive Director, I determined that the best thing I could do to honor the center’s legacy was to help identify and leverage as many layers as possible. Continue reading
The May issue of The Public Historian will explore the future of historic house museums. Historic houses are struggling to survive in the 21st century, but as Bill Adair and Laura Koloski describe, some are experimenting with strategies that are making old houses new again. -Lisa Junkin Lopez, guest editor
This piece is continued from part 1.
In Part 1 of this post, we discussed strategies employed by Philadelphia-area house museums for employing new methods and engaging new communities in order to repurpose and re-imagine historic house museums. In part 2 of this post, we will look at strategies for tackling challenging topics and using new technologies and techniques to realize these goals.
Facing difficult and controversial subject matter
Head Start programming at Wyck in Germantown, Philadelphia. (Need photo credit)
History, as we all know, is complicated. Historic house museums have not always been places that embraced this complexity. But there is room, and indeed, a real need to transform these sites into places where visitors can be engaged in complex stories and begin to grapple with the sometimes difficult aspects of our past.
In Philadelphia’s Germantown neighborhood, one site has re-made itself over the past several years to do just that. Staff research in the site’s archives revealed that the Chew family was the largest slaveholding family in Pennsylvania. As they explored this aspect of the site’s history with their neighbors and community, it became clear that it was essential to tell this story and to interpret the extent to which the Chew’s family wealth and privilege were tied up with their status as slave owners. What resulted was the Emancipating Cliveden project, a combination of new programs, new exhibits and new multimedia that explores these issues as part of the house’s core interpretive message.
Editor’s Note: The May issue of The Public Historian will explore the future of historic house museums. Historic houses are struggling to survive in the 21st century, but as Bill Adair and Laura Koloski describe, some are experimenting with strategies that are making old houses new again.-Lisa Junkin Lopez, guest editor
Martha McDonald performing “The Lost Garden” at The Woodlands. Photo credit: Ryan Collerd
We think we can all agree on two things: we love historic house museums, and we want them to have a future. That is where consensus in the field starts and stops. Although rumors of their demise are indeed premature, there is no question that house museums are in crisis, in desperate need of new audiences, new leadership, new sources of support, and most urgently, new purpose. We believe all of these needs can be met and that we are moving towards clarity about how this might be achieved, not through grand policy agreements but mostly through small-scale experiments at individual sites that are proving to be highly effective. The down side–sometimes these interventions can be highly disruptive and highly nerve-wracking.
In our work as public historians in the Philadelphia area, we have witnessed one fundamental element at all successful house museums–willingness to change and change big. The change isn’t formulaic. One size definitely doesn’t fit all. Each site has unique content, a unique neighborhood, a unique historical context, unique stories, unique collections, unique staff. But we have seen some COMMONALITIES among these changes, all of which have played out in DIFFERENT ways. Continue reading
CALL FOR PAPERS – 2016 Annual Meeting of the National Council on Public History and the Society for History in the Federal Government
Baltimore, Maryland, March 16-19, 2016
Formal preservation and interpretation of the past began as a movement to celebrate great men and elite spaces. Slowly, and with difficulty, this is becoming a more democratic and inclusive effort. We believe that public historians have an important role to play in the ongoing work to expand national, state, local, and global narratives. What are the most effective and engaging means for expanding interpretive practices and professional spaces in order to promote full inclusion of previously marginalized peoples and places? To what extent have new, more democratic and engaged public history practices changed museum collections and exhibits, preservation practice, law, and public commemoration? And what happens when formerly disenfranchised publics assert their right to tell their own histories? These questions get at the very meanings of public history and citizenship. As 2016 will mark the centennial of the National Park Service and fifty years of the National Historic
Preservation Act, in Baltimore we invite public historians to explore the promise, the successes, and the challenges of developing a more inclusive public history landscape in the twenty-first century. Continue reading
Enoch Pratt Free Library, Baltimore, Maryland. Photo credit: Nfutvol, Wikimedia Commons
While researching at the LBJ Presidential Library over the last ten days, I’ve read numerous memos on the use of federal troops and National Guard units to quell the urban rebellions of the late 1960s. It was jarring to turn on the television Monday night and learn that Maryland’s governor had declared a state of emergency and called up the National Guard in response to the protests in Baltimore. The parallels between my research and the news of the day were unmistakable. As with Watts in 1965, Chicago in 1966, Detroit and Newark in 1967, and countless cities–including Baltimore–in 1968, a decades-long shadow of racial exclusion, economic disinvestment, and police brutality hangs over the Baltimore communities that rose up in protest. Several people interviewed on the street described the death of Freddie Gray, though infuriating and tragic, as a reflection of a deeper pattern of structural inequality and systemic oppression. People said similar things about the incidents that sparked the riots of the 1960s. Then, as now, many commentators deflect these grievances through epithets like “thug” or vicious bromides about supposed social pathologies in communities of color. Continue reading