Museum A Week

My ongoing museum resolution is to visit one new museum a week; as in, one I've never been to before! Many will be in the DC area, where I live, but I am open to suggestions far and wide! The smaller and quirkier, the better.

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Pop art face-off at the Art Institute of Chicago

L: “Ohhh...Alright...” by Roy Lichtenstein, 1964. R: “Liz #3″ by Andy Warhol, 1963. 

These striking ladies live in nearby galleries in the Art Institute of Chicago’s “The New Contemporary” exhibition, but I’d love to see them immediately side-by-side. They're such great opposites: sharp vs. impressionistic, concerned vs. content (or even smug?), fictional comic character vs. ultimate celebrity portrait. 

Even though Elizabeth Taylor’s face is instantly recognizable, this doesn’t really seem to be about HER, especially in the context of Warhol’s other nearby silkscreens of “Twelve Jackies” and “Four Mona Lisas.” And that’s something these two pop art women have in common: the concept of reproducibility. Like Warhol’s many versions of the same faces, Lichtenstein’s comic strip aesthetic gives the feel of mass-production. In some ways, both artists are drawing from mass media and feeding back into it.

Follow @MuseumAWeek on Instagram, for even more blurb-y museum musings.

What reactions do you have, seeing these works side by side? What would a conversation between these two iconic women sound like?

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17. Mobile art patronage with the Vatican’s new Patrum app

I have to say, I’m pretty impressed by a new app called Patrum that combines Kickstarter-like fundraising with educational behind-the-scenes conservation and artifact stories. I read about it on the Art Newspaper but so far haven’t seen much more buzz about it. And this app is made by…none other than the Vatican. Maybe that’s part of why it’s so intriguing to me; it’s coming from an unexpected source, and it’s doing a lot of things well with this new digital foray. I think it’s great to see the Vatican experiment with a sort of hybrid product that could be really interesting to many other, more traditional museums. (Though the Vatican may have more funds to try this sort of thing.)

It’s a really neat idea to be able to donate to a specific work of art or conservation project happening at the Vatican. This is straight Kickstarter modeling: the ability to support a tangible thing and then witness its progression. Donors can feel like they were a part of something specific and worthwhile when they see a product or a campaign come to fruition.

Certain features in Patrum seem a little ambitious, like the promise that if you donate to a specific project, you can use the app’s chat feature to converse directly with someone in the “patrons office” (doesn’t that sound cooler than “development”…?) and request updates on that project. There’s also the goal of having curators send photos and updates directly to contributors. I think this is an awesome idea but could be logistically difficult to get curators to participate on an ongoing basis. For me personally, the chat feature seems expendable; if I donate to a project, I’d rather receive standardized update notifications and messages directly to the app, just like Kickstarter. I’d also enjoy receiving access to video / Periscope tours of the artifact or space throughout the conservation process.

The OG Patron, Lorenzo de’ Medici (image via Wikimedia Commons)

And I think the Vatican is doing something really smart—perhaps even tongue-in-cheek—with the name of the app and the ritual patronage system to which it harkens. The opening screen of the app “unlocks,” creating the sense of being part of a select society (I couldn’t help but think of The Da Vinci Code when I saw the design).

There’s plenty of content even if you don’t decide to officially become a Patron, by paying an annual membership fee or by donating to a standalone project. Set up like a newsfeed (this video put out by the Vatican says Instagram was a big inspiration), you scroll through content chunks that fall into one of three categories (at least, that I saw while browsing): Idea, Person, or Restoration. That last one on the list has a big red “donate” button associated with it, but it thoroughly describes the artifact or project and how your donation will support it. The Kickstarter-y metrics of “Raised” and “Goal” are prominently displayed.

The “Idea” and “Person” bite-sized stories are informational without coming across as staid or stuffy. I can see some of this material being used as a fun digital asset in high school art or history curricula. People can comment on these stories as well, just like any social network. Clearly there is a LOT going on in this app—Donate! Become a member! Learn history! Chat!—and I think it may take some poking around for users. But that’s a minor criticism in my mind, and I think it’s a great experiment coming from an unexpected place. Whoever said the Vatican was set in its ways? 

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16. “The finest garden in Annapolis”: William Paca House

Annapolis is the sort of town where history is visible around every corner, and it’s not necessarily easy to differentiate one significant landmark from another. That’s especially true of the William Paca House, which, though impressively large from the front, hides a rare feature behind it: a two-acre garden in the midst of what was a bustling colonial city at the time of its creation. 

William Paca was a lawyer who played a role in leading Annapolis’ patriot movement. He served as Maryland’s representative in the First and Second Continental Congress, voting for separation from Great Britain in 1776. He went on to serve as governor of Maryland for three terms.

