The biggest new understanding I have is how museums attempt to be an educational resource for the public. I had no idea that so much planning went into all aspects of the educational experience presented by a museum, from planning programming and events to organizing galleries with a specific flow to reaching out to the public beyond the museum walls and making collections available on the internet and technology. To me, the recent push to digitize and embrace the digital age is the most exciting thing that museums are beginning to tackle. Social media and the internet in general are integral to our lives now, and if museums want to stay relevant, I think it’s important for them to be current and keep up with this movement. Not only that, but these platforms can be used extensively for educational purposes, communication of ideas, and opening museums to many other new possibilities for sharing all that they have to offer with the public. The museum world needs innovative minds, like Nina Simon whose TED talk we watched, to continue to push boundaries and engage people in the wonderful things they have to share.

I have loved the learning and discussion that has taken place in this course. Previously unaware of how dynamic and intricate museums and their operation are, I feel like I will never be able to visit one without ideas from our discussions entering my mind again.

After wandering through the galleries for a little while, I chose to examine Dale Chihuly’s Peacock Blue and Yellow Seafoam Set with Yellow Lip Wraps. The huge glass piece is set in the middle of a stand, with its two smaller components arranged off to the side in front of the base. The entire thing is encased in glass, and the surface that the pieces rest on on top of the stand is glass as well. The stand with the glass objects in it is set at the bottom of the stairwell so that guests going upstairs or coming down pass it on their way. The quality of light in the stairwell always strikes me, because it is so different there than in any other place in the museum. Here, there are great big windows that let in natural light from outside.

While I would normally think that the bottom of the stairs is an odd place to exhibit a piece, almost as if it were an afterthought and it had just sort of been shoved there, it’s my personal belief that it is there so that viewers can see it in this light. In the brightness, the patterns and textures in the glass come alive, and the colors are strikingly vivid. The natural light really enhances the viewing experience of the objects in this way. While it would be nice if the pieces weren’t covered by a glass case so as to avoid the glare that the bright light makes on it, thus impeding visitors’ view, I of course understand why it has to be displayed this way. The glass pieces are too fragile to risk someone bumping and breaking them.

When I played tennis in high school, the gym bag I carried all my gear around in was a mess. I always had too much stuff crammed in it and would go weeks without cleaning it out.

I was in a rush to get to a preseason practice one summer morning when I carelessly threw everything I needed into my bag, including my cell phone and a water bottle, and ran out the door. When I got to practice and pulled the bag out of the back seat of my car, the whole thing was dripping wet. It turns out I hadn’t screwed the top on my water bottle tightly, and it had soaked the entire contents of my bag…including my poor little cell. I dug it out of the bottom of my bag where a puddle had formed in despair. I wasn’t at all surprised when it wouldn’t turn on. I figured I had fried the electronics of the device (especially after I opened the back to take the battery out, and a stream of water came out, too). Having to pay to replace the phone was certainly motivation to organize my bag a bit more carefully, and to try not to rush around as much!

When looking at the programming at the museum for the spring, the event Horns a Plenty event jumped out at me. This particular program caught my eye because I love music. I’m involved in a choral ensemble on campus, and have participated in musical endeavors all the way back to those obligatory piano lessons that every parent forces their child to take and that I can now hardly remember. While I’ve always enjoyed learning and performing music, I also enjoy supporting friends who are performing and seeking out other performances to attend just because it’s something I enjoy.

I would attend this program alone, but would prefer to go with a friend or two. The only problem is that I can think of very few friends here who would be willing to attend. The ones who would are those who I sing and perform with in the School of Music, because they share this similar interest. My parents would probably like to go to something like this as well, because it’s something they enjoy. As a result, they are the ones who influenced and encouraged me to immerse myself in this culture and to pursue my interest in music.

My earliest memory of being in a museum is a field trip I took with one of my classes sometime in elementary school to the local historical society’s museum in my hometown of Williamsport, PA, the Thomas T. Taber Museum. The museum is in a tiny building in the historic district of downtown and houses only three permanent exhibitions.

