Tag Archives: Research

Selfie conscious

Vatican Museums, Rome
Vatican Museums, Rome
CC BY-NC-SA 2.0 image by Flickr user Fabian Mohr

Introduction
Visitors and their cameras. I thought I’d finished with this topic awhile ago. Visitor photography had been the third part of my Tilting at Windmills series, along with those other betes noir “immersion” and “participation”. I also wrote a follow up post of links on visitor photography for those really interested. The debate continues unabated, and as full of opinion masquerading as fact as it ever was. It’s grown to such epic proportions that MuseumsEtc is publishing a volume on museums and visitor photography. So, once more into the breach…

The National Gallery case

National Gallery, London.
National Gallery, London
CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 image by Flickr user staticantics

The ostensible cause of the latest outburst was the National Gallery in London’s decision to allow visitor photography in August.  One of the last “no photos!” bastions in Europe, the Gallery announced with no fanfare free Wi-Fi throughout the building, and tucked in with that announcement was a statement on their new photography policy.

Here’s what they said, as reported in the Telegraph:

“The introduction of free Wi-Fi throughout the public areas of the National Gallery is one of a number of steps we are taking to improve the welcome we provide.

“Wi-Fi enables our visitors to access additional information about the Collection and our exhibitions whilst actually here in the Gallery, and also to interact with us more via social media.

“As the use of Wi-Fi will significantly increase the use of tablets and mobile devices within the Gallery, it will become increasingly difficult for our Gallery Assistants to be able to distinguish between devices being used for engagement with the Collection, or those being used for photography.

“It is for that reason we have decided to change our policy on photography within the main collection galleries and allow it by members of the public for personal, non-commercial purposes -provided that they respect the wishes of visitors and do not hinder the pleasure of others by obstructing their views of the paintings. This is very much in line with policies in other UK museums and galleries.

“The use of flash and tripods will be prohibited, as will photography and filming in temporary exhibitions.

“Commercial photography remains subject to existing arrangements.”

Commence fireworks!

Showa Kinen Park Fireworks Festival ( Explore in Sep 6, 2014 )
Showa Kinen Park Fireworks Festival
CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 image by Flickr user yasa_

Not surprisingly, there was a lot of handwringing by journalists and bloggers who declared things like, “Camera phones at the National Gallery stoke fears that technology is leaving us incapable of deep engagement with anything”, and “Selfie-portrait of the artist: National Gallery surrenders to the internet”, and “Fears National Gallery will be ‘selfie central’ as photo ban is relaxed” And that’s just the mainstream media. You can imagine how the arts bloggers reacted. Eesh!

Within weeks, the chairman of the Arts Council, Sir Peter Bazalgette went on record supporting the idea of “selfie bans” for an hour a day, so people could get some relief from the hordes of picture snappers. And his was a fairly moderate opinion. The more absolutists were quite certain that doom was at hand.

Crowd Control 3
Crowd Control 3
CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 image by Flickr user Son of Groucho

Sarah Crompton, writing in the Telegraph, describes the typical scene that those opposed to photography paint; the swarm of unheeding photographers, ignoring the real to capture the facsimile. Walter Benjamin’s warning made manifest. “A man who concentrates before a work of art is absorbed by it… In contrast, the distracted mass absorbs the work of art.” Crompton’s experience is similar,

“The last time I was in MOMA in New York, I fought my way up to the floor where all the masterpieces by Picasso, Matisse and the Abstract Expressionists hang – and then fought my way back out again. The space was full not just of viewers but of photographers; it was impossible to stop, think and look at a painting amid the jostling crowds.”

In the face of that kind of scrum, can any meaningful interaction occur? Apparently not. She concludes,

“By allowing photography, galleries are betraying all those who want to contemplate rather than glance. Surrounded by the snappers, they may come to think that this is the acceptable way to consume art, a kind of constant grazing without any real meal.

That’s not a means of making art more popular or accessible. It is the surest path to depriving it of all purpose and meaning.”

