WE ARE GLAM-OROUS: MMST STUDENTS TAKE ON THE FIELD

Special Edition |  Melissa Mertsis and Jordan Vetter

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We asked Master of Museum Studies (MMSt) and Combined Degree Program (CDP) students about their experiences across all years of the program and received many empowering responses. Through coursework, theses, internships, student organizations, and work experiences, students have grown personally and professionally, and have contributed to the field. The value that MMSt students can bring to the GLAM (Galleries, Libraries, Archives & Museums) sector is clear, and we want to celebrate all that we have accomplished and are capable of!

The MMSt program is small but mighty—relationship building and networking among peers is a great advantage of being in a cohort of only about 100 people. This could be peer-to-peer “inspiration, support, [and] advice” on a difficult project, or, as Georgia McKee states, it could be cultivating friendships that turn into career connections down the road. Dominica Tang and Denise Tenio also describe the “sense of belonging” that came out of meeting other “[like-minded] people” in the program, fostering a sense of community and support. As Jefimija says, “museum people are good people!”

Relationship-building also occurs between MMSt students and the communities they work with. Cassidy Latimer, Amanda Marino, and one other student, who all work at small museums, describe their roles and institutions as directly contributing to the members of these communities—whether it’s helping visitors understand local histories, or coming together to support one another during the pandemic, these roles directly impact their communities!

Museum Studies students at the MMSt 50th Anniversary Conference. Photo courtesy of Melissa Mertsis.

Imposter Syndrome is something that so many of us go through in grad school. Fortunately for MMSt students, this program and the experiences that come with it have been a big confidence booster! In completing a fellowship with the Aga Khan Museum, Rebecca has “learned to trust [herself] and [her] ideas”, while another student working on a capstone project recognized just how capable and resourceful they are. Surprisingly, the pandemic has also produced opportunities for students to become more aware of their capabilities. Lauren Ulbricht, intern at the Billy Bishop Museum, found that independent work due to COVID-19 caused her to be more “confident in [her] knowledge and abilities.” No matter the experience, as Brooke Downey so aptly put it, this confidence allows us to “show prospective employers what we're capable of!”

With so many possible areas to study within the museum field—everything from collections to exhibitions and programming—it’s easy to get overwhelmed with what direction to pursue. Fortunately, many of our peers have found that courses, guest lectures, and other opportunities in the program have allowed them to discover new areas of interest or guide their career path. With open-ended assignments, students say they are able to explore topics they are passionate about, expanding their knowledge base and resulting in strong portfolio pieces for future endeavours.

Students on a tour led by the National Gallery of Canada's Educator of Indigenous Programs and Outreach Jaime Morse. Photo courtesy of Melissa Mertsis. 

In addition to course material, experiences like internships and Young Canada Works positions have helped students find their passions. Rachel Deiterding explains that the range of activities she participated in during her internship with the Doris McCarthy Gallery helped to “solidify the kind of museum work that [she is] most interested in.” A CDP student’s experience as a Collections Assistant with the Art Museum at the University of Toronto “made [them] realize that [they] really want to work in the museum field,” and a work position even led Jefimija to find her thesis specialization! This validation that we are on the right track, and can find meaningful work in something we’re passionate about, is reassuring for our futures as museum professionals.

Not only have we been able to grow our networks, confidence, and passions in this program, but MMSt students have also discovered how their experiences make them well-suited to contribute to the field. With many projects in our program being grounded in what we would do in practice, we are more prepared to apply these concepts and learnings to our work. Both Julia Barclay and Tiffany mention how their work and internship experiences have allowed them to contextualize their coursework and apply theory into practice. Lauren McAusland similarly explains how knowledge from her classes helped her to create educational videos and lead an evaluation of an online learning platform with the Royal Botanical Gardens.

MMSt students installing their exhibition wall for MSL2370. Photo courtesy of Jordan Vetter.

On top of our growing practical knowledge base, students have been able to build and apply a variety of new skills—from grant applications, formative evaluations, and storytelling, to Photoshop, collections auditing, and event planning. These provide a solid foundation of transferable skills that we can easily translate into new roles and contexts.

In this program, we have been exposed to different perspectives and critical museum discourse, which students have consciously carried into their work. Christina explains the importance of telling stories accurately and critically, and how she has encouraged others “to think critically about ‘artistic genius’ and what that meant then and what that means today” during her time at the McMichael. Through research and interpretive planning, Vicky Jamieson strives to highlight BIPOC histories with Halton Region Heritage Services, reframing the history of Halton and its communities. Similarly, as a research assistant with the Indigenous Virtual Living Archive, Amanda Berardi has practiced prioritizing Indigenous knowledge and people.

Master of Museum Studies students looking ahead to our bright futures! Photo courtesy of Melissa Mertsis. 

The recentering of diverse narratives is so important in the field. Bold thinking on how this can be brought to our professional practice led to the formation of student-led group Museum Professionals of Colour (MPOC). MPOC works to “[address] the lack of racial diversity and representation” both within the faculty and beyond. By continuously asking questions, centering underrepresented narratives, reading, and learning, graduates of the MMSt program can bring fresh perspectives to a changing field.

