This is the second in a series of posts examining the future of STEAM through primary sources. We’ll be looking at a number of works in the Library of Congress and other collections that illustrate key STEAM mindsets.The first post in this series can be found here.
As a rule of thumb in design, less is often more. A contemporary, everyday example of this can be seen in Apple’s work, a company well-known for its simplicity and restraint. But designers have been working to achieve “less” for decades. Contrary to one’s intuition, “less” is often more difficult to achieve because each decision carries greater consequence. In this post, we’ll take a look at two examples of a "less-is-more" approach from the mid-20th century:
Compared to most homes, Philip Johnson’s Glass House is quite unique: its design drapes glass over a minimal steel frame, eschewing privacy. It has no curtains, exposing each room to the outdoors (with the exception of the bathroom, thank goodness). Its open floorplan has no walls, allowing daylight to reach nearly every inch of the interior.
Located on 47 rural acres, Johnson’s design emphasizes the home’s relationship with the landscape, wildlife, and weather. While one can make a compelling argument that the Glass House is not a practical home, its simple use of geometry and respect for the land on which it sits are instructive. The design tells us that nature is what’s most worthy of our attention, and the home respects its site by receding into the background.
To create such a spare, airy aesthetic was a complex challenge at the intersection of art and engineering. For example, the Glass House had no means of concealing ductwork or insulation, so heating occurred through two radiant systems in the floor and ceiling. The home’s ceiling floats above the ground with nearly no support, and while it was replaced in 2017, it survived for 68 years without developing a single crack.
The Glass House is so compelling, in part, because of what we don’t see. Much of contemporary design continues to reference the restraint Johnson exhibits here.
This minimal phonograph and radio was designed by Dieter Rams and produced by Braun in the late 1950s. The majority of record players and radios from the time were ornate, highly-decorated objects, but Rams’ interpretation was just the opposite. Whereas record players often were disguised as furniture, the transparent Perspex lid on the Phonosuper exposes the platter, tonearm, buttons, and dials. The form intentionally and elegantly explained the function.
Rams’ products represented the pinnacle of product design: they were elegant, unobtrusive, honest, and thorough to the last detail. Many of Rams’ ideas about design live on at Apple, where Chief Design Officer Johny Ive often references his work in the creation of their products.
Under Rams, Braun products developed a reputation for exceptional design. In the late 1970s, after decades of work in the design field, Dieter Rams reflected more deeply on what makes a design “good”. He developed his Ten Principles of Good Design, an everlasting reference for all students of design.
Rams 10 Principles of Good Design:
An exhibition of Rams’ work is on view at the Philadelphia Museum of Art through April 14, 2019.
For decades, much of the meaningful innovation advancing our economy has been associated with the fields of science, technology, engineering, and math. But as knowledge becomes more freely accessible and technology expedites our ability to do nearly everything, future innovations will rely on a different skillset: creativity. This marks the first of a series of blog posts about STEAM education from the perspective of a designer and educator working with STEAM every day. I’m the Founder and Design Director of PlusUs, an interdisciplinary firm designing human-centered learning solutions for problems and purposes of the present. We work with schools to consult on matters of curriculum, learning environments, and communications. I also serve as the Program Director of a new design program at The University of the Arts focused on environmental consciousness and entrepreneurship. Throughout my career, I’ve been intentionally integrating art and design mindsets into learning opportunities around the world.
In 2006, Sir Ken Robinson argued that “creativity now is as important in education as literacy, and we should treat it with the same status”, an idea that underpinned the most popular TED talk of all time. Two years later, John Maeda became president of the Rhode Island School of Design, where he sparked a national movement by urging legislators to integrate art and design into the education agenda. Today, the importance of STEAM (an acronym that adds “Art” to STEM) manifests itself in multiple ways: maker education has become a physical representation of these ideas, with many schools investing in new makerspaces or rediscovering their existing shop space. And there’s real momentum behind integrating design thinking into coursework. Where I work in Philadelphia, the Charter High School for Architecture + Design, The U School, and String Theory Schools have missions and pedagogies built around design thinking, where skills like prototyping, iteration, and empathy work are infused into all subjects, even state-tested biology, algebra, and literature. It’s clear that art and design are here to stay. So what’s next for STEAM?
I believe that we’ll continue to see art and design mindsets woven into curriculum, even in the most traditional schools. The ability to think like an artist or designer is about making interesting and unexpected connections, and as these mindsets become more deeply integrated, learners will begin to make creative connections not only within a particular subject, but across subjects. As this happens, we can expect to see the silos that still exist between many classroom subjects begin to dissolve. History’s great creators moved fluidly between fields because they thought in a way that transcended discipline. Leonardo Da Vinci was an engineer and an artist. Michelangelo sculpted, painted, and constructed. I fully expect the future to produce many more creators who think and work in this manner.
