AIC’s 40th Annual Meeting – Thoughts on Outreach and Advocacy

Last week, I attended the 40^th annual meeting of the American Institute for Conservation, held in Albuquerque, NM.  It’s always good to reconnect with colleagues and with the conservation field at large, and this year was no exception.

The theme for this meeting was “Connecting to Conservation: Outreach and Advocacy,” and much discussion was devoted to social media and blogs like this one.  In an inspiring keynote address, Dr. Anne-Imelda Radice, former director of the Institute of Museum and Library Services, encouraged conservators to advocate for themselves politically, raising the profile of the profession by demanding improved funding and recognition at the local and especially the national level.  The effectiveness of this plea was its immediacy, encouraging the conservation field to empower itself and advocate for its own needs.

Many other sessions underscored conservation’s advocacy for related causes, such as libraries, museums, the arts, and education.  While online outreach allows the creation of targeted, digital interest groups, the move toward publicly featuring conservation treatment demonstrates the power of first-hand observation.  Professional outreach is equally important; my talk, “Toward an Ontology of Audio Preservation,” generated thoughtful discussion on the topics of authenticity and reformatting at the Electronic Media Group session.

There has been a concerted effort in recent years to bring conservation out of hidden, basement labs and into the public eye.  When carefully balanced against workflow needs, this trend can elevate the profile of the profession and its host institutions alike.  Of course, much of this promotion is driven by fundraising needs within perennially underfunded arts and humanities institutions.  Ideally, our outreach function as conservators is to find ways in which fundraising and educational goals go hand in hand.  That way, libraries, museums, and the conservation field can elevate each other’s profiles together, and development directors and conservators can shake hands and be happy partners.

Informal Research on Washing and Deacidification

Since last August, I have been pursuing an informal treatment study on batches of Civil War-era documents undergoing washing and deacidification.  Today, I’d like to share some informal, preliminary results.  First, a very cursory overview of some relevant conservation chemistry.

Paper inscribed with iron gall ink, like these Civil War documents, frequently undergoes two types of degradation.  One type is caused by the presence of acid in the paper.  The second type is caused by the presence of iron ions in the ink.  Both types of degradation weaken paper, causing it to discolor, become brittle, and break.

Washing and deacidification treatments address the first problem by neutralizing pH and adding alkaline buffer.  In recent years, chelation treatments have been developed to address the second problem.  These treatments lock up iron ions and make them unable to continue damaging paper. 

I frequently pursue washing and deacidification in the TSLAC lab, and I have been considering introducing a chelation workflow, as well.  To help make that decision, I decided to evaluate the effectiveness of my current treatment by measuring acidity and iron ion presence in the Civil War documents before and after treatment.  Surface pH is measured with an Extech handheld pH meter, and iron ion presence is evaluated with iron gall test papers developed by the ICN conservation program in the Netherlands.  I classify the test paper results from 0 (no iron ions indicated) to 4 (iron ions strongly indicated.)

Given published research, I expected that washing and deacidification would affect paper pH strongly, but would have a negligible impact on iron ion levels.  My preliminary results are surprising.  Average pH increase was more modest than expected: it changed from 4.40 before treatment to 5.56 after, for an average change of 1.16.  Average reduction in iron ion presence was more pronounced than expected:  rankings changed from 1.7 before treatment to 0.4 after, for an average change of -1.3.  Not only does the after-treatment paper remain surprisingly acidic, but it also shows a surprisingly marked reduction in iron ions given that chelation was not pursued. 

These results are very informal, and testing continues monthly.  Myriad explanations can be imagined, not least including inaccuracies inherent in surface pH measurements.  (The unsuitability of destructive sampling is a frequent challenge in conservation research.)  Perhaps additional baths are needed to improve pH.  Perhaps without chelation, the iron ions become more diffuse during washing, creating risks less localized but more pervasive.  I’d be very curious to hear other conservators’ thoughts and interpretations as I consider future washing, deacidification, and chelation treatments.