Before visiting the Paca house, I didn’t know what Georgian style really entailed. I learned that a key factor is symmetry; this house has a central block with east and west wings connected by passageways called “hyphens.” It seems fitting that a place so meticulously planned would be described in orderly terms of grammar.

The property’s equally precise garden is governed by geometrical shapes and paths that wind through flower gardens, vegetable gardens, five terraces, a summer home, and a fish-shaped pond. It’s based on Paca’s garden, but both the garden and the house underwent significant restorations in the 1960s. When it was purchased by Historical Annapolis at that time, the property was occupied by a 200-room hotel. The original garden was completely gone, but the majority of the house’s structure remained intact, serving as the hotel’s main entrance. Historical documents and drawings, along with archaeological excavations, provided the guidance to recreate the garden as accurately as possible.

While I will say that the tour of the inside of the house provided some interesting tidbits of information, it’s probably most worthwhile to forego the fee and just wander around the garden yourself. 

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15. Birthplace of the U.S.: Independence Hall

You have to reserve your tickets in advance and then arrive 45 minutes before your tour of Independence Hall starts, but it’s totally worth it. It’s free (or at least very close--I think there’s a $1.50 “reservation fee” per ticket), and led by knowledgeable, enthusiastic park rangers. (As someone who got the Ranger Rick magazine as I kid, I particularly enjoyed that our ranger’s name was, in fact, Rick.)

This cage is actually where the defendant would be shackled during a trial.

The Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were both adopted in this room. That’s George Washington’s Rising Sun chair; Benjamin Franklin famously said he was relieved to know it depicted a rising sun and not a setting one. 

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14. Paris in Philly: The Rodin Museum

I visited the Rodin museum in Paris about six years ago, and I almost felt transported back during my recent time in Philly. Though a much smaller collection of the French sculptor’s works, I actually appreciated the tiny scale--they’d probably call it a jewel box in France. The elaborate facade leading into the garden at Philadelphia’s Rodin Museum provides an instant buffer from the busy-ness of Franklin Parkway. 

Can’t talk about Rodin without talking about the hands. He was known to draw his models from people on the street, and the hands range from gnarled to completely disfigured. Stanford’s museum even put on a recent exhibition about the connection between Rodin’s sculpture and medicine.

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13. Greatest Hits: The Philadelphia Museum of Art

I was so excited by the famous works in the permanent collection at the Philadelphia Museum of Art that I didn’t even check out the special exhibit. The building is like a massive Greek temple holding treasures around every corner--you can’t possibly see all of them in one visit, so I had the most fun just wandering around and stumbling upon interesting works. I also relied a little bit on the list of highlights in the visitor guide, to make sure I didn’t miss things I absolutely wanted to see.

What do the mobile above and the bronze below have in common? Both made by Alexander Calder. Mind-blowing, right?! The mobile is instantly recognizable, but I was amazed to read the fine print and discover that this statue is by Calder as well. Not only that, but it is important to Philadelphia history: it is a model for the statue of William Penn...as in, the 30-foot tall statue of Penn that sits atop City Hall.

Ah yes. These guys. I actually said “aha!” and pointed excitedly at this Charles Wilson Peale painting when I saw it. This is an art history textbook classic, but it is so much cooler in person. The story goes that this trompe l’oeil piece was such a successful illusion that when George Washington paid a visit to Peale’s studio, he tipped his hat as a greeting to the two young men--the artist’s sons--on the staircase.

As always, it’s impossible to express standing in front of an artwork via an iPhone photo, but “The Annunciation” (1898) by Henry Ossawa Tanner actually appears to glow in person. This modern depiction of the Annunciation shows Gabriel not as an angel but as a sheer column of light--and it’s so well done that an aura seems to emanate off of the canvas into the space around the painting.

And of course, the famous “The Gross Clinic,” or “Portrait of Dr. Samuel D. Gross” (1874) by Thomas Eakins. This is another one that’s always in the art history books, but I realized how little I appreciated its scale impact. The painting is both huge and incredibly detailed. I mean, those hands! I love the juxtaposition of the woman’s tensed, highly emotional hands (she’s the patient’s mother) compared to the doctor’s relaxed and passive hand--despite the fact that it’s bloodied and holding a scalpel.  

Just a small note, but I really liked that several of the labels at the Philly Museum of Art listed where works had been exhibited previously. It helped provide more context about the life of the work itself and associated it with certain historical moments. 

These blown glass bottles filled an entire gallery, floor to ceiling. They were colorful and mesmerizing with the back lighting. And, it turns out, they were not just beautiful but also highly useful: these, my friends, were flasks and bottles for carrying whiskey, beer, or cider. The ones pictured here were made in the U.S., but the glass gallery showed similar works from different parts of the world. 

