I had been all day in an office, and the cold had seeped into my bones. For the most part DC's museums are unkind to the city's population of nine-to-fivers. Open during business hours, they debar anyone who's bound to the clock from sampling the city's cultural delights during the week.
The National Archives is an exception*, and in the time it took me to get from the office to the handsome square building just before the Mall, the summer heat had thawed me just enough to render the air conditioning a welcome respite.
There were no lines to get in. In high spring touring season I've seen lines stretch around the block as the schoolkids take their turns gawking at the US Constitution. Evening in late summer, however, meant I had the place as nearly to myself as anything ever gets on the museum circuit. Getting in to the Archives is not tremendously straightforward - a side door lets you in past security to what appears to be a basement - but at least it's well signed.
Being a museum is, after all, not the primary purpose of the archives. Perhaps aware of this, and perhaps seeking to defuse a reputation as boring or inaccessible, the Archives has poured its heart (and huge wads of cash) into the construction of its star exhibit: Discovering The Civil War. A full-length screen greets visitors with a pleasant young archivist stepping out of the stacks to offer tantalizing tastes of the stories on offer. It resembles nothing so much as an NPC one encounters in a video game, offering hints for the road ahead. "Two thirteenth amendments?" "A treason trial for resisting slavery?"
The exhibit itself is all walls - and no wonder, they need every inch of vertical space they can get. Titles, pull quotes, colored backgrounds (blue and grey make an appearance but do not dominate), blown-up photographs and a general high-budget design make the exhibit extremely visitor-friendly. Large imitation post-its ask questions about the documents on offer. The Socratic method in a museum exhibit risks being twee, but the Archives pulls it off. Its notes read like the questions of a good teacher.
Now if only the documents weren't so damn illegible! They are the stars of this exhibit, and there are some real doozies - John Brown's provisional constitution, Lee's resignation letter, both 13th amendments. But the handwriting and occasionally the printing are so crabbed that I have to stare and sound out every word, a process that fills me with incoherent rage. In some place there are listening stations. Of all things to read, the declaration of secession?! It's printed! The readings from letters succeed rather better. Like the photographs, the letters produce the familiar footsteps-on-the-grave frisson, that shudder of recognition that those who have been swallowed by time are as real and as whole as you.
The exhibit really shines in telling the lesser-known stories, like the petition from a group of Confederate women asking the Secretary of War to allow them to take up arms. (He responds, rather snippily, "The men of the country it is to be hoped will suffice." My girl Sarah Emma Edmonds makes an appearance, as do the men of Christiana, indicted for treason for harboring fugitive slaves.
One of the most disarming sights of the whole exhibit was the stationary. I'm serious. The exhibit is very meta, celebrating archives and archival research equally with the period information it presents. And without not only the content but the sight of these primary sources, how would I have known that the state of Alabama, after secession, couldn't be bothered to print new stationary? (An application for naturalization from a New Yorker appears on a form with word "UNITED" crossed out and "CONFEDERATE" written in). Would I have quite grasped the deadly appropriateness of the fact that the Confederacy printed slaves on its money?
The exhibit is dotted with touch-screens, many of which make nods to modern means of organizing information. Some succeed better than others (the quasi-facebook interface for tracking which officers had which relationships with others is unfortunately only confusing). My favorite was the comic-book style recounting of the CSS Alabama's voyage, complete with spinnable globe that shows the ship's track to the other side of the world on its commerce-disrupting adventures.
This exhibit closed today, I'm afraid, so unless you want to head to Dearborn, MI in 2011 you won't be able to see it. But part II opens in November, and not even the most illegible of letters will be enough to keep me away.
SYNOPSIS
Place: The National Archives, O'Brien Gallery
Pros: Fiesta of primary sources, highly accessible format.
Cons: Can't read the damn writing.
Definitely Check Out: the crossed-out naturalization document.
Rank: 9/10 rough drafts
Showing posts with label museums. Show all posts
Showing posts with label museums. Show all posts
Sunday, September 5, 2010
On the Lawn: The White House, Part I
I found myself downtown with an hour to kill. I decided to begin my museum project right then and there. As the bells were tolling noon, I rounded the corner and found myself in front of the White House. Where better to begin?
I'd first seen the White House from this spot - standing in Lafayette Park looking toward the front - when I was quite young. I remember being shocked at how accessible it all seemed. Barred gates, sure. Snipers on the roof, sure. But the fact remained that I, and an assortment of humanity, were milling about hardly a stone's throw from the President's seat of power. (I'm sure the snipers would have something to say about actual stone-throwing.)
The crowds before the gates were a curious combination of regulars and visitors. Tourists were snapping pictures of an obliging Connie, the Old Faithful of protestors. In front of the gates, two bike cops were talking to a blind woman cradling a pigeon against her chest. A man went past talking into his cell phone like a mike. Handsome South Asian familes posed for pictures under the statues. Federal workers hurried by - men in suits with their jackets off, walking with their bodies pitched towards each other to signal that they were in a meeting despite being technically walking through a park.
There clearly was some way to visit the White House - loose-walking tourists were clearly visible on its steps - but I had no idea what that way might be. The signs that dotted the front walk were mostly of the "YOU ARE HERE" variety. "Yes, I know I'm here," I grumbled to myself. "How do I get there?" Eventually I spotted a marker on the map for the White House visitor center, five blocks away, and set off for it.