Microphotography and Fiber Assessment

I recently had occasion to test the mettle of our microscope equipment here in the lab, and I’m pleased to say it rose to the challenge.  Sarah Sokolow, a graduate student at the University of Texas School of Information, asked if we could take some microphotographs of the silk textile in a wedding dress held in TSLAC’s collections.  Sarah explains a bit more about her project:

This semester I am conducting a preservation needs assessment of particular historical artifacts from the collections at TSLAC. The historical artifacts that I am focusing on are costumes and accessories that belonged to Lucadia Pease (wife of former Texas Governor Elisha M. Pease) and Mirabeau Lamar. In this assessment I am focusing on the current condition of the artifacts and methods to improve this condition with recommendations for better storage. Also, I am researching different methods to exhibit these artifacts where they will not be harmed in the exhibition process.

The lab’s microphotography capabilities have been used only sparingly, so this project yielded an excellent opportunity to experiment with them.  At first, I anticipated using the microscope on its boom stand to photograph the textile in situ.  I sent Sarah the following test shot:

Textile photo test with ambient light.

Sarah replied in that she actually needed a higher level of magnification in order to compare our photos with those in the Fiber Reference Image Library (FRIL) maintained by Ohio State University.  With that reference, I realized we were seeking microphotography on the level of individual fibers.  This led to an entirely different strategy.

Microphotography for fiber analysis requires making a slide from several small fibers and examining that slide with transmitted light, rather than simply the ambient light in the room (as in the photo above.)  I moved the microscope back to its transmitted light stand and prepared to make a slide.  When Sarah arrived, we removed a small, loose thread from the dress (approximately 5 mm long,) teased apart its fibers, and enclosed them between a microscope slide and cover with water.  The resulting images are detailed enough for comparison with similar silk fibers in the FRIL.

Silk fibers viewed with transmitted light.

 

Silk fibers viewed with transmitted light.

 

Such close examination of individual fibers can help conservators identify the fibers’ type and origin.  Sarah hopes our photos, in comparison with those in the FRIL, will help her characterize the dress’ condition in order to make future storage recommendations.  We look forward to her report and hope the conservation lab can continue to provide technical support for future research projects. 

 

 

 

 

Sam Houston, Andrew Jackson, and Thomas Jefferson

One of the most enjoyable things about conservation is the unpredictability and variety of the work.  Today, I’d like to paint a brief portrait of one especially interesting piece of correspondence I recently treated.

Sam Houston Introduction Letter - address information visible in upper left.

This 1823 letter is Andrew Jackson’s introduction of Sam Houston to Thomas Jefferson.  My work on the letter coincided with reading H.W. Brands’ Lone Star Nation, an engaging refresher on Texas history even for those who had it drilled into us as schoolchildren.  The timing couldn’t have been better, because Brands’ book puts a very human face on the friendship and mentorship between Jackson and Houston.

Young Houston first met General Jackson while serving under his command in the War of 1812.  Houston followed Jackson into Tennessee politics, becoming a congressman from 1823 – 1827, and governor from 1827 – 1829.  After resigning his governorship when his marriage crumbled in 1829, Houston eventually began his life anew in Texas.  Jackson continued to support him, especially regarding possible US annexation of the region.

Thus this 1823 letter coincides with the 30-year-old Houston’s election to the House of Representatives, a time in which a newly-minted congressman would have eagerly sought new introductions to influential people.  It’s no wonder that Jackson, himself bound for the presidency from 1829 – 1837, would have helped his protégé enter Washington life.  The introduction was timely; Jefferson, already an 80-year-old man in 1823, died in 1826.

The Houston Introduction Letter had some unusual condition issues when it appeared in the lab.  At some point in the past, the letter had been cut into 15 separate pieces, primarily along pre-existing fold lines.  These sections had then been adhered to thin pieces of silk, as was a past preservation practice.  Strangely, small gaps had been left inbetween the cut sections, leaving a grid-like appearance.  Investigation revealed the lining had been adhered with a combination of water-soluble paste and non-archival white glue, much like commercially marketed Elmer’s (see previous entry, “Problem Solving in Paper Conservation.”)