And if the PMA didn’t seem huge enough already, it contains an entire life-sized Ceremonial Teahouse inside it. This teahouse was made by Japanese architect Ogi Rodo and originally stood on his private property in Tokyo. He sold it to the museum in 1928, and it is the only Rodo work outside of Japan.

I breezed a little too quickly through the museum’s European art galleries, but Gustav Klimt’s “Portrait of a Woman” (1917-18) naturally caught my eye. Klimt is definitely mainstream popular these days. But I like to note that I saw some of his works in Vienna and Prague in 2009, before he truly occupied every college dorm room in America. It’s still so much better seeing his work in person as opposed to on a calendar, notecards, coasters, etc. Especially with this super ornate frame that mirrors some of the patterns in the painting--those blue curlicues in the corners--seeing it up on the wall makes for a more satisfying visual feast.

Rounding up some of the PMA’s greatest hits with a Bruce Nauman: “The True Artist Helps the World by Revealing Mystic Truths,” 1967. And I think that title is a nice summary all on its own, one that teasingly brings art back down to earth through the medium of the ubiquitous neon sign. In a Greek Revival temple of a museum, filled with art from a wide variety of schools, cultures, and locations, there are plenty of "mystic truths” that are both serious and playful. 

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12. Family Tradition: The Wyeths at the Brandywine River Museum of Art

I have to say, something about the Brandywine River Museum of Art had me totally captivated. It just has such a distinct personality: seemingly quaint and rustic, colorful, whimsical, but also gives a serious, in-depth look at American art and local art, realism and surrealism. It has a fairly specialized history, with paintings by the Wyeth family–grandfather N.C., father Andrew, and son Jamie–as the collection’s main focus.

The museum is located in Chadds Ford, PA, a quiet area on the outskirts of Philadelphia’s suburbs. (It’s close to Wawa’s main campus and original dairy, should anyone, like me, care about that sort of thing.) True to its name, it sits right next to the Brandywine River, where it occupies a converted former grist mill. 

The building has a newer addition that mimics the circular visual theme of the mill, a design element that makes for panoramic views of the river and surrounding forest when you’re inside the museum.

“Portrait of Shorty,” Jamie Wyeth, 1963. Painted when Wyeth was 17 years old.

When I visited the Brandywine museum, the special exhibition on display was “Jamie Wyeth,” a retrospective of works painted by the youngest Wyeth over the span of his career. 

“Seven Deadly Sins,” Jamie Wyeth, 2005-08. Sea gulls represent sins like gluttony and envy in a landscape inspired by the Maine coast.

Just as the location and architecture of the Brandywine museum colors much of its character, the concept of place also plays an enduring role in Jamie Wyeth’s works. Growing up in a family of artists, he began drawing and painting his home surroundings in the Brandywine Valley at a young age. Several of his later works are very tied to landscape as well, exploring scenes of coastal Maine that are both evocative of the location but also contain surrealistic, dreamlike elements.

Andy Warhol and his dog, Archie. Warhol and Jamie Wyeth were friends and colleagues.

Left, a portrait of Andy Warhol by Jamie Wyeth. Right, a portrait of Wyeth by Warhol. The artists exchanged these portraits of each other.

Aside from the Jamie Wyeth special exhibit, I also popped in to see some of the permanent collections. I really enjoyed some of the nearly mythical narrative works, like N.C. Wyeth’s “In a Dream I met General Washington,” in which he depicts his young son Andy sketching the scene in the corner of the painting, mere feet from George Washington on horseback.

I love the dreamlike quality, paired with hyper detail, of N.C. Wyeth’s illustration of “Treasure Island.” Painted in 1911, it was commissioned for a new edition of the book. This painting, and the theme of the story itself, both seem representative of the Wyeth’s works: familiarity and fantasy going hand in hand.

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11. Powerful Artifacts: Ford’s Theatre

This is going to be a short one, not because it’s not an interesting one but because no photos were allowed in the special exhibit I visited at Ford’s Theatre. And more importantly, the artifacts on display there are really best experienced in person. 

The only photo I did take, of a book tower filling the atrium of the Center for Education and Leadership at Ford’s Theatre. The books are all real titles but are made of aluminum (for fire safety and easier construction). There are around 6,800 books of 205 real titles about Lincoln.

The special exhibit I saw recently is located in the Center for Education and Leadership, directly across the street from the main Ford’s Theatre. Organized for the 150th anniversary of President Lincoln’s death, “Silent Witnesses: Artifacts of the Lincoln Assassination” is up until May 29. 

It’s a tiny, dimly lit gallery--for conservation purposes--but pretty monumental in terms of the objects it contains: the pistol John Wilkes Booth used to shoot Lincoln, American flag bunting from the theater with Lincoln’s blood on it, and written accounts from witnesses who were at the theater that night, April 14, 1865. 