Grad school can be a time of stress and uncertainty, but it is also a time of exploration and tremendous growth. Armed with incredible experiences, a well-rounded and diverse skill set, and a drive to innovate, we have no doubt that our peers will continue to make a difference in their respective corners of the museum field. Look out, museum world, here we come!

FUNDRAISING LESSONS FOR THE NON-FUNDRAISER

(Fun)draising | Samantha Summers

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In my three years of writing this column, I have mentioned once or twice my belief that as museum professionals we must all understand fundraising in order to understand our institutions. This is true for a number of reasons. Knowing how fundraising works, and how your institution does it, can tell you a great deal about your institution. Knowing who is giving to your institution can tell you much about your audience. In addition to this, and most relevant to us today, is that there are a lot of lessons to take from fundraising which have applications in other areas of museum work. Today I would like to share with you four of the most important pieces of fundraising advice which will help you in other areas of the field.

Bear with me, because I know a lot of people find talking about money gauche. All the same, there's a lot you can learn from your colleagues who talk about it all the time. (Image source.)

Talk so people want to listen.

At the end of the day, we all have to remember that our field requires an audience. Whatever we do and say has to be helpful to them and has to make them want to listen. Now, this isn’t to say that you have to coddle an audience or dilute your message. In fact, I would make the case that fundraisers are some of the most frank, blunt people in the museum world—pandering isn’t actually part of the job. What this does mean, however, is that you have to tell hard truths carefully. Fundraisers are great at this (after all, "I need a substantial amount of your money to keep my institution going" is a big pill to swallow). Chat with them about how to talk about difficult things—I promise they'll have insights into how to make people listen even when you're navigating a complicated exhibition. As the saying goes, if a tree falls in a forest, does it make a sound? If an exhibition is put on and nobody came, did it even have a message?


People are complicated.

This one is of particular relevance to me, as my thesis investigates how museums break off relationships with major donors whose ethics are called into question. Simply put, the hyper-wealthy don’t just crack eggs to make omelettes, they then patent the process and sell it. Then they often given some of the profits to museums, to help them continue their important work. Fundraisers have to understand how to let people be flawed and still participate in the museum. They also have to know where the hard lines are drawn that make someone anathema to the institution. As other museum careers deal with problematic artists or dubious artefact sources, they might want to pick a fundraiser’s brain on how to navigate that line.


The museum wants to exist in fifty years.

This is a tricky one. Many people go into the museum field because they love art, history, education, activism, or one of the many other things that museums can embody. It can be hard to acknowledge that museums in Canada are largely underfunded and need to raise capital in order to exist at all. Fundraisers are intimately familiar with this—they’re on the frontline of bringing in a huge part of a museum’s budget. Other museum professionals will see the need to prioritize profit impact their work when they’re asked to change the tone of a label, scrap an exhibition because of the potential bad publicity, or work with an artist who is famous but problematic. The museum is in it for the long haul, and sometimes that means compromise in order to maintain long-term stability. Chat with your fundraiser if you’re worried about a change you’re being forced to make for this reason. They also care about the museum’s mission, have probably had to compromise a number of times, and can relate.


There are a lot of ways to love a museum.

One of the most exciting parts of fundraising is helping people do things that matter. People want to help museums, but with so many different lived experiences out there, it can be tough to find ways for people to participate in the museum in a way that feels authentic for them. Be it a $20 annual donation on a special anniversary, funding a new education program, or a legacy gift (a donation made to an institution in a will), fundraisers are masters at coming up with unique ways for people to be involved in an institution. They are also masters at making people care in the long-term, so they return and contribute over and over again. If you’re looking at increasing engagement or diversifying your education portfolio, talk to a fundraiser. They’re full of ideas on how to help people find joy in being part of your community.


There are of course many more lessons to be taken from fundraising, and fundraisers must also be constantly learning from the other members of the museum. Talk to your fundraisers, find common ground and common learning, and you will see your institution flourish. Plus, I promise we’re friendly, welcoming, open people. It’s literally our job to be.

THE COMMUNITY IS THE GALLERY: “THREE-THIRTY” AT THE DORIS MCCARTHY GALLERY AND BEYOND

Exhibition Reviews | Rachel Deiterding

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While online exhibitions have become the new norm over the past year, there are many exhibitions and media that are not easily transformed for the digital world. Despite this, galleries such as the Doris McCarthy Gallery (DMG) have continued to engage audiences with their in-person offerings without any bodies passing through the gallery space. 

On October 3rd the DMG opened their first exhibition since their unexpected closure due to COVID-19 in March. Three-Thirty, curated by Scarborough native Anique Jordan, features work by Aaron Jones, Kelly Fyfe-Marshall, and Ebti Nabag. For a few short weeks, visitors were able to visit the exhibition in person before the gallery closed its physical space again to limit the transmission of COVID-19. Elements of the exhibition resisted being transformed into an online format. Kelly Fyfe-Marshall’s three-channel video POWER asks Scarborough community members “what does power look like for you in the midst of this moment of revolution?” The conversation that it presents calls for a three-dimensional interaction with the videos as the viewer is swept into the conversation from multiple directions. Creative curatorial approaches that focused on public art and making the exhibition accessible for, and in fact a part of, the wider Scarborough community, allowed some elements of the exhibition to continue to thrive at a distance.