Transmitted light shows gaps between cut sections.

It’s impossible to say where, when, or why these previous steps were taken.  They might have happened even before our institution acquired the document.  However, they highlight the importance of reversibility, a central tenet of modern conservation practice.  Because of items like the Houston Introduction Letter, we know that current practice may not remain best practice forever, and we strive to learn from these past mistakes.  Accordingly, ethical conservation treatments comprise changes that can be undone in order to minimize their permanent impact on historical items.

 

Mending cut pieces together after removing silk lining.

During treatment, I removed the silk lining, de-acidified the paper, and mended the pieces back together, closing the distracting gaps.  Age and wear have rendered those gaps still partially visible, but overall the treatment improved legibility and reduced visual disturbance.  And, if a future custodian finds that those cuts were historically important (for example, if Jackson had made the cuts himself,) my mends can be reversed and the letter returned to pieces.

After treatment, the gaps have been closed as possible.

Here’s to a long life for this document of a fascinating confluence of people.

Problem Solving in Paper Conservation

When I talk to new acquaintances about conservation, I receive an alarming number of immediate comparisons with the National Treasure films, capers that blend American history, conspiracy theories, and Hollywood glitter.  I assure these acquaintances and all current readers that these movies have very little in common with the field of conservation.  But in the spirit of adventure films, I’ll begin today’s post with a quote from the fictional, swashbuckling archaeologist Indiana Jones:

“Snakes.  I hate snakes.”

Why start here?  Because Jones’ longstanding antipathy toward his slithering nemeses parallels my professional feelings about an increasingly common foe: the white glue commercially known as Elmer’s.

For repair purposes, archives typically use water-soluble, reversible adhesives like wheat starch paste.  These adhesives are ideal because they allow previous repairs to be undone when needed, such as removing a silk lining from a paper document.  Reversibility is a central concept in modern conservation, but this wasn’t always the case.  Items that were repaired many years ago, or were repaired by dealers or collectors, were often subjected to whatever materials were on hand.

Lately, I’ve encountered a number of documents lined with silk and a combination of paste and white glue.  At first glance, these documents give no cause for alarm.  But once placed in a bath, the linings remain stubbornly adhered in tiny spots all over the document.  Closer examination then reveals small, milky-white spots of glue, swelled by the water, but not fully reversed.

What’s a conservator to do?  Simply put, get creative and use chemistry.  We know that Elmer’s glue, and white glue in general, is much like the common bookbinding adhesive PVA.  And we know that a Teas chart is a tool that maps various solvents according to their solubility parameters.  Let’s find a Teas chart for PVA, and then, through careful testing, let’s see if any of the solvents effective on PVA will work on our white glue.  Bingo: ethyl acetate.

Ethyl acetate seems to work best when the white glue has already been swelled with water.  It evaporates quickly, so it requires quick, localized work.  But I’ve found it to be quite helpful in removing linings and reducing residual adhesive afterwards.  Treated items receive a final water bath to flush any remaining solvent.  I’d be very curious to hear from other paper conservators any experiences, thoughts, or concerns about using ethyl acetate in this way.

One last personal observation on white glue: it only seems to appear on high-profile treatments involving especially famous or valuable items.  And it appears on these items more regularly than even Murphy’s Law would dictate.  My theory is that these highly valued items have been highly valued for many years, and as a result, their past treatments were probably designed to be extra strong.  If someone incorrectly thought that a water-soluble adhesive might be a weak adhesive, then perhaps that person might have added some white glue to their paste for good measure.

Or perhaps I just have bad luck. I’ll watch out for snakes.

I Found It in the Archives!

TSLAC is participating in the Society of American Archivists’ “I Found It in the Archives!” contest.  The event offers a chance for visitors and researchers to share stories about the treasures they’ve discovered at TSLAC, and helps promote archival research.