I was particularly struck by the contents of Lincoln’s pockets from that evening, which included a pair of broken spectacles with string holding on one of the arms. This little detail seems to speak volumes about Lincoln’s unassuming character. He also carried a Confederate five dollar bill, perhaps as a token or memento symbolizing the importance of a unified nation. As the “Silent Witnesses” exhibition description points out, it’s pretty amazing to see these items all in one place, “reunited for the first time since April 1865.”

You can also see Lincoln’s carriage, the one that he rode in to Ford’s Theatre the night of his assassination, at the National Museum of American History.

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10. Interwoven: The GW and Textile Museums

The new conjoined GW Museum and Textile Museum opened the weekend of March 21, with three inaugural exhibits and a packed schedule of opening activities. 

The GW side of things features items from the Albert H. Small Washingtoniana collection, which includes maps, documents, photographs and other paper artifacts chronicling the history of D.C. 

“View of Washington,” colored lithograph, Edward Sachse, 1852. Back when there were moats on the National Mall!

The current exhibits, "Seat of Empire: Planning Washington, 1790-1801," and "The Civil War and the Making of Modern Washington," explore both dramatic physical and social changes happening on a national scale but reflected through a local lens. 

These exhibits are mounted in the recently restored historic Woodhull House--which previously served as the headquarters of the University Police Department. I think it's a really fantastic setting for the Washingtoniana objects; all the maps and documents hung on walls over marble fireplaces and next to ornate bannisters give the feel of being invited into the historic home of a private collector.

The Textile Museum side has a much more blockbuster-y feel to it. The brand new 46,000 square foot modern building, which is connected to Woodhull House by a bridge, almost feels like it gives greater volume to the textile artifacts, with a lot of curved, dynamic spaces (including a spiral staircase reminiscent of the Guggenheim's. Always makes me think of the Dr. Dolittle snail shell). 

“Wedding Dress Japonesque,” Arlette Muschter and Claudy Jonstra, 2000, The Netherlands. A contemporary take on a traditional Japanese-style wedding dress.

As someone who has not had much experience with textiles (or interest, I suppose), I tend to think of the stereotypical Persian carpets when I hear the word. And yes, the Textile Museum definitely has some of those, but it is much more diverse than that--and its current exhibition, "Unraveling Identity: Our Textiles, Our Stories," puts great effort towards making a connection between past and present, artifact and audience. 

When I was there on opening Saturday, I wanted to try a really neat looking interactive, where you take a professional studio-style photo of yourself and then select descriptors for your personal style. Sort of like visually tagging your outfit and yourself, the words range from more straightforward fashion adjectives, like "preppy," to more identity-driven descriptors like "businesswoman" or "strong." However, this turned out to be a pretty time-consuming, reflective process for each person using the photo booth, so that plus the opening weekend crowds meant that I didn’t wait in line to try it out. 

However, my friend Harry and I did get to do another activity, in which we learned a Japanese painting technique and received instructions to finish the process at home (since it takes three days to set). 

I didn’t really know what to expect of these combined museums, but I think they actually work really well together--the pairing of papers and textiles as seemingly common materials that can actually tell very deep and complex histories.

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9. A Long, Cold Winter: Valley Forge National Historical Park

Visiting Valley Forge in winter seemed appropriate given the reason for its place in history. Though no battle was fought there, it played an important role in the Revolutionary War. George Washington and his underdressed, underfed troops camped at Valley Forge through a harsh winter, keeping the Continental Army together in a strategic location and ultimately turning them into a cohesive force.

It was an interesting juxtaposition to see dozens of kids sledding on the snowy slopes at Valley Forge, alongside more stoic memorials to the men who spent several months suffering there. But, despite rampant illness (some soldiers died at nearby makeshift hospitals), poor housing, and lack of resources, the troops fiercely lasted through the winter. To further improve things and bolster spirits, a Prussian military officer, von Steuben, trained the amateur soldiers and helped turn the tides for Washington’s army.

The park occupies an expansive setting, and a lot of ground to cover in the snow. Though the walking trails looked perfect for a spring outing, we opted for the self-guided driving tour option--you can pick up a map with points of interest at the visitor center.

The National Memorial Arch, dedicated in 1917. It was donated by the Masonic Society--an organization that GW himself once belonged to.

There were just really awe-inspiring views in every direction. But it was also easy to see how stark and unforgiving the land might be. I couldn’t imagine dwelling here for an entire winter, in a cabin that I myself constructed. It was interesting to learn how disconnected the Continental Army was at the time; the quality of your housing and your general state of warmth and comfort depended on how many resources your home state could provide--meaning that quality of living visibly varied from state to state. Von Steuben’s new style of military instruction not only improved soldiers’ skills, but it also helped knit the troops closer together.