Kelly Fyfe-Marshall, POWER (still from three-channel video installation), 2020. Image: Toni Hafkenscheid. [Source]

As a whole, Three-Thirty focuses on the after-school hour to explore the way that young people assert their authority and more generally, how power is constructed and manipulated in particular spaces. The exhibition is concerned with how individuals influence their environments when they are told that they do not have the power to do so. While the gallery portion of the exhibition is presented at the DMG, Three-Thirty, is also made up of satellite installations at Malvern Public Library and Lester B. Pearson Collegiate which features monumental murals installed on the exterior of each structure. 

These exterior elements kept the exhibition alive in the COVID-19 era, however, they were not built into the exhibition to help keep us apart, but rather to bring the community together. Aaron Jones, worked with the Rita Cox Black and Caribbean Heritage Collection to develop Seeing Knowledge, a series of collages that reflect on alternative models of classifying and building knowledge based in the body and ancestral worlds. The collages were combined to create the 23-foot mural that adorns Malvern Public Library.

Aaron Jones, Seeing Knowledge, 2020. Public installation at the Malvern Public Library. Image: Toni Hafkenscheid. [Source]

Ebti Nabag’s photo-murals were developed with students from Lester B. Pearson Collegiate, depicting them smiling, laughing with friends, in their element, and in control of their own images. Two murals are installed on the exterior of Lester B. Pearson Collegiate, and a third at the DMG. The scale of the murals commands the viewer's attention and conveys the agency of the youth, depicting worlds of seriousness and playfulness where they are in control of the present and the future.

 

Ebti Nabag, Bubble of Youth, 2020. Public installation at Lester B. Pearson Collegiate Institute. Image: Toni Hafkenscheid. [Source]

Together, these murals take on the themes of power and agency taken up by Three-Thirty, while also thinking about where power and decision-making lie in particular communities. While DMG exhibitions are free, the external elements of the exhibition extend notions of accessibility, acknowledging that not all groups represented feel welcome or in control in traditional gallery spaces. Taking the work beyond the physical limits of the gallery and placing them at the epicenter of the wider community functions to promote engagement with art from different audiences and brings these themes into discussion in community spaces rather than exclusively in the gallery. The proximity of the installations also facilitates the opportunity for community members to stop and reflect on their neighbourhood as they move among important local landmarks. Jones and Nabag’s murals embody a sense of empowerment, exuding the agency and knowledge of those who are often cast aside. While they promote discussions surrounding power, agency, and place, they implicitly, and maybe even more powerfully, serve as a reminder of the individual agency of each member of the Scarborough community.

  

Three-Thirty, 2020. Installation view. Image: Toni Hafkenscheid. [Source]

Online spaces have provided a platform for museums and galleries to continue sharing information and presenting exhibitions when it has been dangerous to gather inside. While expanding access in some senses, digital spaces have limited others, neatly packaging the world into disconnected 2D realities. Perhaps, thinking about land, exterior spaces, and direct community access are worthy open-air alternatives as COVID-19 persists and as we enter into a post-COVID era of curatorial practice.

 

Ebti Nabag, I'm Listening, 2020. Public installation at the Doris McCarthy Gallery, UTSC. [Source]

For more information about Three-Thirty, and to watch the short documentary about the show click here!

SLOW FASHION: PANDORA DOLLS AND THE HISTORY OF FASHION ADVERTISING

Sew What | Natalie Scola

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Fashion permeates modern culture – from Instagram to magazines, new styles are visible and accessible – especially with the popularity of online shopping during a pandemic!

How did people learn about fashion trends before social media or the rise of magazines and fashion advertisements?

From the 14th to 18th century, dolls known as Pandoras or poupées de mode, were miniature dolls dressed in the latest fashions and sent across Europe to share new fashion trends.

Pandora dolls are fascinating bits of history because they show the importance of fashion through the centuries and provide a point of reference for the fashion of the day. These dolls were not intended as children’s playthings, rather they were important economic and cultural items.

As early as the 14th century, there are records of the royal families of France sending dolls to other European courts to promote French fashion and strengthen diplomatic relationships. The Italian Marie de Medici, lover of all things fashionable, received fashion dolls by the French king Henry IV before their marriage so she could learn how the French dressed. The use of these dolls in royal and aristocratic circles marked them as something exclusive, and helped established France as a center of fashion.

By the 17th century, these dolls had become an established part of the fashion trade. The 18th century saw the peak of the doll’s popularity; it was during this time that they became known as “Pandora” dolls, although the origins of this name are unknown. French dressmakers sent Pandoras with their designs to England, Germany, Italy and Spain. One of the oldest fashion dolls is displayed in the Livrustkammaren (Royal Armory Museum) in Stockholm. She has clothes made of silk which are embroidered with gold and silver thread. Her wig is made from real human hair and is styled in an elaborate coiffure. The high quality of the doll’s clothes and the skill present in the creation of the doll itself is proof of the elite status of these objects.  

Fashion doll c. 1590 in the collection of the Royal Armoury, Stockholm. Source.