Judith Dobrzynski, in an uncharacteristically moderate tone, agrees that a ban is needed. One hour’s a bit too short for her liking, though…

Virtually no major outlet reported the National Gallery’s decision as a win for visitors, or a positive outcome in any sense. Even in the field, there was little mention made of it. And it’s easy to see why. Other people taking pictures, especially selfies, is easy to mock. Rather than explain this at all, you should just go look at Josh Gondelman’s piece in the New Yorker, “Works from the Los Angeles Museum of Photographic Self-Portraiture”. Pretty genius, huh? You’re welcome.

Two thoughts about the National Gallery

So, why so much vitriol, and what could the Gallery have done differently? For the first question, Nina Simon’s already addressed it, so I’ll focus on the second. But, first, Nina.

Deal with the real problem
Nina tackles the National Gallery issue in a post, entitled, “Blame the Crowd, Not the Camera: Challenges to a New Open Photo Policy at the National Gallery” which unpacks the whole thing so neatly and completely that I won’t waste many more electrons on it. In the same way that “immersion” and “participation” get used as straw men for deeper issues, “selfies” have become the stand in for the real issue at the major art museums where this problem is most often highlighted – overcrowding.

Crowded Mona Lisa
Crowded Mona Lisa
CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 image by Flickr user Iris

Read any of the writers advocating photography bans, and you’ll find them all mentioning crowding as part of the experience that ruins it. I agree that photography exacerbates it and makes more apparent how unappealing crowding is, but I think that visitor photography gets the blame for a problem that’s much bigger and harder to tackle.  The experienced arts consumers may have given up on crowding as an unfixable problem, but I think it’s worth problematizing, rather than just taking it for granted. I dislike going to MoMA, or the Louvre, not because of the amateur photographers, but because they are like Tokyo subway cars, with art. How one deals with overcrowding is a totally different question than how one deals with cameras, and a solution to that bigger problem, I think, would probably resolve the smaller one. The responses to her post are as well worth reading as the post itself, so devote some time to it.

Don’t make a lemon out of lemonade
Looking over the whole affair, I think the National Gallery made a classic public relations blunder, and turned what was an unalloyed accomplishment to be proud of (introducing free Wi-Fi throughout the building) into a major media fiasco for one reason. They didn’t ever come out and say they wanted visitors to use their cameras. They essentially said “It’s too hard to monitor, so we’re not going to.” And that doesn’t reflect well on them, despite the obvious truth of it. And they reaped the whirlwind for it…

It *is* hard to tell what people are doing with their devices. Is that person taking a picture, or are they far-sighted and holding the phone at arm’s length so they can read their wretchedly small screen? Are they telling all their friends what a blast they’re having at the museum, or just searching for a new song to listen to because they’re bored? They all look pretty much the same, and anyone who thinks museums’ front line staff (who tend to be the least well-paid hourly workers) should make these kinds of fine judgements dozens or hundreds of times per shift all the while keeping an eye on the objects, fundamentally doesn’t get it.

Realistically, I think institutions have to clearly allow, or disallow visitors to use their devices, and whichever way they decide, they need to own that decision, and have it reflect the core values of the institution.

I’m totally down with the National Gallery’s decision to allow visitors to use their devices, because I think  providing free Wi-Fi was a good thing. Making it as easy as possible for visitors to access information about the museum and its scholarship should be a major priority for all museums. One way you do that is by knocking down as many barriers to access as you can. One of those barriers, particularly in art museums, is the amount of interpretation provided. I think my next Tumblr may have to be “Art museum visitors looking at Wikipedia because the label didn’t tell them anything they wanted to know.” The Gallery produces lots of information about their collection, and should be commended for making it easy for visitors to access it in a way that is visitor-driven. But in doing that, they should’ve come up with a reason to either encourage or discourage photography. Allowing it was a half measure, and putting that half measure in writing was a bad idea.