The grandeur and stillness of the park made for a perfectly contemplative environment, and a great opportunity to imagine what it might have been like to live through a harsh winter here.

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8. Writing for Plinth: Jacob Lawrence at the Phillips Collection

I might be cheating a tad by calling this a visit to a “new” museum, but it was my first time seeing any of Jacob Lawrence’s Migration Series paintings. I also got the chance to write for a neat online publication called Plinth, a digital magazine focused on creative and innovative things happening at museums. Check out the full article here!

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7. You Are What You Eat...and What You See: National Geographic Museum

The name of this post came to mind after I saw two exhibits at the National Geographic Museum, which were very different from each other but both supported a concept that (I believe) Nat Geo seeks to convey: that people are reflections and disseminators of the world around us, whether we’re talking about reflecting cultures and societies or the natural world. I was glad I caught FOOD: Our Global Kitchen just before it closed at the end of February. It did a great job of including the fun aspects of the topic of food, like smell stations that let you get a whiff of cinnamon or ginger, as well as the more complex themes of where food comes from and how it fits into a larger, global ecosystem along with health and economic issues. 

One of several introductory panels demonstrating the interconnectedness of foods and its evolution over time and throughout different locations. The unconventional watermelons are from Japan, where they were purposefully grown in square containers. 

Highlights included the test kitchen (the aspect of the exhibition most visibly connected to Whole Foods, a supporter), which featured different food samples along with moderately educational themes surrounding them. I was there on a day focusing on spices; we sampled turmeric milk and a couple different spicy dips. The test kitchen was novel, and it was smart to station it about halfway through the exhibition--it served as both a section divider and a little pick-me-up.

The sniff machines were one of several interactives in the exhibit, including chocolate and fennel as well. But possibly my favorite activity was a table with video projected on it, making it look like a large kitchen prep table. You could move around the table to different stations and hit “play” to watch one of several different recipes being concocted right in front of you. They included step-by-step instructions and ingredients, and were made to look like you yourself could be the chef. My biggest wish for this visual demonstration was that there was a way to save recipes at the end--either with pamphlets nearby, or with the ability to email recipes to yourself.

The exhibition also explored different food histories and cultures, like how ice cream was eaten in the time of Jane Austen. I especially enjoyed the display pictured above because I was raised vegetarian--and also happen to love Indian food! Go figure.

While FOOD was more of a blockbuster exhibition, organized by the American Museum of Natural History in New York and, as I mentioned, backed by Whole Foods, there was also a more understated little exhibit area in the lobby of the National Geographic Society’s office building across the courtyard. I actually don’t know if admission is even required to visit this exhibit; no one checked our tickets, and most of the people walking through seemed to work in the building’s offices.

I liked Photo Camp: A Decade of Storytelling not just for the amazingly diverse and striking photographs, but also for the humanitarian, educational mission behind this program. The exhibit did a great job of including glimpses at behind-the-scenes processes, interviewing both the Nat Geo photographers and their students. Photo Camp sends professional photographers and editors to various locations around the world to teach photography skills to young people. As they learn, these budding documentarians snap scenes of their communities, putting a newly trained eye to their daily lives. The images are powerful and speak for themselves; I’d recommend just popping into this unassuming exhibit in the lobby whenever you’re looking for a breath of fresh perspective.

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6. Tinker 'Til You Drop (or Invent Something Really Cool): Cooper Hewitt Smithsonian Design Museum

[Disclaimer: I’m totally behind on #MuseumAWeek but committed to catching up!] This one’s about the second museum I visited on my recent weekend jaunt to New York. It is basically a blockbuster in contrast to the other museum I visited there, the Hispanic Society of America, so visiting both provided a nice balance. The newly renovated and redesigned Cooper Hewitt flies in the face of a lot of traditional museum practices—or perhaps leads us toward the cutting edge—and places a heavy emphasis on interactivity. Some of its visitor (user?)-centric activities made me feel like I was in a working design lab rather than a historic home once occupied by Andrew Carnegie. This is an interesting time for me to be reflecting on my visit to Cooper Hewitt, since I’m currently taking a class called “museums and digital technology,” making me more hyperaware than usual about how and why interactive technologies are put to use in museums.

A lot of things are touchable, but not this guy.

The Cooper Hewitt Smithsonian Design Museum has been a hot topic in general recently, and not just among museum folk—especially with a lot of conversation surrounding the Pen. THE Pen, with a capital P. I’ll admit, I bought into the advance buzz about this smart not-actually-for-writing device and was really excited to use it during my visit. I’d read that it would let visitors virtually “collect” objects and be used to create new designs on large touchscreen tables, sort of mimicking a draftsman’s workspace. Alas, the Pen wasn’t available for visitor use yet; I asked the staff and was told it would be coming sometime in March.