The mass popularity of Pandoras in the 18th century aligned with cultural changes that made fashion and wealth more accessible. The beginning of the 18th century saw improvements in travel conditions through a growing network of public transportation systems. This led to increased mobility, allowing the Pandora dolls to travel further and with greater ease. The emergence of a middle class with increased disposable income competed with the aristocratic elite. In England, sumptuary laws which had been in place since the 14th century, dictated who could wear what based on social position. By the 17th century, the laws had weakened and were eventually abolished, giving people much more freedom to choose what they wore and helped increase the popularity of the Pandoras in the country. With the improved production of luxury fabrics and an evolving economy, Europe saw the origins of what we now recognize as a fashion market.

Most Pandora dolls were made of wood, with their heads and bodies turned from a single piece. Some had arms and legs made of jointed wood while others had limbs of wax or linen. Their faces were painted and the most expensive dolls had glass eyes. Some had painted hair or realistic wigs made from flax or wool! Reflecting accurate, new hairstyles was just as important as showing new clothes.

A Pandora doll’s clothing reflected the contemporary wardrobe. For women, this included:

• A chemise or shift (the undergarment worn closest to the skin)
• Stockings
• Stays (fully boned, laced bodices worn under the dress to create a specific body shape)
• Panniers or other dress supports (undergarments worn to extend the skirt at the side or back)
• Pockets (worn tied around the waist and accessed through slits in the outer gown)
• Petticoats
• The outer gown
• Stomacher (decorative, triangular panel that covered the front opening of the gown)
• Accessories such as shoes, hats, gloves, and jewellery

 

This Pandora comes with an incredible amount of accessories - 23 in total! Source.

So, who were these dolls made for and who bought them? Dressmakers and tailors would send dolls to different countries so other dressmakers and tailors could copy new styles and patterns. In this way, they acted as advertisement for the dressmakers, showing off their skills and talent. Pandoras were also used by wealthy customers. Fashion, especially the fashion worn by the upper classes, was expensive; there was no such thing as fast fashion in the 18th century! With consumer goods being available to a wider range of society, the upper classes were intent on demonstrating their wealth through visible goods such as clothes; only the newest designs in the best fabrics would be worn. Pandoras offered customers the ability to view what they were going to purchase, to feel the fabric and see the design in a miniature mock-up. The clothes worn by these small mannequins were constructed exactly as full-sized clothes would be and included every construction detail, demonstrating the immense skills of dressmakers and tailors.

This doll's jacket may have been made for a Pandora doll. It is made of a beautiful - and expensive floral silk. The jacket is lined and the back of the jacket (bottom) is pattern matched, showing the skill of the dressmaker. Source.

While Pandoras were generally small, about the size of modern toy dolls, some were made life-sized. Wealthy clients became interested in owning their own Pandoras, and began to collect both the smaller, travelling versions as well as the life-sized ones. It became popular to own a pair of dolls, one in court dress – the Grande Pandora – and one dressed in everyday wear – the Petit Pandora.  Life-sized dolls were not just the whim of the rich, but also served a practical purpose. Clothes made to a life-sized doll could be tried on by the recipient and help the dressmaker with the fitting process.  For dressmakers, life-sized Pandoras were the earliest version of modern store mannequins. Rose Bertin, dressmaker to Queen Marie Antoinette, sent wooden Pandora dolls to Austria to show French fashions to the Queen’s family. In her shop window, Bertin also made use of a life-size model of the Queen, displaying to the public the latest royal fashions and cementing Marie Antoinette’s image as a fashionista.

 

This Pandora, while missing a head, is a beautiful example of court dress (robe de cour) from the 1760s. Court dresses at this time were made of three parts: a boned bodice with a wide neckline; a mantua skirt which was long and narrow; and a train. The bottom picture shows the scale of the Pandora compared to life sized clothes. Source (top).Source (middle).Source (bottom).

Pandora dolls, despite looking like toys, were not meant to be played with. Their sole purpose was to display the latest fashion trends. Some women used Pandoras to commemorate their own wardrobes and lives. In England, Laetitia Clark Powell, created a series of 13 dolls which she dressed in miniature versions of her own wardrobe, including her wedding dress; some of these dolls survive today in the V&A.

 

Laetitia Clark Powell's Pandora replica of her wedding dress. Source.

While most dolls represented female figures, there also existed fashion dolls depicting men, boys and infants. However, the majority of Pandora dolls have not survived due to their construction: materials like wax and linen eventually break down with use. The Pandoras, once they served their original purpose, were handed down as family heirlooms and many probably made their way to nurseries to be used as playthings.

A miniature replica of a man's jacket, 1740-1760. Source.

The craze for new styles drove the popularity of the Pandora doll throughout the 18th century. The dolls were sent around Europe before being brought across the Atlantic to America. The arrival of Pandoras from Europe was such an exciting event that American newspapers would report on their arrivals, with some dressmakers even charging customers to view the doll! It is incredible to think that the dolls travelled so widely when travelling took significantly longer than it does today. The dolls were an excellent visual indication of French fashion, but they also acted as a diplomatic representation of France. Fashion was seen as such an important export that several times throughout history, it was noted that Pandora dolls were protected by a kind of diplomatic immunity. The War of The Spanish Succession (1701-1714) impacted relationships between England and France, hindering the export and import of goods with embargos. However, fashion was recognized as an essential good and was allowed safe passage. In 1704, the French writer Abbé Prevost recorded:

“By an act of gallantry which is worthy of being noted in the chronicles of history for the benefit of the ladies, the ministers of both courts granted a special pass to the mannequin, that pass was always respected, and during the times of greatest enmity experienced on both sides the mannequin was the one object which remained unmolested.”