The Frick Example

Frick Dining Room HDR
Frick Dining Room HDR
CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 image by Flickr user Paul Gorbould

It needn’t be that way. The Frick Collection in New York, had long been a no go zone for photographers. Like the National Gallery, they quietly reversed their photo policy in April, and a month later, reinstated a photography ban, saying this to Hyperallergic,

“After a brief trial allowing photography throughout the permanent collection galleries, it has become apparent we need to limit use of cameras to the Garden Court. The Frick Collection is virtually unique and especially valued for its lack of protective barriers, vitrines, and stanchions around works of fine and decorative art, displayed in a domestic setting. This refinement of our photography policy has been determined necessary to maintain the safety of our exceptional collections.”

And the hue and cry about this flip flop? Non-existant. The Frick totally owns their photography ban. It’s essential to the experience of seeing the objects in such a unique, unmuseum-y setting. They get full marks for being experimental enough to try to revise their policy. It shows they’re paying attention to what the outside world is like. And their reversal shows that they’re paying attention to the visitor experience and are willing to change based on evidence.

Mind your manners, not the technology

This evolving relationship with visitor photography and whether it’s good or bad has a lot to do manners and perceived lack thereof. The museums mentioned above both put explicit suggestions in their photo policies. The Frick’s used to read in part, “When taking photographs, please be courteous to other museum visitors by not blocking their views of artworks or impeding their movement through the galleries.” The National Gallery’s asked visitors not hinder the pleasure of others with their photography. But as Jillian Steinhauer wrote in Hyperallergic, when the Frick’s photography ban was dropped, “Pleas like these haven’t yet proven very effective, but maybe as photography in museums becomes less and less of an anomaly, we can shift our energy to figuring out how to do it right.”

Part of this dilemma also has to do with how we’ve conditioned ourselves to treat photography, no doubt based on older, analogue models of the process, when walking in front of a photographer meant possibly ruining one of a finite number of exposures on a roll of film that cost real money to buy and develop. Regan Forrest pointed me at an interesting dissertation that examined the visitor dynamics of photography in museums.

“It is the reflex action of trying to remove one’s self from, or trying to avoid the space between photographer and object. People duck and scuttle away, walk in reverse, stop and lean backwards or make an obvious decision to adjust their previously chosen path to circumnavigate the photographer and his or her line of vision to the object being photographed. Noticeably, the same behaviour does not occur if the viewer is not holding a camera in the process of taking a photograph. The viewer standing back from an artwork merely looking at it, is not afforded the same extreme actions of diversion as when a camera is involved.  (Sager, J. F. (2008). The Contemporary Visual Art Audience: Space, Time and a Sideways Glance University of Western Sydney. pp174-175)

Our learned response to photographers is to give them wide berth, whether they ask for (or deserve) it. And we don’t seem to privilege looking at objects the same way. If you’ve had someone come stand directly in front of you to look at the object you’re looking at, you know the truth of this. And this where I think there’s really interesting room for engagement with our audiences.

Perhaps one of the best outcomes of all this angst will be some hard discussions around the visitor experience in museums and what factors contribute or detract from a good one. What should the current etiquette for museum-going be? What are the new rules of the road for having a rewarding experience engaging with our heritage? I’ll be looking at place like the Brooklyn Museum for inspiration.

Since this focused so much on the downsides of visitor photography, I’ll spend the next post looking at some positive examples of visitor photography in museums.

On Big Ideas

Hmm, another strangely personal post…

In between wishing I was at NDF2012 in New Zealand and InterComm2012 in Sydney, I got to hang out with some old friends and wound up talking about some of the same themes I think about in a professional context.  So, since it kept getting in the way of the other things I should be writing, here it is.   

Over the Thanksgiving Day weekend I had the rare privilege of spending the evening with some of my oldest friends, people I’ve known since high school and kept hold of over the years. It was full of wonderful moments, like realizing that my daughter is now the age we were when we first became friends, and how marvelous it is to have people around who knew you when you were just starting out on this whole “being a grown-up” adventure.   It was also interesting to realize that we were still having the “What do I want to be when I grow up?” conversation.  Only now, we weren’t talking about colleges and majors, but about half-built careers and new directions.