A few years ago I had the opportunity to hear Neri Oxman speak, a rockstar contemporary architect and designer creating work at the intersection of computation, fabrication, and materiality. Oxman’s work is mesmerizing, and rightfully in the permanent collections of prominent museums like the MoMA. I think she is a wonderful illustration of what this future may look like. And there are many others who’s creative practice spans multiple arenas that are often siloed: designer Karim Rashidcreates products, space, graphics, fine art, and more. Emily Pilloton is a powerhouse working at the intersection of architecture, environmental design, and education. Bruce Mau began his career as a graphic designer and transitioned to architecture, film, and organizational design. His worked received the Cooper Hewitt National Design Award in 2016, the AIGA Gold Medal in 2007, and his Incomplete Manifesto for Growth is essential reading for anyone working in interdisciplinary spaces.
So rather than advocate for the deeper integration of art and design in our classrooms, this series of blog posts will champion the creative mindsets that must be integrated into all disciplines in order to stoke the meaningful innovation our education system and economy crave. To do this, we’ll look at a number of primary sources in the Library of Congress that illustrate these mindsets throughout recent history.
By now you've read news stories about works entering the public domain in 2019. This is very exciting! For the first time in 20 years, works published in 1923 will enter the United States public domain. Let's have a look at 1923, or at least a few of my favorites.
Art/Music The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Batchelors, Even (The Large Glass) by Marcel Duchamp in the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
William Carlos Williams Spring and All http://www.loc.gov/exhibits/books-that-shaped-america/1900-to-1950.html#obj11 can be quoted in full, or you could make a reprint of Wallace Stevens’ Harmonium.
Sing Yes! We Have No Bananas by Frank Silver and Irving Cohn to your heart's content!
Agnes F. Northrop;’s design for the Louis Comfort Tiffany Autumn Landscape Window is free to use and reuse. You'd want to credit her work of course. I wonder, did Tiffany give her the credit due?
Enjoy Suprematist art? Many works by Kasimir Malevich are now available, like this Half Teacup in the Cooper Hewitt’s collection. You can go see it in person once the federal government shutdown is over. Until then, feel free to download the image.
Henry Ossawa Tanner’s Flight into Egypt was painted in 1923, https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/16947 as was Picasso’s Woman in Whitehttps://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/488711
I did a search of the Art Institute of Chicago’s online collection and limited it to 1923. What a year! https://www.artic.edu/collection?q=painting&date-start=1923AD&date-end=1923AD
Think of all the works in the Library’s collections that are now free for use. This gorgeous photograph of the poet and journalist Solita Solano can be released now, as can Edward Weston’s stunning nude of Tina Modotti. However, we will have to wait another 6 years for the photojournalist Modotti’s own images. 1923 was a great year for photography.
Many of Frank Lloyd Wright’s drawings from the Library’s collection will be available.
A quick search for Drawings in the Library catalog, limited to 1923, came up with 1006 items. Photographs? 8,199. You might notice that I have not put any Library images in this post. That’s because up until a few days ago, the Library couldn’t make anything but a thumbnail accessible. I suspect it’s going to be a while before staff can make it all available online.
Have a look at 1923, what does it look like to you?
Communication is paramount to the institution of culture. Communication is not just the transference of information, language, and knowledge; it is the cornerstone of how individuals are brought together to form traditions, beliefs, and a way of life. This essay investigates how culture, whether it is a large collection of individuals, or the sub-division of the former, can examine the content of communication, explore the importance of symbols or symbolic narration, and examine how educators could apply a cross-curricula pedagogical practice in the classroom.
Graffiti art is one element of Hip-Hop culture. The art form evolved from individuals “tagging” or subjectively writing their names or other phrases on walls and other nondescript objects to creating large “burners” or murals on subway cars in New York City, and eventually blank stretched-canvases that would hang in museums. The creation of Graffiti art was a direct response to young people in the inner city being marginalized. The art form became a rebellious way to showcase artistic talent that would not otherwise be displayed in major art galleries. Graffiti artists used the medium to communicate ideas to one another by creating styles within the art form that would only speak to them and others who were familiar with the practice.
Juxtaposing the notion of an art form that was not taken seriously and looked upon with a negative connotation, Egyptian hieroglyphics has been lauded as one of the first art forms ever created. The simplistic motifs and elongated design symbolism became the narrative of Ancient Egyptian life. When one takes a close examination of the art form it could be considered an early form of graffiti. A major difference between both art forms is the letter manipulation of graffiti as opposed to the production of symbols in hieroglyphics. Also, many of the individuals that created graffiti at a high level during the 1970s and early 1980s came from a lower socio-economic position while the wealthy in Egyptian life commissioned the manufacturing of hieroglyphics to tell stories and express the establishment of customs and traditions of the civilization.