One of the ways we'll eventually be able to use the Pen.

The Pen aside, there’s still a myriad of ways to have an “interactive” experience at the Cooper Hewitt, ranging from the more traditional—pick up the telephone and listen to a recording—to the more heavily computerized. Gesture Match has you move in front of a full-length motion-sensing screen, choose a pose, and then it introduces an object from the collection into the scene that somehow relates to or interacts with your pose. The idea here seems to be about making connections between shapes and forms, natural figures and designed objects.

I thought one of the coolest high-tech things in the building, up on the third floor, was a morphing table created by MIT Media Lab. I’m going to do an inadequate job describing it, but you wave your hand over a screen, and your movements are translated onto a physical grid of pegs, which pop up and down according to the motion of your hand. 

Trying to move the ball around on the morphing table by causing the pegs to move up or down.

Right next to the morphing table, a cute Sketchbot was hard at work drawing people’s faces in sand. I took my photo, but it was going to be about four hours before the bot would actually get to tracing my image; clearly the poor guy was overworked.

The much-discussed Immersion Room lets you design your own wallpaper pattern or choose from the Cooper Hewitt’s extensive wallpaper collection, and project the design onto the walls around you. I think it has the potential to become too gimmicky (it’s already a popular photo opp spot, just take a peek at #WallpaperWednesday on Instagram), but it’s also an interesting way to showcase what some might see as a more boring aspect of the collection. When you’re totally, erm, immersed in a wallpapered room, it’s easy to see how different designs really can affect the mood and character of a space.

Another guilty photo-taker (whoops!)

Call me old fashioned, but my favorite hands-on activity was in the exceedingly low-tech Process Lab. Here, everything is physical rather than computerized. Light bulbs encased in bare wire frames invite you to use provided materials, like different textured and colored papers, screens and plastics, to change the way light is cast, enhanced or deflected. I won’t say I created a masterpiece (below), but it was a really fun way to experiment in a playful way—as the Process Lab encourages you to “play designer.” 

Another activity asked visitors to pull two objects out of their pocket or purse and draw an entirely new device that combines those two things. Then you could add to a wall of other visitor designs, with a description of how it would be used.

All in all, I probably could’ve spent another two hours at the Cooper Hewitt. I think it makes great strides in play-based learning for visitors of all ages. It’s a little pricier than most Smithsonian museums (free), at $9 for students and $18 for adults (it’s a couple bucks cheaper if you buy tickets online). Either way, I think it’s completely worth a visit, as a fun and accessible way to learn about and participate in the design process.

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5. Spanish Sanctuary: The Hispanic Society of America Museum & Library

When I went to New York two weekends ago, I arrived with the lofty goal of visiting, oh, five museums I had never been to before. In two and a half days. While also catching up with high school and college friends who live in the city. In other words, it didn’t happen, even though I had made a list and mapped out each museum’s neighborhood and subway stop. But, I realized, that’s how NYC operates. You get caught up in a whirlwind of too much to do and see (and eat). That being said, I did manage to escape on Friday afternoon while my friends were still at work, and I’m glad I did. The Hispanic Society of America was suggested to me by the museum-tweeting pro behind @ITweetMuseums, @MarkBSchlemmer. He said: “@HSAmuseum is recommended and sadly undervisited. Easy to get to by subway.”

He was right on both counts. I took the C train farther uptown than I had ever gone before, to 155th street, but it was a breeze. It’s true, the Hispanic Society of America Museum and Library is off the beaten path, both in the sense that Washington Heights is not typically thought of as museum destination land, and also that its entrance isn’t visible from the sidewalk: it’s through a courtyard, up a flight of stairs, through a set of stately iron gates to an upper courtyard, and then through a grand, Beaux Arts entrance into the museum itself.

Though the trek to the Hispanic Society of America, paired with its imperial external demeanor, might deter visitors, I actually found that the journey added to the experience. I felt like I was on a treasure hunt finding my way there, and the courtyards leading up to the museum acted as a buffer between the city noise and the hushed, almost reverent tone within the museum’s walls. I really hadn’t known what to expect, but stepping into HSA’s interior court made me feel transported to a medieval Spanish castle, a warm sanctuary from the piles of snow outside. With red tiled floors, dark wooded arches, and diffuse natural light coming in through glass ceiling panels, the architecture certainly helped get me in the right mindset for the art it houses—and get lost in its rich histories.