Partway through the night, when there were just three of us left, my friend asked us if he could share something very confidential, with that look that says he was serious. We of course said yes, and he told us his big secret; he had a Big Idea, something that could be his life’s work if he could figure out how to get his brain around it, which he hadn’t been able to do. He hoped that by finally telling somebody about it, we might be able to help him figure out A) was this even really a Big Idea, or was it just a silly, unattainable dream, and if it was, B) how to figure out how to move forward. The resulting conversation brought together a lot of ideas that have been appearing over the past few months here and at conferences about personal professional development and agency. As I’ve written in previous posts, personal learning networks are something in which I’m very interested. Part of that interest comes from being involved in a number of strategic projects that require all kinds of skills I used to consider being outside my core competencies as an exhibit developer. Part of the interest comes from finally getting a better handle on exactly the same question, “What do I want to be when I grow up?”

Four hours later, we realized it was time to head our separate ways and far from answering his question, we’d just replaced his huge, nebulous concern with a legion of specific concerns. But everyone was smiling and energized by the conversation, and I look forward to seeing how he synthesizes what we discussed into a plan of action.

The context

My friend is a budding humanities scholar and had found that rarest of academic treasures; the important question that nobody seems to have asked yet. I obviously won’t go into details, but he had realized that there was an unanswered question that was global in scope and impact and he was trying to figure out whether he needed to apply to a PhD program so he could work on this problem. He was very concerned about not sharing the question for fear of someone stealing it. As he saw it, his prize was an academic book on the subject, and the problem was how to do the staggering amount of research necessary to tackle the question without giving away what the question was until he was ready to publish. And of course the ever-present American concern of how to manage the debt load of higher education. It was a tough knot to unravel.

So, like good friends do, we questioned his framing of his problem and spent hours hammering on the same themes I often seem to cover at work these days; going back to first principles and asking the hard questions like; “What does success look like to you?” “What role do you see yourself playing in this endeavor?” “Who is the audience for the work, and is the vehicle (an academic book) the right one to reach them?” What we were really doing was help him articulate a career plan/personal learning program, and it’s a good exercise to undertake.

Here are some of the highlights of that conversation that, I think, are broadly applicable whether you’re an EMP, a mid-career type, or even a senior manager.

Find the right people to help you figure out what’s the real story

My friend had only one image of what working on his dream looked like; get a PhD, have to teach somewhere and work on his Big Idea as part of the package of being an academic. As described his problem to us, we immediately saw trouble with this; the kinds of skills and expertise he’d need to really tackle his Big Question were not likely to be what he’d get from a PhD. Most of what he described as being essential to the project involved normalizing and analyzing mountains of scattered quantitative data, and trying to draw research from another field into his field. Really interesting, cross-cutting research requiring a diverse array of skills, and a lot of grunt work. But the only model he had was that of his professors, who were at least a generation older, with the corresponding skill sets. His problem, as he saw it, was one thing. The minute he had to put it into words and describe it to us, it became clear to all of us that his problem was a very different one. Years of internal dialogue hadn’t gotten him as far as four hours and a couple of rounds of drinks had with two friends. I’ve had this same thing happen to me a couple of times over the past year, and both times my big nebulous problem turned into a very different-looking list of specific problems that were individually tractable enough to allow me to make progress.

What role do you want to play in the story of your life?

One point we made to my friend over and over was to think about what role he wanted to play in realizing his life’s work. Did he see himself as the lone researcher, finding all the data himself and doing the hard work? Or, did he see himself as the vision keeper, marshalling his people to go out and find the data and inspiring others to pursue the Big Plan he had? Or something else? It seemed clear to the two of us hearing the story for the first time that it would be impossible for a lone researcher to accomplish the work he’d described in a lifetime, but we needed to walk through all the jobs that would be required in order for him to see it himself. Who was going to comb through archives and repositories on multiple continents for the data he’d need? Who was going to take on the serious number-crunching his project would require? If it was he, he’d need another degree just to have the chops to assemble a dataset he could query, let alone analyze. And he was able to say “No, somebody else could take that part.” and admit he didn’t really feel like getting a Stats degree, then it was easier to put down his obviously dearly-held vision that he’d do it all himself, and see himself needing to be more of an executive producer than a writer.