When looking and discussing contemporary art design, the use of modern technology seems to mirror various aspects of both graffiti and Egyptian hieroglyphics. The use of cellular phones has been revolutionary in the way individuals communicate with one another. The procedure of text messaging when examined closely parallels certain aspects of both graffiti art and Egyptian hieroglyphics. As with graffiti, the manipulation of SMS (Short Messaging Service) language while texting allows individuals to practice a form of short-handed slang when delivering messages.
Many cellular phone consumers use emoji symbols in addition to SMS language to convey emotional communication when text messaging. Sometimes the use of emojis is all an individual may use to relay information. The use of this cellular phone application is very close to the symbolic depictions of Egyptian hieroglyphics. Ancient Egyptians wanted to tell stories and express the traditions and customs of Egyptian life through their illustrations just like with emojis.
The use of a compare and contrast analysis of graffiti art, Egyptian hieroglyphics, and modern cellular phone technology can be beneficial for educators to use in the classroom. This cross-curricular application has the ability to give educators a new platform they can use to help educate their students. The installing of THAL (Technology, History, The Arts, and Literacy) can allow educators to apply literacy practices in the classroom using an art and history perspective while integrating the use of modern technology. Just as with STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics), students can use THAL as an anchor or foundation for progressive education integration. The pedagogical application of THAL would be from a qualitative approach, as opposed to STEM which seems to be more quantitative driven.
The ways in which individuals communicate with one another has changed over time. Examining how graffiti art, Egyptian hieroglyphics and SMS language can define communication content through the application of THAL has the possibility to introduce innovative ways students can learn in and out of the classroom.
“Perception of the object is a process of transition from experience to judgement, insight to application.” –Gemma Anderson, writing on the process of drawing.
A friend of mine recently lamented that her gifted 6th grader was asked to draw a picture based on a book the class was reading. “How is that serious homework for middle-school?” Her question made me reflect on our Summer 2018 Courses, and to explain why the studio art component is important, even for non-studio teachers. Drawing is another mode of understanding. When we examine something to draw it, we observe it closely, considering all that we can see, trying to sort what we believe we see from what we actually see, and inferring things we cannot see. Perhaps this sounds familiar? Examining an object, scene or person to create a work of art requires of us the same questions and critical skills that examining a primary source does.
The teachers who participated in our City as a Primary Source course in August learned about Philadelphia in a variety of ways. They sat in an auditorium and had a slide lecture. They sat on a trolley and listened as scholars told them about what they were seeing outside their windows. They walked through city squares, narrow streets, up hills to belvederes, and wandered 18th century houses. They scrambled up an industrial staircase to a railway viaduct, now transformed into a public park.
Some field trips involved listening, looking, and reflecting, but others incorporated creating from observation. During one session, we drew outside at the Philadelphia Rail Park. Another session had us drawing while walking along Broad Street, then incorporating those quick sketches with drawings from longer observation from the windows of the Kimmel Center, high above the thoroughfare.
Our drawings made us look carefully at what we thought we saw, either sketching quickly with pencil and folded paper on the street, or slowing down to try out watercolors in the park for a couple of hours. We observed, questioned our assumptions, and tested theories. We reflected, processed what we learned, and synthesized it into something new.
The connection between drawing and understanding concrete objects is fairly straightforward. How does this process work when trying to understand something more abstract? I like how this teacher describes using drawing in her literature classes: Drawing: Another Path to Understanding. If it can advance understanding in literature, how about in the sciences, or mathematics? The Picturing to Learn project found that students’ knowledge of a concept increased when the student had to make a drawing depicting the concept (I recommend checking out the first drawing in the conductors and insulators section.) In this brief ArtNet feature, the late mathematician Maryam Mirzakhani talks about drawing as a part of her problem-solving process.
In thinking about how drawing in particular and the creative process in general helps us form knowledge, I came across the work of Gemma Anderson. The article she wrote about drawing and mathematics with geometer Alessio Corti is available online from the journal Leonardo. It’s a weighty article, the gist of which the authors describe in this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9eWW_X9Gpqo
All this research indicates that drawing is another form of learning, and that it can indeed be serious homework for a middle-schooler . How do you incorporate drawing in your teaching?
My high school art history teacher had a method of getting students to engage with paintings in a way that I found compelling, meaningful and a lot of fun. For the end of semester review, he passed out slides with figurative paintings to individuals and groups. Our assignment was to take 15 minutes to examine the work, and recreate it by posing as the people depicted in the artwork, using only the few props available to us in the painting studio. Each student presented the pose to the class, and we’d compare the student’s pose to the projected slide. I didn’t know it then, but we were doing an old fashioned type of theater or parlor game, called a tableau vivant. Doing that tableau vivant taught me what contrapposto felt like. It allowed me to embody the lithe grace of Donatello’s David. I looked at the work of art differently when I was considering how to recreate it.
A tableau vivant is a “living picture;” a recreation or reinterpretation of a work of art by people posing in a mute, motionless charade. It was a popular form of entertainment in the 19th and early 20th centuries, as evidenced by this chapter of a manual for dances and parties from the library’s collection, An American Ballroom Companion: Dance Instruction Manuals, ca. 1490 to 1920.