The Hispanic Society of America’s name sometimes causes confusion—and debate—as it focuses predominantly on Spanish art, though it does also have Latin American works in the collection. Furthermore, it's not a "society" in the exclusive sense of the word. Founded in 1904 by philanthropist Archer Milton Huntington, the HSA still strives to adhere to his original vision of a place of Spanish culture, research and learning. I won’t get into the contemporary pressures it faces to adapt to the times, but those arguments are explored in this 2011 New York Times piece.

The pleasant routes you can wander through the museum—circling the grand central court, surveying from the overhead balcony, and slipping into side passageways that lead to unexpected rooms full of decorative art objects—help emphasize the narrative feeling of many of the works. Often cited as the can’t-miss gallery, the Sorolla Room displays a massive panoramic mural, "The Provinces of Spain" (1911-1919), which covers nearly all the wall space in the room. Like the center court, its sheer scale and sumptuous jewel-toned colors have the powerful effect of spiriting you away to another time and place. 

Joaquín Sorolla y Bastida, described as the “painter of light,” captured scenes of outdoor life, from festivals to daily labor, all bathed in various tones of sunlight. While it’s a sight to behold in its entirety, my favorite part about the Sorolla Room was getting up close to certain small details. These little snapshots are full of activity and color in and of themselves, and it helps heighten a feeling of immersion in this painted world that seems to almost emit warmth (did I mention it was >20 degrees when I was in NYC?).

I also enjoyed some of the less traveled galleries upstairs at HSA. Heading through a room of 16th century Spanish door knockers (a surprise around every corner!), I found myself in the ceramics galleries—which include Spanish, Portuguese, and Latin American works as well as pieces from the Philippines and Portuguese India. I was sort of amazed by the level of artistry in these small and seemingly everyday objects, and it provided a nice contrast to the instantly visible grandeur of the stunning large-scale works in the collection. I had that feeling of having sneaked into the castle’s private china cabinet, poking around these treasures in total peace and quiet. I was especially tickled by these animated incense burners, ca. 1700-1750.

A series of painted tiles also caught my attention, as it again brought to mind the feeling of visual storytelling that carries throughout the museum. Titled "The advances of the 19th century," made in Barcelona in 1902, it was a fun challenge to try and identify the new technologies depicted: heated shower? Foot-powered saw?

Overall, my visit to the Hispanic Society of America was marked by the feeling that there were these great little gems all around, waiting to be discovered. A mix of warm Spanish hospitality and shrouded mystery made this a memorable passage through history and place, in a way that provoked not only intellectual curiosity but also appealed to the emotions and the senses. From the moment you set foot on those burnt sienna tiles, it is an invitation to take a delightful sojourn to majestic Old Spain in a truly immersive setting—one that even provides a cure for the winter blues.

[museumaweek]

4. Class is in session: Learning about DC education at the Charles Sumner School Museum

I’m writing this post while on a train to New York because I (clearly) plan to visit some museums there, and I don’t want my recent visit to the Charles Sumner School in DC to lose its fresh place in my memory. Yesterday I visited the school, now a museum and archives, after having walked by it probably dozens of times in the past. A couple things that initially surprised me: 1. Public schools were apparently MUCH NICER buildings back in the day, and 2. The museum doesn’t focus solely on the history of Charles SumnerSchool; in fact, it covers a highly detailed history of the DC public school system and the evolution of African American education in the capital city. 

Returning to point #1: the fact that Charles Sumner School is an architectural marvel—an impressive red brick building with a bell tower and arched windows—is actually significant in and of itself. The Sumner School’s predecessor was likely neither attractive nor functional. It was a two-story schoolhouse constructed out of salvaged wood and opened for African American students in 1866. This lackluster building for the “M Street School” (which stood at the same location of 17th and M Streets where the Sumner School currently resides) was soon demolished. The structure that took its place was designed by famous architect Adolf Cluss—the same man who designed the Smithsonian Castle and the Arts and Industries Building, among many others throughout DC. If you can notice any blatant similarity here, it would be that red brick:

The Smithsonian Castle, via SI Newsdesk.

In fact, Cluss became known for transforming DC into the “Red Brick City” after the Civil War. This is why (I think) that a Cluss-designed building for an African American school is so significant: brick was locally made, inexpensive, and deterred fire, making it practical—but it was also regarded as new and modern during the period of industrial growth after the Civil War. I’ll defer to the Cluss historians to make this point, since I think it is phrased so well: “Brick satisfied a desire to show that this building was different from a building of an earlier period and was thus modern, not tied to other cultures, classes and styles.” Cluss designed several public schools in the city, which, according to an exhibition at the Sumner School Museum, “were meant to inspire students, dignify teaching, and elevate free public education to a position of prominence and respect.” Obviously, school integration would have been a more modern outcome, but that was still decades away. Sumner School was momentous for its time, as a state-of-the art building created specifically for the purpose of offering public education to African American students. When it was built in 1872, it was one of just three public elementary schools for African American children. It also hosted the first graduation in the country for African American high school students, in 1877.