What does success look like to you?

My friend’s vision of success was one I could totally relate to; write the book on the subject.  It’s a great vision, but it’s quite a narrow one. As we talked, many different outcomes for his work came up, a film or films, crowdsourcing efforts to build a global network of volunteers interested in his problem, institutions that might sponsor his work, and/or take it on as part of their mission. Would any of these count as “success”? He thought they might. As he focused less on one product as the only indicator of success, the possible ways to move forward increased, pitfalls became less dangerous, and the steps he needed to take became clearer.

What do you know you don’t yet know, and how are you going to learn it?

One way to attack a wicked problem is to break it down. For my friend, figuring out how to proceed to realize his ambition would require lots of things to happen in a particular sequence. For many of those steps, he lacked specific knowledge, skills and access to the networks that would move him forward.  Though we’d dismissed getting a PhD as the only route to success, we spent a long time talking about how he could look at getting an advanced degree as a tool to validate his hypotheses for the Big Idea, gain specific skills he’d need down the road, and develop enough of an idea so that he could demonstrate how the full implementation of it might look, and put a flag in the ground, so to speak, establishing his claim on the idea. I wished at one point that I’d done the same thing when I embarked on my own Master’s program. I think it’ll help him enormously as he tries to sort out whether he needs a PhD or a Master’s degree, what schools might be more amenable to an outlier project like his, and what kinds courses he’ll need.

What are the milestones that will tell you you’re on the right track, and how must they be phased in order to bootstrap you from phase to phase?

My friend had been paralyzed by the size of the project he’d envisioned, not because he couldn’t do the work, but because he hadn’t been able to see it as a sequence of discrete steps that built upon each other to achieve his ultimate goal. Our other friend runs a very successful user interface R&D shop and was very good at taking his idea apart and turning it into a work plan. Figuring out what you need to do to get to the next step is a lot easier than trying to figure out the whole puzzle at once, and we were able to brainstorm a long list of steps, and milestones that could get him a good way down the road. Project Management 101 stuff, you might say, and you’d be right. But lots of us don’t tend to think of our careers as a project, and my experience has been that fewer still manage their careers as actively as a project manager monitors even a  simple project.

Who is your tribe? Where can you find them, and how can you start building your coalition?

This theme came up repeatedly at the MCN Directors’ Roundtable as a vital skill to possess in any museum, and I’d argue it’s probably generalizable to most fields. For the big ideas, the ones that stand a chance of having major impact, finding the people who can help you realize your goals is critical to overcoming resistance. This requires being a great communicator, and that is something worthy of attention and effort.

Making a museum from scratch: Part One – inspirational readings

While my small reptilian brain tries to ingest and synthesize the many brilliant comments and emails you sent in response to Part One, I thought I’d pass along some of the background reading I’d been doing while writing the first post.

Museums of the future: providing the personal, collaborating with the crowd | Culture professionals network | Guardian Professional

http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture-professionals-network/culture-professionals-blog/2012/may/17/museum-development-future-debate?newsfeed=true

Amazon.com: Reinventing the Museum: The Evolving Conversation on the Paradigm Shift: Gail Anderson
http://www.amazon.com/Reinventing-Museum-Evolving-Conversation-Paradigm/dp/0759119651/

Center for the Future of Museums: Some Notes on the Future of History Museums

http://futureofmuseums.blogspot.com/2012/05/some-notes-on-future-of-history-museums.html?spref=tw