A quick search of Chronicling America shows plenty of tablueax vivants documented on the society pages, as war relief fundraisers, or as amusements at parties and other events.
The entertainment was popular enough to be parodied on the cover of Puck. Here we see a circa 1900 reproduction of Jules Bastien-Lepage's 1879 painting Joan of Arc.
and a 1918 New York Times rotograveur picture section showing a tableau vivant given at St. Francis Xavier College with Laurette Taylor as Joan of Arc, clearly in imitation of the Lepage painting.
And finally, the cover of Puck, showing Teddy Roosevelt, from 1912
I recently read an excellent article on using tableaux vivants as a pedagogical tool. Bringing Students into the Picture: Teaching with Tableaux Vivants by Ellery Foutch is available here as a free download: https://academicworks.cuny.edu/ahpp/vol2/iss2/3/. Two shorter articles, one from Art Museum Teaching, and one from the Yale National Initiative, also provide information and inspiration for classroom or gallery use. While these how-to articles give good descriptions of how this active form of engagement with art connects with kinesthetic and visual learners, Foutch’s piece also discusses how doing creative reinterpretations with tableau vivants allows the class to deal with social justice issues, and identity. The article describes a longer project than the quick charade my teacher assigned. It includes group work, research, and performance. It gets students to go beyond looking and describing, and onto interpreting and creating something new. Exciting stuff!
The way Foutch structures the tableaux vivants project is similar to the TPS method: first students examine the object, make observations, reflect, and ask questions. Then, they use these observations, reflections, and questions to inform their research. By creating their own interpretation of the work of art, they are exercising critical thinking skills, and making connections between history and their own experiences.
There are contemporary artists who use similar modes of interpretation and recreation in their work to delve into identity and social issues. Kehinde Wiley uses imperial history painting, such as in his Napoleon Leading the Army over the Alps, 2005
https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/objects/169803 to explore issues of race, masculinity, fame, and imperialism. (for more see http://www.npg.si.edu/exhibit/recognize/paintings.html) Cindy Sherman’s history portraits show her embodying old paintings in discomforting ways. https://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/essay/the-multiple-worlds-of-cindy-shermans-history-portraits-2/
Part of the pleasure of viewing a tableau vivant is the small thrill of recognition when the viewer recognizes the reference image being enacted. There’s also the spectacle of a body posed in stillness -- the kitschy version might be the living statue street performer. For students who are kinesthetic or visual learners, doing a tableau vivant could be an effective strategy. Have you done tableaux vivants in the classroom? How did your students engage with the work? How did different learners react?
It’s summer, time for roadtrips! When I was in graduate school, my now husband and I would spend summer weekends driving around the Wisconsin landscape, seeking out folk art environments, outsider art installations, and general weirdness. We particularly enjoyed large art environments, made by self-taught artists, such as Fred Smith’s Wisconsin Concrete Park in Phillips.
(Photo from the Carol Highsmith Collection, https://www.loc.gov/item/2011632363/) Fred Smith was a child of German immigrants, born in Northern Wisconsin in 1886. He never learned to read or write, but he farmed, and later built and operated a tavern. Maybe it was his building experience, or the work he did on his ornamental rock garden, or maybe it was all the beer bottles from his tavern, but something prompted Smith to begin building large-scale sculptures from wire and hand-mixed cement, decorated with shards of glass and other objects. By 1950, he was building an art environment he called the Wisconsin Concrete Park, which eventually encompassed three and a half acres. The Wisconsin Concrete Park was preserved by the Kohler Foundation and gifted to Price County, WI.
Wisconsin seems to be rich in this form of folk art. I first visited Dr. Evermor’s Forevertron on one of our rambles, though I had passed it several times a year, as I drove past the Badger Munitions plant, on my way to visit family friends in Baraboo, WI.
Just a few months ago, I visited Prairie Moon, near Cochrane, WI. It’s a lovely location, not far from the Mississippi River. The only company we had on our visit was a pair of bald eagles. A video about the site is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XncMap5EJuU From that video, I learned that Rusch had visited Dickeyville Grotto, an art environment I have on my to-visit list.
These sites raise so many questions for me. What causes someone to spend so much time and energy creating them? Why do they choose the materials that they do? Is concrete frequently used because it is relatively inexpensive and easy to work with, or is it because the artist has experience using that material for more practical purposes? What about metal or other found objects? Are there common themes in these installations? Were they meant for personal enjoyment, or was the artist hoping for a larger audience? Did the artists think of themselves as artists? Are these kinds of installations more common in rural areas or in cities? Why? What keeps people from doing this more often? What would happen if I decided to start making my yard into an art installation?