I find all kinds of interesting things in the archives, or, rather, those things find me when they come to the conservation lab.  Two finds from this week represent the breadth of the historical materials housed in archival collections.

The Big
Sometimes archival holdings put a fine point on major events in history, such as this ticket to the presidential welcome dinner in Austin November 22, 1963.  President Kennedy, Vice President Johnson, and their wives were to attend; Kennedy was shot in Dallas earlier that day.  This ticket, along with an invitation and program for the event, are part of a larger, donated collection of newspapers and magazines documenting the Kennedy assassination.  The materials have come to the lab for assessment of whether they should be removed from their library bindings.

Kennedy Welcome Dinner invitation

The Small
Though big finds are impressive, sometimes the small finds are the ones that really humanize the historical record.  Probably my favorite find from this week is the following letter from the 1920s, written from a mother to a son, which reminds us that some facets of family life remain unchanged throughout the years.  Note how the author pulls no punches from the letter’s first sentence.  This letter is part of a collection in the lab for basic cleaning, flattening, and mending to stabilize the correspondence for researcher use.

Dear Thad, What is the matter with you that you don't write to me?

Archives offer unique, unpublished treasures that can be startling in their immediacy, especially as people grow accustomed to learning and interacting onscreen and online.  Learn more about TSLAC’s “I Found It in the Archives!” contest on our website, and plan an archives visit soon!

A Pirate Diary and its Inky Mystery

I recently completed a condition report on an extensively fire- and water-damaged book believed to be a diary of the legendary Gulf Coast pirate Jean Lafitte.  There are many layers of complexity to this item, whose authenticity has long been questioned.  Its condition is poor; its maker’s identity is unclear; it has unexplained structural features that could indicate alteration; and its subject was himself a near-mythical figure whose life story is difficult to pin down.  Discussing this item in full is beyond the scope of a single blog entry; it was nearly beyond the scope of a lengthy condition report!  However, I would like to address one intriguing issue that demonstrates how the information in books goes beyond the written word and into the physical artifact.

The Lafitte Diary is a puzzling artifact with extensive physical damage.

First, to dispel the romantic notions that inevitably arise regarding a pirate diary, physical evidence suggests that this volume incurred much of its damage during a 1960s-era house fire, rather than a daring rescue from a sinking ship.  Water damage frequently accompanies fire damage due to efforts to extinguish the flames.  Tidelines and cockling typical of a water event appear throughout the volume.  However, a stranger phenomenon is observed in the writing, as the brownish-black ink shifts to unexpected purple and red colors.

The ink shifts to purple.

 

The ink shifts to red.

As would be expected for this time period (1845 – 1850,) chemical tests confirm that the ink in this volume is iron gall.  However, iron gall ink does not typically display these color shifts, which indicate that some kind of water-soluble or pH-sensitive dye was added to the ink mixture.  I began to wonder if this added dye could help us address some of the item’s authenticity issues.

Feasible dyes for the time period might have included traditional, organic materials like brazilwood or cochineal.  But in 1856, a major change occurred in the dye industry: William Perkin invented mauve, the first synthetic chemical dye.  Aniline dyes like mauve were relatively easy to make in bulk, and they became extremely popular in the second half of the 19^th century.

Mauve is a lavender color not entirely dissimilar from the color shifts observed in the ink in the Lafitte Diary.  If the Lafitte ink tested positive for aniline dye, then we could safely say that the ink was made after the dates attributed to the diary, which might help settle the authenticity debate once and for all.  But there’s a catch: after research and consultation with colleagues, I can’t identify a test for aniline dye!

Should any readers be familiar with such a test, please do pass it along!  And in the meantime, remember that books, as physical artifacts, carry significant information that goes beyond the written word, and that cannot be captured in a digital transfer.  Perhaps one day we’ll find the physical clue that helps us understand the true nature of the complicated Lafitte Diary.

Who am I?