That alone must reduce the load of casual visitors the White House bears. There's no readily discernable flow from the park to the visitors' center. The center itself is a single room, but one set up as a White House museum exhibit. The walls of the large room are lined with little cubicles focusing on different aspects of White House life.
There seemed to be no particular flow to the information. Some displays presented White House objects (like the desk made from recycled construction materials, reputedly by the White House's original architect himself) others presented a view of the sorts of events that take place there (like Charles and Diana looking supremely uncomfortable during a meeting with the Reagans). The objects and the photographs were often interesting in themselves, but the narrative accompanying them set new heights in banality. "Objects like this enhance the historical character of the White House." Really?
I learned a few new things, largely to do with the home-economic bureaucracy of running the residence of Presidents. For instance, each one gets his own china service. (I'd make the obligatory "China service" joke except that Google made it for me while I was searching for images under "china service white house") Anyway, what do they do with all the leftover china when the president leaves? I also learned such domestic tidbits as that Mary Todd Lincoln overran her $20,000 decorating budget, Julia Gardiner Tyler introduced the waltz, and Harding wore some spectacular top hats.
I kept thinking that it would be interesting to see a display focusing on how a given space has changed through the years, and this was actually gratified. A station presented the character, function, and changing appearance of the Green, Red, and Blue rooms. Like most of the White House (at least to judge by the visitor's center) they're each a farrago of styles, but even in their chaos they change over the years.
I never got beyond the visitor center, for as I discovered at last, the only way to get into the White House itself is to go through your Member of Congress, not more than 6 months and not less than 30 days in advance. So when I went home I wrote to Eleanor Holmes-Norton requesting a tour. I requested one of the Capitol and the Pentagon while I was at it. Apparently the wait is several months, so you'll probably be waiting a while to hear the results.
SYNOPSIS
Place: White House - Lafayette Park and Visitor Center
Pros: The majesty and absurdity of trying to combine history with livability.
Cons: It's not nearly as accessible as it looks.
Definitely Check Out: Visitors staring across the lawn and trying to spot the roof snipers.
Rank: 4/10 squirrels
I'd first seen the White House from this spot - standing in Lafayette Park looking toward the front - when I was quite young. I remember being shocked at how accessible it all seemed. Barred gates, sure. Snipers on the roof, sure. But the fact remained that I, and an assortment of humanity, were milling about hardly a stone's throw from the President's seat of power. (I'm sure the snipers would have something to say about actual stone-throwing.)
The crowds before the gates were a curious combination of regulars and visitors. Tourists were snapping pictures of an obliging Connie, the Old Faithful of protestors. In front of the gates, two bike cops were talking to a blind woman cradling a pigeon against her chest. A man went past talking into his cell phone like a mike. Handsome South Asian familes posed for pictures under the statues. Federal workers hurried by - men in suits with their jackets off, walking with their bodies pitched towards each other to signal that they were in a meeting despite being technically walking through a park.
There clearly was some way to visit the White House - loose-walking tourists were clearly visible on its steps - but I had no idea what that way might be. The signs that dotted the front walk were mostly of the "YOU ARE HERE" variety. "Yes, I know I'm here," I grumbled to myself. "How do I get there?" Eventually I spotted a marker on the map for the White House visitor center, five blocks away, and set off for it.
That alone must reduce the load of casual visitors the White House bears. There's no readily discernable flow from the park to the visitors' center. The center itself is a single room, but one set up as a White House museum exhibit. The walls of the large room are lined with little cubicles focusing on different aspects of White House life.
There seemed to be no particular flow to the information. Some displays presented White House objects (like the desk made from recycled construction materials, reputedly by the White House's original architect himself) others presented a view of the sorts of events that take place there (like Charles and Diana looking supremely uncomfortable during a meeting with the Reagans). The objects and the photographs were often interesting in themselves, but the narrative accompanying them set new heights in banality. "Objects like this enhance the historical character of the White House." Really?
I learned a few new things, largely to do with the home-economic bureaucracy of running the residence of Presidents. For instance, each one gets his own china service. (I'd make the obligatory "China service" joke except that Google made it for me while I was searching for images under "china service white house") Anyway, what do they do with all the leftover china when the president leaves? I also learned such domestic tidbits as that Mary Todd Lincoln overran her $20,000 decorating budget, Julia Gardiner Tyler introduced the waltz, and Harding wore some spectacular top hats.
I kept thinking that it would be interesting to see a display focusing on how a given space has changed through the years, and this was actually gratified. A station presented the character, function, and changing appearance of the Green, Red, and Blue rooms. Like most of the White House (at least to judge by the visitor's center) they're each a farrago of styles, but even in their chaos they change over the years.
I never got beyond the visitor center, for as I discovered at last, the only way to get into the White House itself is to go through your Member of Congress, not more than 6 months and not less than 30 days in advance. So when I went home I wrote to Eleanor Holmes-Norton requesting a tour. I requested one of the Capitol and the Pentagon while I was at it. Apparently the wait is several months, so you'll probably be waiting a while to hear the results.
SYNOPSIS
Place: White House - Lafayette Park and Visitor Center
Pros: The majesty and absurdity of trying to combine history with livability.
Cons: It's not nearly as accessible as it looks.
Definitely Check Out: Visitors staring across the lawn and trying to spot the roof snipers.
Rank: 4/10 squirrels
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