There are examples of vernacular art installations in the Library of Congress collections, but they can be hard to track down. It’s a challenge to catalog something like this, I suppose. The subject heading “naïve art” which the Getty Art and Architecture Thesaurus (http://www.getty.edu/research/tools/vocabularies/aat/) uses for this kind of sculpture didn’t yield anything (though I think that’s a good thing, because of the pejorative connotations of “naïve”) Library of Congress subject authorities https://authorities.loc.gov/cgi-bin/Pwebrecon.cgi?DB=local&PAGE=First gave me the terms “outsider art” and “primitivism in art.” A search of outsider art resulted in an image of a Dubuffet sculpture, which is not what I am going for. I tried folk art, which got me closer, and led to Grandma Prisbrey’s Bottle House.
The subject heading “vernacular architecture” led me to images of Watts Towers, but only those images in the Carol Highsmith collection. The Highsmith Archive is a good place for locating images of these kinds of artistic expression, such as this wonderful image of Highsmith’s own cousin amid his artwork.
Like so many things in life, it’s easier to find images of art environments by self-taught artists in the library collection if you know what you are looking for. Two sites that are useful for finding outsider art along your roadtrip route are Roadside America https://www.roadsideamerica.com/ and the Atlas Obscura https://www.atlasobscura.com/
Maybe you’ll find the inspiration to start your own art environment.
When I think of classic Philadelphia buildings, I always think of red brick structures, such as the Gloria Dei or Old Swede’s Church, depicted here in this silkcreened WPA poster by an unknown artist from somewhere between 1936 and 1941.
The lovely brick of Independence Hall, shown in a lithograph from 1876, is emblematic of Philadelphia, with its stately, solid brick. This image of Independence Hall appears to have been made as a box cover for a commemorative souvenier for the centennial.
The charm of brick is evident in Elfreth’s Alley’s Federal and Georgian townhomes, built between 1720 and 1830, as seen in this photograph from the Highsmith collection.
Of course, brick is used all over the city, for less grand structures such as this abandoned home at 20th and arch streets, photographed in 1938,
Or this privvy, which was once behind the Athenaeum of Philadelphia. Why so much brick? Is it simply that brick endures? Floods and fires would destroy wooden structures, but brick would remain. However, I don’t believe there’s been a conflagration like the Chicago or San Francisco fire to explain the abundance of brick in Philadelphia.
The answer could be just below our feet, but we’ll need to dig for it.
Here we have a general soil map of Pennsylvania. Note the narrow band of yellow at the lower right. According the the map key, the yellow indicates a substrata of marine clay and sand.
This map of Philadelphia from 1797 shows that the English and Swedish occupiers of this area were very familiar with the building material that lay beneath their feet. They recognized the clay and sand as ideal raw materials for making bricks. The curious little pond-shapes with accompanying solid dots show where the brickworks and kilns were located within the city. There are at least a dozen in this image. Bricks, which shaped the look of the city, were shaped by the site of the city itself.
Indeed, brick manufacturing took off in Philadelphia, with 14 brick kilns within the city by 1794. Brickmaking, and building with brick employed enough people that the Bricklayers Company was formed by 1799.
A search of Philadelphia directories from the late 18th and early 19th centuries tells us more about who these brick makers were, and where they lived as well as where the many bricklayers lived.
https://archive.org/stream/philadelphiadire1801phil#page/80/search/brickmaker I found this image from the 1801 Philadelphia Directory in the Internet Archive, contributed by the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
That bricklayers were an important groups of trades people in the city of Philadelphia is evidenced by this wonderful document, which describes the procession order for a parade in 1788, which honored the establishment of the constitution of the United States. The brickmakers marched just after the cabinet and chair-makers, right before the painters, and the bricklayer marched between the fringe and ribband-weavers and the taylors.
Another interesting piece of evidence about bricks in Philadelphia is John Cromwell’s Brick Layer’s Company membership certificate from 1811, now in the collection of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania.
It is always thrillng to see how dull-sounding historical documents like membership certificates can provide a window into the past: this certificate includes a detailed illustration of early 19th century building practices, tools, worker’s clothing, and of course, the city.
Following my curiosity led me to a variety of primary sources, from soil maps to early city maps and directories, and bits of ephemera, resulting a better understanding of why I see what I do. Now I see Philadelphia's buildings with even more curiosity, wondering what other stories they have to tell.
What stories can we tell with maps?
If you’ve been listening to NPR in the mornings lately, like I have, then you know they are covering the 10th anniversary of the 2008 financial crisis. I was thinking about how to understand the effects of the mortgage crisis on neighborhoods, and how art could be used to communicate how areas were affected. While photographs of boarded up homes or a street full of for-sale signs might tell a story, I was interested in finding more abstract, or less literal objects to analyze.