Despite the popularity and the social and political relevance of the Pandora dolls, they fell out of use by the last decades of the 18th century, around the time that the first fashion magazines appeared. Better printing equipment, a low newspaper tax and increasing literacy rates made fashion magazines accessible and popular. Customers interested in the latest fashions no longer had to wait for dressmakers to replicate clothes in minutiae and ship them to different locations. Fashion magazines and plates were cheap and mass-produced. While fashion dolls continued to be made, they no longer held the popularity they once did.

It was not until the 20th century that the practice of travelling fashion dolls was revived. As World War II ended, France found itself supplanted by America as a leader of fashion. The couture industry was important economically but it also made up an important part of the French national cultural identity. To help revive the idea of French fashion, Robert Ricci – son of designer Nina Ricci – proposed a theatre production of fashion. The Théâtre de la Mode (Theatre of Fashion) was a touring exhibition of French fashion designs. With materials in limited supplies, all designs were made in miniature, mounded on 27.5” (70 cm) wire mannequins. Over 60 Parisian couturiers volunteered to produce new fashion designs, including Hermès, Balenciaga, Jeanne Lanvin and Pierre Balmain.

One of the sets for the Théâtre de la Mode for its 1946 tour in America. Source. 

Historic jewellery houses, including Van Cleef and Arpels and Cartier, contributed miniature jewellery. Hairdressers created individual hairstyles and milliners made miniature hats. Like the earlier Pandora dolls, there was an incredible level of detail in the clothes’ construction, with working zippers and miniature handbags that included even tinier wallets and makeup. The exhibition opened at the Louvre on March 28, 1945 and was extraordinarily popular: over 100,000 people attended, with ticket sales going to the war relief. The exhibition toured Europe and America, reestablishing Paris as a centre of fashion. Along the way, it revived the Pandora doll as a method of fashion communication.

Some of the fashion designs from the exhibition, showing the wire mannequins and the incredible detail in the construction of the outfits. Source.

Pandora dolls were a highly effective means of advertising fashion, providing customers with a degree of detail that modern advertising cannot match today – we rely on high quality photographs but that does not compare to the ability to touch fabric or even try on clothes. The Pandora dolls that survive are incredibly important cultural and historic items, allowing researchers to study the construction of clothes, especially when visual or written records are limited. With their array of fashionable wardrobes, Pandoras can be seen as the predecessor of modern fashion dolls like Barbie and American Girl. These modern fashion dolls have wardrobes and accessories and are marketed to the elite – American Girl dolls are infamously expensive. However, these modern dolls are still seen as toys, even though some are considered collector’s items. There is no modern equivalent for the Pandoras. At their height, Pandoras held a unique position in history, showing the intersection between fashion and the economy and demonstrating the importance of changing consumer culture.

FINE DINING: CURIOUS FOODSTUFFS AT THE HISTORIC TABLE

 A Muse Bouche | Natalie Scola

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Every few months I turn to Pinterest for design inspiration as to how to make the dining room table look beautiful for events. Pinterest brings up pictures of complex floral centerpieces, show stopping gingerbread houses, and every manner of iced cake. That got me thinking about how people dressed their tables hundreds of years ago. 

Food, like fashion, indicates wealth and status. Historically, the divide between the haves and the have-nots was incredibly pronounced on the dining table though ingredients and presentation. As dining and dining customs became more formalized, the upper classes looked to dress their tables with unusual, rare and elaborate centerpieces to further display their wealth. 

The pineapple was one such item. Pineapples, which are now readily available at the grocery store, were once incredibly rare and expensive items. They had to be shipped over great distances to buyers. Growing them in non-native climates was labour intensive and costly. Once a pineapple was purchased, it became a display as a centerpiece, being used over and over until it eventually rotted.

Another item found on dining tables was an epergne (pronounced AY-pairn), a centerpiece made of small dishes connected by scrolled branches which held fruits, nuts and other sweetmeats and confections. In the 18th century, they were a costly item made from silver or other metals. Even as the style of dining changed in the 19th century, epergnes remained on the table as decorative pieces. Manufactures began to produce epergnes from glass and porcelain, which eventually made them available to a wider audience and brought them into middle class homes.

This epergne from the Victoria and Albert Museum, London, displays intricate silver metalwork as well as the characteristic bowls for fruit. Source.

Elaborate game pies were also used as showstopping edible centerpieces. While lower classes did eat meat, it was still seen as a luxury food reserved for the upper classes. People ate a wide variety of meat and poultry, including ham, beef, pork, venison, mutton, hare, ducks, pigeons, geese and partridge. A common way to eat meat was to cook it in a pie. One of the earliest English-language cookbooks, The Forme of Cury (cury from the Middle French cuire, meaning to cook), gives recipes for the making of pastries called coffins and chastelets. Coffin, or “coffyn” (meaning box) as it was in the late 14th century, were pastries made with straight sides, sealed at the top and bottom. Chastlets were much more dramatic, made in the shape of a castle, usually with each tower holding a different filling.

