A lovely, wine-colored stack of freshly cased-in books, courtesy of one of my super-fantastic volunteers.
This piece on NPR yesterday combines two of my geekiest loves: space travel and preservation. (Don’t even ask how many times I’ve seen The Right Stuff or Apollo 13. The answer: Many.)
While it was interesting to hear about the specifics of what needs to happen to prepare the shuttle for exhibition, like removing toxic materials that could leak or off-gas and replacing the engines with replicas, what really caught my attention was the way the technicians talked about working on a shuttle bound for a museum rather than for space:"Once it gets on display, it'll be lifeless. Right now it's still got some life in it. It'll be hard seeing them dead and gone, so to speak." - Charles Bell, space shuttle technician
Are museums morgues - cold, dark storehouses for objects whose true purpose, whose “life,” is all used up? Is a space shuttle still a space shuttle if it never goes to space again? I don’t really think “conservator” is just another word for “mortician,” but I am fascinated by how people assign value and meaning to objects, what they see as the role(s) of museums (and other cultural heritage institutions), and their reactions to conservation efforts. Also, my grad school classmates and I totally used to joke about how clamshell boxes are like pretty little book coffins and that deacidfication & encapsulation can feel a lot like embalming.
Working just down the road from my alma mater has its perks: reminders of it pop up all over the place. This is a detail of a 1910 US Postal Service map of Wayne County, IN showing rural delivery routes. It’s part of a large collection of maps the library is in the process of making accessible through Indiana Memory, the state’s digital library. I’ve been cleaning, mending, and rehousing these maps in preparation for digitization and storage.