The Future of Museums | HASTAC

http://hastac.org/forums/future-museums

What Comes After Digital? – Collections Trust

http://t.co/mn70OcMZ

Seeing museums in 2060 « The Learning Planet

http://thelearningplanet.wordpress.com/2012/05/08/seeing-museums-in-2060/

Press Releases New Report Explores Roles of Libraries and Museums in an Era of Participatory Culture

http://www.imls.gov/new_report_explores_roles_of_libraries_and_museums_in_an_era_of_participatory_culture.aspx

Asking (and answering) the Big Questions

Well, it’s been a heady couple of weeks!  I got an invite from Neal Stimler to submit a video response to a crowdsourced presentation he’s making at MCN 2011 titled “Philosophical Leadership Needed for the Future: Digital Humanities Scholars in Museums”.  He’s soliciting answers to three questions:

Question 1:
How can museums advance beyond the continuation of traditional practices utilizing digital tools to a new mode of interpretation that seeks to understand the meanings of collections and scholarship in a new media culture?

Question 2:
What is required of museums to establish digital humanities research centers within the framework of existing institutions?

Question 3:
Why might interdisciplinary and non-traditional scholars from outside the established professional ranks make the best leaders needed for inspired change in the philosophical directions of museums?

Q1 is pretty important stuff. How do we move beyond using new tools to do old tasks, and come to grips with what it means to be a museum in the new media world? Q2 did nothing for me, and I question the wording of Q3 as being pretty leading.  I still haven’t formulated my response, but there’s still time. You’ve got til Nov. 3rd.

While this was percolating, I almost simultaneously read Nina Simon’s post on “What are the Most Important Problems in our Field?” and got an email from Rob Stein asking me to respond to “The Challenges and Opportunities of Participatory Culture” for the Salzburg Global Seminar.  He also started a hashtag, #museumchallenges, to capture the wisdom of the hive mind.  Rather than start yet another discussion of this, I highly recommend you check out both posts. The questions they ask are different, but complimentary, and the quality of the comments on each are great! There’s about a year’s worth of learning contained in there!

Two things that struck me were Nina’s invoking of mathematician Richard Hamming, who said

“If you do not work on an important problem, it’s unlikely you’ll do important work…  It’s not the consequence that makes a problem important, it is that you have a reasonable attack. That is what makes a problem important. When I say that most scientists don’t work on important problems, I mean it in that sense. The average scientist, so far as I can make out, spends almost all his time working on problems which he believes will not be important and he also doesn’t believe that they will lead to important problems.”

and Nancy Proctor’s response to Rob, which ended,

“I think we need to be very suspicious of the fetishization of the new in this period where there is a constant stream of shiny new toys to dazzle us with the promise of starting over in a Brave New World. Let’s make sure we don’t deceive ourselves, like Columbus discovering America, but rather undertake the much harder, less sexy, but ultimately more sustainable task of radically restructuring our museums and practices even as we work within those very institutions.”

The two comments neatly form the horns of a dilemma that plagues many of us who have been in museum work for any length of time — how to discern what matters from what’s getting all the attention. Something I’ve been wrestling with myself has been trying to define what are the problems that most deserve my attention at work, and whether I can attack them, and if so, how. Just getting them down on paper and trying to tease out whether I have any way to address them is a fascinating exercise.  It can be so easy to fall into the trap of fixating on problems that are beyond your control that it’s easy to lose sight of those that maybe can be solved.

Go visit Rob and Nina and share your light with us! We certainly need all the help we can get.

A letter from Gibraltar

a selection of curiosities from "Museum of Science: Then and Now"

We’ll be releasing a mobile app in the Fall to accompany a new permanent exhibition on the history of the Museum. As part of the research for that, I spent a day in the Boston Athenaeum looking through their manuscripts collections for information on the Linnaean Society of New England, a predecessor of the Museum of Science that operated from 1814-1823.  One of my favorite parts of research is when you find an object or document that so neatly encompasses an era or an idea that it practically sings.  I found two at the Athenaeum, and I wanted to share one. It starts thus,

U.S.S Washington, Gibraltar Bay, Feb 18, 1817.
Mr. Shaw,
Dear Sir,
I beg leave to recommend to your care the enclosed letter & accompanying box. The box is principally filled with specimens in nat. hist. For the Linn. Soc. but as it contains some private packages, I wish it to be opened by one of the persons to whom it is directed.