The page from The Forme of Cury giving the recipe for chastlets. The first lines read: "take and make a foyle (leaf) of good paste with a roller of a foot broad and longer by compass. Make four coffins of the self-paste upon the roller..." Source.

The 17th century saw more development in the art of pastry crusts. These are not be the same puff pastries we have today, but a type of hot water crust pastry made with a durable rye flour. This strong flour helped the pastry hold its form. Cooks developed pies with elaborate designs, mimicking patterns from textiles, heraldry and architecture. The pastry patterns were created by hand, either by rolling or tracing paper designs directly onto the pastry. Some were created by pressing the pastry into carved wooden boards. Later in the 18th century, earthenware and metal springform tins developed and became a common item by the 19th century.

A page from Edward Kidder's Receipts of Pastry and Cookery (c.1720) showing the intricate designs for two pies. Source. 

The fascination with novelty shapes extended beyond pies. Manufactures developed a whole range of novelty molds to be used for cakes, jellies and ice creams! Molds were made from copper and covered with tin; some had a special vent at the top to help release the food within.

While jellies are not as popular today, historically they were seen as food for the rich. Jellies begin to appear in the 14th century, but it was not until the end of the medieval period that cooks were able to perfect jelly making. Jellies were not just sweet dishes (like how we think of Jell-O today) but also for savory dishes, such as blancmange or aspic. Cooks originally obtained gelatin from boiling collagen-rich bones, such as calf’s feet. This was a time consuming process, and restricted the use of gelatin to the wealthy. In the 16th century, isinglass, a form of pure gelatin found in fish, was imported from Russia. Again, the cost of importing the ingredient was prohibitive. But by the 18th and 19th centuries, gelatin was mass produced, which fueled the Georgian and Victorian craze for molded jellies.

Aspic was an incredibly popular dish, appearing on tables in the late 18th century. These were clear, savory jellies which encased whole or sliced ingredients. Their elaborate molded shapes made them show-stopping centerpieces; some were intentionally designed to be inedible! Molds were made out of wood, pewter, ceramic or ceramic coated in copper or tin. The more elaborate molds – those with many details or pointed tops – were the most difficult to form correctly. Aspics were so popular that the famed French chef, Antonin Carême, developed a category of food he called “chaud froid”, which were hot dishes served cold.

Examples of the types of molds available for savory jellies. Source. 

Sweet jellies were also popular desserts and had their own range of flavour and molds. Blancmange, a dish made with almond milk, originated as a savory dish in medieval times and included shredded chicken or fish. By the 18th century, it was a sweet dish, with sugar, cream and rice and served in tall, decorative forms. Flummery, a softer pudding made with starch from flour, oats or almonds, and milk, was molded into elaborate and novelty shapes. In Elizabeth Raffald’s 1769 cookbook, The Experienced English Housekeeper, she provides a number of recipes for molding flummery, including: a nest of eggs, floating islands, stars, moons, and eggs and bacon. She declares these unique dishes: “pretty decoration for a grand table.” Raffald gives instructions on how to form shapes by using dishes and other pots, but by the 19th century, specialized molds made it easy to create interesting novelty flummeries for the table.

Elizabeth Raffald's recipe for Eggs and Bacon made from flummery. Source. 

A modern-day recreation of the eggs and bacon in flummery recipe. Source.

Ice cream was seen as a rare and expensive delicacy. It was difficult to produce because ice was hard to obtain and conserve year round. Ice could be stored in special ice houses, but only the rich could afford to maintain them and enjoy frozen dishes all year. “Ices” were a popular social treat throughout the Georgian era – Jane Austen’s novels make mention of eating ice – but it was not until the mid-19th century when ice and ice cream became affordable. Ice was imported from Norway and the United States, and inventors developed better churning machines, allowing the middle classes to produce ice cream at home. 

One manufacturer was Agnes Marshall, known as the “Queen of Ices.” Marshall developed her own ice cream empire, publishing cookbooks, running a cookery school, and manufacturing ice cream churners and novelty molds. Ice cream molds continued the trend of novelty ice cream shapes, which likely developed in Italy in the late 17th century before becoming popular throughout the rest of Europe. By the 19th century, novelty ice cream forms had taken the shape of fruits, vegetables and other foodstuffs.

 

Ice cream molds offered by Agnes Marshall in her cookbook The Book of Ices (1893)| Source

Marshall capitalized on this trend, offering an incredible array of mold shapes to choose from: pineapples, grapes, melons, wicker baskets, wheat, and birds. A common – if unusual – shape was a bundle of asparagus! Many of the flavours Marshall gives in her cookbook are familiar to us today, like pistachio, lemon and cherry. Others are foreign to our taste buds, like cucumber. She provides instructions to freeze fruit ice cream in the mold that matches it’s flavour: pineapple ice cream in the pineapple mold, peach ice cream in the peach mold. Marshall even produced her own line of food dyes to colour the ice cream realistically.

A surviving example of a three-part pewter asparagus mold. Source. 

A modern-day recreation of ice cream in the asparagus mold. Source.