A textiles curator friend pointed me to Kathryn Clark. Clark was an architect and designer, working on planning New Urbanist neighborhoods from 1994-2004. When the foreclosure crisis hit, she felt she had to make art about it, to communicate the severity of what would happen to the urban fabric. She turned to the craft tradition of quilts, those quintessentially American emblems of thrift and resourcefulness. You can see one of her quilts in the Smithsonian American Art Museum https://americanart.si.edu/artwork/washington-dc-foreclosure-quilt-109954 and other examples on the artist's website: http://www.kathrynclark.com/foreclosure-quilts.html.
Foreclosure Quilt, 2015, linen, cotton, and recycled thread, Smithsonian American Art Museum, © 2015, Kathryn Clark, Museum purchase through the Stephen D. Thurston Memorial Fund, 2015.40
To make these quilts, she used RealtyTrac maps of cities as her source, cutting, rubbing, or pulling the fabric away, thread-by-thread to show the plots with foreclosed homes. The result is abstract, and affecting in its familiarity. Her work immediately brought to mind a fascinating primary source available through the Library of Congress: Sanborne Maps, such as this late 19th century one from Detroit.
Sanborn maps are fire insurance maps, which describe not only location, but shape, size, construction, and details such as windows and doors, roof types, sprinkler systems, etc. for dwellings and other structures so that the insurers could adequately judge the risk of loss by fire.
In this detail, you can see pastedowns, where corrections or additions were made, which echo the mendings on some of Clark’s quilts. (I have to announce with great joy that I created this detail using the Library's clip image tool -- so useful!) These pastedowns are an example of thrift, not dissimilar to the quilt tradition: rather than going through the expense of reprinting entire pages to show corrections or updates, the maps makers would simply add small glued-down bits of paper with the edits, putting them directly over the area to be changed, just as one would patch a frayed quilt block.
The Library of Congress has a significant collection of Sanborn maps, which have been digitized and made available at high resolution. Researchers use them for a huge variety of reasons, and the Library has provided an extensive guide available here: https://www.loc.gov/collections/sanborn-maps/about-this-collection/
Tanvi Misra write a nice article about the interpretive possibilities of Sanborn Maps, available here: https://www.citylab.com/equity/2014/10/the-accidental-revelations-of-sanborn-maps/381262/
TAFA: The Textile and Fiber Art List wrote a short piece about textile maps on their blog. It has good images, including a nice detail for a Kathryn Clark piece, but not a lot of text: https://www.tafalist.com/mapping-the-world/.
I am intruiged by the possibilities of using fiber as a medium for understanding data. I am sure there's lots to be done with it, and am excited about the possibilities of weaving, knitting, felting, or sewing.
We are back in school despite the sweltering temperatures carrying us well into September. With the coming of the new year, I’m looking forward to implementing some of the ideas for lessons and units of study I gathered over the summer at UArts TPS classes and at the Summer Teacher Institute at the Library of Congress.
A brief commercial here: this is a remarkable opportunity to engage with a group of dedicated teachers from all over the country (and the world--one participant in our session teaches in Amsterdam). So, dear Readers, take a look at the website, and give some serious thought to applying for a spot in one of the summer seminars: http://www.loc.gov/teachers/professionaldevelopment/teacherinstitute/ (this is the listing for 2018; check in a few weeks for the 2019 listing).
I had started working with the idea of building a research unit for my 11th and 12th grade students on communities lost to development, eg, Atlantic City and the casinos, the I-95 corridor through Philadelphia, Seneca Village and Central Park. I may still come back to this later in the year, but midway through developing the sources, I was galvanized by the idea of combining images by Lewis Hine, of which the Library has thousands, with some of the essays about work that we read in the Riverside Readers.
One of the LOC activities made use of this photo by Hine.
I recognized the photographer’s name from an exhibit of mill workers I had seen earlier in the summer at Winooski, VT. (https://www.loc.gov/item/ncl2004001505/PP/). From that combination of experiences, I put together a unit of study that I’ll roll out to my students later this month. I’ve attached (as separate files) the sequence for those who might like to use/adapt it for their own classes.
Here’s the task in brief: students will research some of Hine’s photos, cite and describe them: https://www.loc.gov/collections/national-child-labor-committee/about-this-collection/
They will also listen to and cite some recordings from Terkel’s Working: https://www.npr.org/series/495535719/working-then-and-now
They will also interview, cite, and summarize someone from an older generation (parents, grandparents, neighbors) about their first work experiences. They will look at Bureau of Labor Statistics projections of labor categories for the next decade or two. The students will produce an annotated bibliography and a brief (about 500 words) reflective essay on what they’ve learned about work. I expect the whole thing to take about 3 school weeks to complete, allowing for a fair amount of class time to work on the project.
Happy New Year.
I came back to school after a week in Florida, and I have that just-thrown-back-in-the-deep-end readjustment that most middle school teachers are feeling right now. It’s like, Welcome back, and Wait, where did we leave off? It’s a perfect time to introduce murder mysteries and How to think like a detective.