Of these, I remember the exhibition of the Shempp Model Train Collection in the basement of the space most clearly. The room was packed with rows upon rows of glass display cases full of vintage toy trains. I can’t think of the space without recalling the Lionel train commercial for the model train piggy bank that I used to see on TV all the time as a kid. While most of the trains were behind glass, some were set up and running on tables, and one ran around a track over our heads that was suspended from the ceiling.

The purpose of the trip was to expose us to the history of the area as presented in the “Walk Through Time” exhibition upstairs about our county, but most of us were much more taken with the interactivity of the trains in the basement. I remember being blown away that the museum owns twelve one-of-a-kind model trains and oogling at them in the display cases. Understandably, the trains — especially the ones I could play with — were more captivating to me as an elementary school student than paintings depicting the history of the lumbering industry in the area.

To list a few questions…

What are the undergraduate requirements before pursuing graduate work in conservation?

How important is the knowledge of chemistry to conservation?

What are the most common techniques used to preserve works on paper? How long does it take to apply these techniques? How are these techniques different from those for other mediums?

How have conservation techniques improved over the past few years/decades? How are they different now?

Is art conservation expensive?

Are there limits to how much damage can be restored or reversed?

Are there differences in the practices of private conservationists and those who are employed at museums?

Are there differences in training for “conservators” and “restorers”?

When I was little, one of my favorite things to do was go to my grandparent’s house. My grandmother was warm and loving and adored her grandchildren. I remember being fascinated with her jewelry when I was very young. I loved it when she would take me into her bedroom and lay out all of the fancy jewelry from her jewelry box on her bed and let me try on different pieces. Most of them felt heavy and and silly and me. The rings were thick silver and slid right off my fingers, and the necklaces bearing big turquoise stones (her favorite gem) weighed down on my neck.

My favorite piece that I always had to try on was, however, a bit more delicate than the rest. It was a silver Tiffany key pendant on a thin silver chain. It had a lobster claw clasp that stuck a little bit when you tried to close it, so that you had to be extra sure it was securely fastened so as not to lose it. My grandmother knew I treasured the little key, and when I was old enough, gave it to me as a keepsake.

I’ll always treasure the Tiffany necklace, and I rarely take it off. I’m positive that I could recognize it among dozens of the same because of the finicky clasp, and also because of a slight bend in the shaft of the key where hands have worried at it over the years and caused a slight distortion to the delicate silver. And, since it is almost always around my neck, it usually gets a bit more tarnished than I probably should let it!

While it is a beautiful piece of jewelry, the most precious thing about the Tiffany key is the memories that I associate it with, the familiarity of the piece and the special person it serves to remind me of.

After wandering through the Francisco Goya: Los Caprichos exhibit at The Palmer for a few minutes, it became very apparent that there were narratives at play in the eighty works on display. Goya seemed to have been extremely interested in the human condition and society’s problems at large when creating these etchings. The etchings deal with war, love, famine, monsters, witches, terrors, and problems with religious, educational and medical systems to name a few gruesome subjects. There was even a wall dedicated to depictions of the seven deadly sins.

The large wall in the center of the exhibition space has the title of the exhibition near the top and a large wall text explaining the origins of the etchings, a self portrait accompanied by some information about Goya himself, and a map of Spain to show where he worked. Also displayed here is the most famous plate from the collection, number 43. These pieces of information help introduce viewers to the exhibit and the artist’s motivations.

From there, the exhibit guides viewers through the etchings that are grouped together by themes of hardship and horror, influenced by Goya’s understanding of social and economic crises in late 18^th century Spain. The exhibition tells the story of Goya as an artist influenced by Enlightenment thinking and trying to express and make sense of the darker facets of humanity.

The way in which the exhibit is broken down into groups of etchings and organized by themes makes it much more easily digestible than if it were eighty etchings thrown at the viewer all at once. It is very organized and compartmentalized, making the experience of walking through the exhibition flow nicely as you transition from a group of etchings studying one aspect of the human condition to the next.