The great diversity of edible and dramatic centerpieces would end by World War I, as modernist ideas began to change dining trends to be more minimal. Some trends, like jelly foods, had a revival in the 1950s; with refrigerators seen as a status symbol in the post-war economy, gelatin-based dishes once again were seen as an indicator of wealth.

It’s easy for us to be shocked when looking at historical, either in cookbooks or in modern-day recreations because the food, flavours and presentations seem so different from what we have today. Shocking food combinations live on in modern cookery, like bacon ice cream or the novelty foods served at the Canadian National Exhibition each summer. What is lost is the incredible skill and artist that went into producing these elaborate dishes and the molds that formed them. While cookbook authors live on in their publications, home cooks and kitchens staff are unnamed and unrecognized as the talent behind these unusual dishes.

HOW TO SURVIVE A PANDEMIC: MUSEUM EDITION PART ONE

Museum Innovations | Sara Fontes

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Throughout this pandemic, times have been tough. Things have looked bleak. You have been scared for yourself, friends, and family. You have been going stir-crazy locked up in your houses.

And what do we do in frightening times? When things are dark?

Photo courtesy of Rahul | Source

We look for a light in the dark.
We look for things that we can control.
We look for comfort.

When we look for comfort or something fun to do, we often look to our cultural institutions. Museums are one of those places. Through social media and technology, we can stay mostly connected right now. As almost everyone has a smart phone or a device to access the internet, it is a good and safe way to connect to a lot of people (although we must be aware that it does not connect us to everyone).

Our cultural institutions are closed right now so how do we use them to stay connected? How do we use them to feel human and humanity?

We must be creative, and many museums have done just that. Many museums are providing online content to directly combat these issues and connect with their communities. Hamilton Civic Museums, such as Dundern Castle, have been creating excellent digital content. They have shared recipes through Instagram and made videos about how to make those recipes on their Youtube channel. 

 

Family Christmas at Dundurn | Source

It’s important for museums to stay relevant to their communities during this time away so that visitors will be excited to come visit in-person when it is safe to do so. I have noticed a trend with smaller museums where all of their online and virtual programming is free. Meanwhile, larger institutions, like the Toronto Zoo, offer a mixture of paid and free online programming. While it can be hard for smaller museums to charge for their content, paid online programming would help to bring in some money during this time. Factors such as size, manpower, and popularity of a museum might affect their ability to offer both paid and free online programming. Small and medium sized museums simply have less resources available to them. Regardless of size and manpower, small museums can still take inspiration from larger museums by following trends and using social media to become more popular and perhaps get some money coming through the doors.

Many museums have taken to popular websites and apps like Twitch and TikTok to keep things more upbeat and give people a break from worrying about the pandemic. The Toronto Zoo shows a stream on twitch of different animals on different days from gorillas, to penguins to giraffes. There are a few museums on TikTok such as the MET, but one small UK museum has blown them out of the water with followers: Black Country Living Museum in Dudley, UK. Check them out: @blackcountrymuseum!

Nothing like a bit of chloroform to get you through a bad cold eh? #victorian #history #learnontiktok 

Social media and connectivity are not the only things that we can adopt from large or popular museums. For example, take an idea that has been widely used in zoos: adopt-an-animal programs. Why couldn’t the same be done with museum objects? To adopt a museum object for a year (or two or five) could help pay for its conservation and donors could see first, before anyone else, photos of what it looks like during the conservation process. While I have scoured the internet I have yet to find a museum running a program like this or similarly titled. I do not believe, however, that no one else has ever thought of this idea but perhaps they go about it in different ways or do not advertise it beyond donations. This pandemic has pushed museums to find innovative ways to keep people connected and interested in their programming, and I'm looking forward to uncovering those innovations in future articles.

Thank you to Mallory Mahon and Jefimija Vujcic for sharing the Toronto Zoo twitch stream and the Black Country Museum TikTok respectively.

WHAT MAKES A HOUSE HISTORIC?: HISTORIC HOUSES AND HERITAGE LANDSCAPES

 Heritage Moments | Madison Carmichael

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At any given time, regardless of where I live, I have an ever-evolving roster of my favourite old, pretty houses, and I tend to build walking routes around those houses. It’s fun to find such old looking places in increasingly modern cities and towns. What’s more interesting is that on some of those houses, in some places, you’ll sometimes see a small plaque affixed to the front. They look different, from city to city, but they all mean the same thing: this house has been designated as historical.

The plaque on the side of the Maitland house in question. Check out that limestone. Courtesy of Madison Carmichael.

One particular house that I had the pleasure of living in for a bit had such a plaque. I didn’t notice it at first, as the plaque was proportionally quite small to the rest of the two-story building, but both its age (1841) and its original role (Carriage House) intrigued me. At the time, I didn’t know much about the designation process, so I never did find out much more about the house; I’ve since done some digging.

The house in question sits on Maitland Street in Kingston, Ontario, which is within the bounds of Old Sydenham – a heritage district in the city. The limestone building – limestone being highly characteristic of older buildings in Kingston – was built for the Honourable John Hamilton. It was originally used, as previously mentioned, as a carriage house, as well as stables and as servants’ quarters. It is complimented by another similar former stable building that sits on the adjacent lot, and it sits behind a stone wall that spans several houses and marks the driveway for this house in particular. This wall, along with the two limestone buildings, helps to define the distinctly mid-19th century historic character of Maitland Street.