I began by introducing my students to W5H: Who, What , Where, When, Why, How? We’re learning to think and read and write like detectives. We’re figuring out a murder and unpacking the crime scene. We’re determining which characters are reliable and which are suspect.
My kids just discovered that the trunk they’ve been sitting on during read-aloud time is full of costumes. (Funny, they never asked!) And we’re reading Murder on the Orient Express. The students have figured out how to rearrange the room to match the setting of the novel, and things need to be returned to normal for the next class. Anyhow, there are several resources on the LOC site that we will incorporate into our classroom stage set.
Here are a few LOC items to enhance their sense of wonder and understanding about: the 1930’s and 40’s; the geography and cartography of Turkey, Iraq, Iran, Israel, Morocco, Italy, France, England from that time; detective’s tools then and now; determining facts & detecting lies; the fashion and mindset of ladies and gentlemen who traveled internationally; train travel, and The Simplon Orient Express.
Check out these amazing travel posters that evoke the romance of international travel:
A glimpse at some NYC police and detectives in the early 1900’s...it might be interesting to compare how crimes are solved today versus in the early part of the 20th century:
A fascinating history of the Lindbergh baby kidnapping which is loosely referenced in Murder on the Orient Express: FBI File on the Lindbergh Kidnapping
Images of Simplon Pass:
If I project these images on the White Board while they’re setting up the scene, then prompt them to look at the image through their ‘detective’s lenses’, it gives them another opportunity to practice "thinking like detectives." The LOC Graphic Organizer is a perfect tool for encouraging students to observe closely, pose questions and uncover facts.
It’s hard to take things too seriously while my students are dressed in my mother’s housecoat and my great uncle’s hats, so interjecting images from the Library of Congress brings a bit of ‘real life’ into our discovery time. If you’ve studied murder mysteries, leave a little message and share any links/books/resources you used for your unit. Have a great 2018!
The University of the Arts offered another week-long Local Collections course last summer. We explored STEM to STEAM: Connecting the Arts to STEM and Local Collections. One of the several local collections we visited was Fonthill Castle. Fonthill is an incredible 44-room house built by Henry Mercer to house his extensive collection of tiles and prints.
Fonthill is fascinating not only as an aethetic experience, and an expression of one man's vision, but as a technological wonder. The house is made from poured-in-place concrete. You may know that concrete has been used as a building material since the Classical era. Romans used it extensively to create structures that were strong and complex. Technological changes, incuding the invention of Portland Cement in 1824, allowed cement to be developed into a building material that was less labor-intensive than the andient Roman methods.
Thomas Edison found that his Edison Ore-Milling company produced large quantities of waste sand. He had been selling this sand to concrete companies, but in 1899 started his own concrete business. He started experimenting with domestic applications for poured concrete, including building a garage and gardener's cottage on the grounds of his mansion in 1908. He had hoped that concrete homes would take off (and that he could supply the concrete!) but sadly, it never really did.
Mercer started building his home the same year Edison had his structures built. However, Mercer did not complete his work until 1912. His home is filled with built-in concrete furniture, and much of his collection of ceramics was enbedded in the concrete.
We chose Fonthill for our STEM to STEAM class as an example of techonogy and artistic vision coming together. I am looking forward to learning more during our visit to this extraordinary site.
I was thrilled to find the all-cartoon issue of the New York Times Magazine in my Sunday paper yesterday. It immediately made me think about the TPS Program, and the UArts course on Comics and Graphic Novels as primary sources. While our course focuses on using comics as primary sources, the NYT Magazine had cartoonists mine the Metro section of the paper, and interpret articles they found as cartoons.
Can you imagine doing this project with a group of students? You could explore current events, or examine history through reading newspaper accounts, and then create your own graphic versions. What do you think student would gain through such an exercise? What skills would they need to employ to create a two page cartoon of a newspaper article?
In my summer course we look at how photographs help inform identity, both in defining individuals and groups, as well as perpetuating or shattering stereotypes of marginalized communities. Having just celebrated Pride in Philadelphia, where a new Pride flag was recently unveiled that includes black and brown stripes – representing people of color, who have often been sidelined within the already marginalized queer community, to inspire greater inclusivity – I’ve been thinking about the symbols and images that people create and leave behind, that tell the story of their struggles for visibility and validation.
I decided to see what sort of LGBTQ resources the Library of Congress offers and was pleased to discover a well-curated list of resources and links to the collection:
Among the many excellent resources listed are two that stand out to me today, both because they are photographic and because they touch on my ruminations above.
The first is a set of images from the Carol Highsmith Archive, a collection of photographs from the widely-published American photographer who has provided her images copyright-free to the American public via ongoing donation to the Library of Congress. In 2012 she shot a series of images documenting the Gay Pride Parade in San Francisco – these images capture the vibrancy and joy, not to mention the hours of costuming, that are the trademark of Pride parades around the world.