This is the third time I have troubled you in this way; but I have done so, presuming on your well-known disposition to aid all endeavors, however small, to advance the cause of science in our country.  What I am able to contribute to this end is certainly very inconsiderable, but “Non sunt contemnenda quasi parva, sine quibus Constare magna non possunt.” ["Those things are not to be disparaged as little, without which great things cannot come into being." - St. Jerome]

I am, Sir, respectfully, yr. obedt. servt.
Ch: Folsom.

Folsom sent a series of letters to William Shaw, the vice-president of the Linnaean Society.  The letter accompanied a large box of specimens that included Roman coins, volcanic rock from Vesuvius, marine creatures, an ostrich skeleton, a chameleon he hatched from an egg, and several pages. His explanation of his collecting is classic,

“In the large box you will find a farrago of specimens in natural history, which I have collected as I could, not without expence of patience, & occasionally of money. I fear some of them may seem hardly worth notice; but they interested me at the time of collecting them, & are connected in my mind with interesting places & circumstances.”

His letters are marvelous, written in a large bold hand, and full of the kind of details about his objects that so often get lost by the time they get into collections databases.  You can almost see him in the wardroom of the Washington, looking at his instructions on how to preserve birds, trying to eviscerate an adult ostrich in his spare time.  His crew mates must have loved him!

The objects themselves are long-gone, along with the rest of the Society’s collections, so his descriptions are all that is left. Folsom goes to great pains to explain his lack of skill. Specimens are poorly preserved, or all that was left after he tried to preserve them. But his snake wasn’t just a snake. It was one he caught climbing up the rudder in Chesapeake Bay. The ostrich was a gift to the Commodore from the Bey of Tunis, which lived aboard ship til it sickened and died, apparently from eating too much rope, “which it consumed avidly.” When he autopsied it, Folsom found its stomach completely full of scraps of rope and other tidbits. Every object possesses some personal meaning for Folsom as well as value to a new museum as specimens. At an old institution, where so many of the object have outlived all the people who were associated with their collection, it’s easy to forget that they all once possessed these narratives.

I was looking for an example of the collecting strategies employed by my distant predecessors, and came up with Lieut. Folsom, much to my delight.  But who was this intrepid benefactor, and aspiring naturalist? Some sleuthing was required.

USS Washington, from an old book

In early 1817, the USS Washington, a 74 gun ship of the line built in Portsmouth, NH, was cruising the Mediterranean as the flagship of Commodore Chauncey’s squadron. Information on Folsom was hard to come by, but luckily he had a crew mate who made quite a name for himself later. The most famous member of the Washington’s crew was a teenager from Tennessee named David Farragut, who was already a seasoned veteran at age 16, and would become Admiral of the U.S. Navy during the American Civil War, where he uttered his famous order, “Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!”

Midshipman Farragut’s  instructor (who would become his lifelong friend) was the ship’s Unitarian chaplain, Lieut. Charles Folsom.  Folsom served briefly aboard Washington before being named U.S. Consul at Tunis.  Upon leaving the ship, he secured an extended leave for his young friend to stay with him in Tunis and continue his study of mathematics, as well as French, Italian, Arabic and Turkish.

It’s tempting to imagine the chaplain and his midshipman collecting rocks on the beaches of the Bay of Naples, or catching lizards in the ruins of Carthage, but that’s a bit of a leap to make. More of Folsom’s papers are at the Mass. Historical Society, so someday I might have to dig a little more and see what other gems I might uncover. For now, I’ll hope the we can afford the license and duplication fees, so Lieut. Folsom’s letter can enjoyed by more people.

I do love this work.