A photo from an exhibit on Bill Webb’s documentation of DC public schools from 1975 to 1991, located on the ground floor of the Sumner School Museum.

Finally, heading inside the building: it’s impeccably maintained, and initially hard to imagine it as a school rather than a beautiful mansion (the metal school bells on the walls help give it away). It ceased functioning as a school in 1978 due to disrepair, and community rallying saved the building to be preserved as a historic site. 

The ground, first, second, and third floors all contain artifacts and records related to the DC public school system. Rooms are loosely organized around the histories of individual schools, like Cardozo, Duke Ellington School of the Arts, and Booker T. Washington. It also chronicles the contributions of teachers and administrators who helped advance African American education. One notable educator, Myrtilla Miner, founded a school focused on instructing African American women to become teachers, which also operated out of the Sumner School building.

One of Myrtilla Miner’s teachers-in-training instructing students on the lawn of the Sumner School.

Though the objects and exhibits don’t always spell out the entire history for you at the Sumner School Museum, with minimal signage and interpretation, it’s still an incredible wealth of Washington education history and 100% worth a (free!) visit. For anyone who went to school in DC or even just lives there now, it’s a really fascinating, interconnected story of how education, civil rights advancements, and DC’s growth have shaped the city. 

[museumaweek]

3. By Average Americans, for Average Americans: Daily Life at The Old Stone House

Georgetown is famous for its beautiful historic homes, many of them striking in their Georgian, Federal and Victorian styles. But there’s a humble little structure on M Street that has them all beat when it comes to seniority. The Old Stone House, now owned by the National Park Service and open to the public, was built in 1765 and proudly holds the title of being the oldest structure still on its original foundation in Washington, DC.

Located in the midst of Georgetown’s busiest commercial drag, the Old Stone House is easy to miss in the steady stream of restaurants, bars and retail businesses (it’s directly across the street from the massive Nike store). It reminded me of the children’s book, “The Little House,” about a country house that sees the scenery around it transformed over time, for better or for worse. According to an NPS pamphlet I picked up during my visit, the area around the Old Stone House was growing into a busy commercial port by 1800, and the house was threatened by encroaching development. However, it appears that local legend saved the house: popular belief at the time held that George Washington and Pierre L’Enfant convened at the Old Stone House to work on city planning. (In fact, they likely stayed at an inn and tavern several blocks away.) 

Stepping through the Old Stone House’s entrance lands you directly in a gift shop, which was a little disappointing after I learned that this space was the original one-room, one-story house. It was built by a family from Pennsylvania, the Laymans, constructed out of solid oak and blue fieldstone from a nearby quarry. It wasn’t completely clear to me how much of the house is original material versus restored, since it has experienced so many changes over time. The house’s second owner, a wealthy widow who purchased the house a few years after it was built, expanded the first floor and added two additional floors. The Old Stone House even served as a used car dealership—and its garden as the lot—before it was bought by the NPS.

The restored English-style garden was at one time a used car lot. 

When I made my way through the gift shop and back into what is now the reconstructed kitchen, it offered a charming immersion into early American life. Some of the informational signs in the house are hard to read, as they’re mostly typed out on printer paper, but the objects themselves are fascinating and help to construct a snapshot of the time period. The massive hearth is the center of the kitchen, surrounded by various cooking and washing implements, and I liked seeing the list of popular foods of the time posted nearby, some familiar and some not so much: oatmeal, river herring, scrapple, cabbage, apple pie, and more.

The ceilings inside the house were noticeably lower than modern buildings, and I thought the Old Stone House had a fun way of putting that in perspective—literally. Similar to how I marked my height on a doorframe at home growing up, visitors to the stone house could see where they stood compared to Martha Washington and Thomas Jefferson, as well as the average 18th century man and woman. (This guy was happy about being between Benjamin Franklin and George Washington.)

Heading upstairs, the second floor contains bedrooms, while the very narrow ascension to the third floor leads to a children’s room. I noticed that these rooms were all generalized reconstructions of what the typical house of the time may have looked like, rather than attempts to incorporate history about actual occupants. For example, a sign in the children’s room read, “European American children in the late 1700s usually only had time for toys and games on Sunday.”

I realize it’s probably difficult to even track down information about the actual people who lived here, which is part of what makes the Old Stone House interesting for surviving so long: these were ordinary early Americans, living in a typical home at the time. It’s not a place preserved for any momentous event in American history occurring there, which I think makes it homey and approachable as a brief window into daily—and completely average—early American life. 

[museumaweek]

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