The second resource that stood out to me is one I’ve known and used for years, but like any good archive it always has surprises in store. Carl Van Vechten was a photographer, active in the early 20th century, who documented luminaries in arts and literature, with a particular focus on the Harlem Renaissance. Among the many portraits Van Vechten made there are a variety of queer writers and artists represented, including Gertrude Stein, Bessie Smith, Countee Cullen and Truman Capote.
There’s also a wonderful snapshot, taken by Saul Mauriber, of Van Vechten himself with Christopher Isherwood, whose many contributions to the gay literary canon – and resulting theatrical and cinematic adaptations, such as Cabaret and A Single Man – make him an icon of gay lit.
I teach a class for TPS on integrating comics into the K-12 classroom, and I've written here before about the Yellow Kid. The Library of Congress proper is an incredible repository of early comics, but the online resources are somewhat limited. This is due, it appears, to various copyright restrictions on the material.
But if you are looking for examples of early comics (1895-1920, say) I have found a new resource in the LOC: the original newspapers. The library has recently been uploading more high resolution scans of turn-of-the-century papers, inadvertently skirting those restrictions and providing fascinating context in the process.
The comics pages were developed to boost sales, so they were often featured at the front of the paper. This makes it easy to see which papers have a comics supplement - it's the first page, and it's in color. At the time, the term comics simply denoted humorous content, so not all records matching this description contain what we now think of as comics, but if you're willing to do a little digging, there are gems. I've attached page 4 of the American Humorist from Nov 7, 1897, the Colored Comic Weekly of the New York Journal and Advertiser, which features a half-page Yellow Kid cartoon.
The cartoon features the Kid (comics' first big star - see my other posts!) celebrating (mocking?) the end of the 1897 presidential election with the other residents of his New York City tenement. It's a late effort, and a good one. The important comics historian RC Harvey wrote an updated roundup of the Yellow Kid's career in the Comics Journal last year highlighting the importance of the previously unheard-of Hearst editor Morrill Goddard. It's an excellent read and can be found here: http://www.tcj.com/outcault-goddard-the-comics-and-the-yellow-kid/
But the point of my posting is this - I found it completely by accident. Note that the record does not contain any tags or notes indicating that this is a perfect scan of a primary source featuring the most important comic character of the 19th century. I did search "comics" in loc.gov, but the search tool only recognizes standard text, not drawings or the banner advertising the "Comic Weekly". The word "comics" happens to appear elsewhere in the paper (the classifieds, ha).
Note that I'm not trying to call anyone out here. These records were clearly scanned as newspapers - that they may contain important comics or anything else of interest was clearly incidental at the time.
The takeaway here is that there are new, fascinating gems of early comics at loc.gov as full, contextual, primary sources! You just have to know where to look.
I recently had the opportunity to attend the Teaching with Music-Related Primary Sources Face-to Face Workshop in November 2017 at the Library of Congress. Even though I am not a music teacher (I am a high school librarian) I thoroughly appreciated and found great value in the workshop. During the workshop we were exposed to music-related resources in order to engage students, build critical thinking, and construct knowledge, the pillars of the TPS (Teaching with Primary Sources) program. We had an amazing visit to the Music Division Reading Room where James Wintle showed us various resources and were regaled with their little known back stories.
One artifact that was shared with us was a copy of the poem, “The Star-Spangled Banner” by Francis Scott Key. Since the recent NFL controversy of players kneeling while the National Anthem is played, I was curious about the origins of the poem/song. I discovered the poem/song is not without its surprises. Even though we sing one stanza at the beginning of ballgames and other events, the song actually has four stanzas. The lyrics also include question marks at the end of some lines - …”were so gallantly streaming?” I’m not sure how you sing a question, but I’m sure we have music experts that could tell me how it is done! The melody is attributed to “To Anacreon in Heaven” which you can read more about from the Smithsonian National Museum of American History post. Some say the national anthem originated from a drinking song, but there are others who refute that claim.
There are many informative and interesting blogs on the Library of Congress website that shine the light on Francis Scott Key and “The Star-Spangled Banner”. One blog, Bringing the “Banner” to Light by Erin Allen discusses the (uncertain) history, lyrics, and melody of the anthem. Another blog by Jeff Bridges, O Say Can You See shares with us prints held by the library of the bombardment of Fort McHenry. And yet another blog from The National Audio-Visual Conservation Center entitled The Birth of the Star Spangled Banner (Edison, 1914) by Mike Mashon, includes a copy of the magazine Edison Kinetogram which features “The Star-Spangled Banner” and the blog also includes the film, The Birth of the Star Spangled Banner. What a treat!
Currently, the original handwritten poem resides at the Maryland Historical Society.
The song became America’s anthem in 1931, long after it was written by Francis Scott Key during the War of 1812. There is an autographed manuscript at the Library of Congress which is in beautiful digital format and there are examples of the Star Spangled Banner in Primary Source Sets – Symbols of the United States.
Use all of these resources to discover the history behind our nation’s song.