Here you can see the house as well as an equally historic stone wall on the left side of the photograph. (Source)

So: “is it historic or is it just old?” asks Shannon Dauphin Lee, contributing writer for “old house web,” an idea and advice website for old house enthusiasts. That’s the question du jour when it comes to heritage designations. Luckily for such enthusiasts, and heritage professionals everywhere, there’s legislation to help.

Lee explains that in the United States, the National Register of Historic Places goes by a set of rules to determine whether or not an old house is historic. In order to make the Register, a house must be associated with significant events in history or with the lives of people significant to the past; it must embody some distinctive characteristic or construction technique that makes it a unique structure; or it must yield important information about a certain time period.

Canadian designation criteria runs along a very similar vein. The Ontario Heritage Act confers the power to make designations and preserve heritage in Ontario to municipalities and to the province more broadly. Such parties can designate either individual properties as heritage sites or entire neighbourhoods as heritage districts. Under the OHA, a prospective property must have either: design or physical value, historical or associative value, or contextual value.

Toronto has many Heritage Conservation Districts, but Fort York was the first. This district includes Historic Fort York as well as the Garrison Common to the west of it. (Source)

So, how does our Maitland house shape up? Our Maitland house has classic limestone walls and distinctive windows, which mark the property as having design value. Such features also highlight its contextual value, a criteria which states that the property must be important in supporting the character of an era. As previously noted, the house evokes 19th-century Kingston and helps to define the overall historic character of the street. That’s two criteria satisfied. Next, let’s look at John Hamilton. According to the City of Kingston’s Property Inventory, much of the block upon which this house sits was purchased by Hamilton in 1841, who owned a steamboat line that operated on the St. Lawrence River and on Lake Ontario as well. Beyond his business, which contributed to Kingston’s early prominence as an important harbour, he was involved in local Kingston boards and the Legislative Council of the Province of Canada from 1841 to 1867. Thereafter, he sat on that same council as a senator. Hamilton’s involvement with the building imbues it with historic, associative value.

Another angle on the Maitland house. (Source)

A public survey in Vancouver found that the vast majority of residents thought that heritage buildings contributed to their sense of place – a special meaning or character that a geographic location has that gives a community its identity. In their report on that survey, the Vancouver Heritage Foundation put forth that “heritage buildings contribute to the physical and social fabric of the city.” Their value is not limited to their role as landmarks and icons; they also function as places that people can identify and interact with.

I think this can be said of almost anywhere. More locally, Toronto boasts thousands of properties that fall under the City’s Inventory of Heritage Properties. In this Inventory, properties are either “listed” or “designated,” the difference being that a listed property has only been recommended to the Inventory, implying that the City would like to see it preserved. However, a listed property has no legal protection. Conversely, a designated property requires the approval of City Council for any alterations or demolition. In a city like Toronto, which seems to be constantly under construction or considering new developments, heritage buildings play a critical role in representing the ever-transforming “physical and social fabric” of the city by memorializing older, enduring places that remain places that Torontonians interact and identify with.

But it’s not just 19th-century stone buildings. Toronto’s Heritage Preservation Services is in the process of expanding its scope in order to better value and include buildings from a variety of eras as well as the more recent past, like the 1960s and 1970s.

So, think of some of your favourite local landmarks! Do they have a designation? If so, what about them makes them historic, and what place do they have in your heritage landscape?

FRIEDA SCHIFF WARBURG: THE FEMALE VOICE OF THE JEWISH MUSEUM

 Walk of Fame | Annabelle Kolomeisky 

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The Jewish Museum in New York City is one of the oldest institutions in the world dedicated to the display of Jewish culture with its founding in 1904. Forty years later, in 1944, Frieda Schiff Warburg donated her family residence at 1109 Fifth Avenue to house the museum and allow for its expansion from the library of the Jewish Theological Seminary. Although this donation may seem like a small gift to the museum world, it definitely was not! Freida’s contribution to the Jewish Museum and how she lived her life as a strong Jewish woman strongly reflects the role and operation of the Jewish Museum today.

 

Frieda Schiff Warburg, 1936 | Source

Frieda Schiff Warburg was born on February 3rd, 1876 to a family that was quite prominent in the Jewish elite of New York City. Outside of her family’s success, Frieda herself was no stranger to greatness and in 1938 she became the first woman on the Jewish Theological Seminary’s board of directors. Her relationship with religion was slightly different from that of her family when it came to her experience with Judaism. Frieda's father was a significant religious leader among the Jewish community of New York, she did not have the same connection to religious observance as her father and instead decided to invest herself in her philanthropic work. However, this did not mean she was not a proud Jewish woman! Frieda Schiff Warburg was very active among the Jewish community beyond her donation to the young Jewish Museum in New York. She supported important organizations throughout her life as a philanthropist such as the American Jewish Join Distribution Committee, the 

Women’s Division of the Federation of Jewish Philanthropies of New York, and the Jewish Welfare Board.

 

 

The Jewish Museum in New York City | Source

Frieda’s story of discovering her Jewish identity is a key part of what the Jewish Museum in New York strives towards today. The Jewish Museum is very focused on exploring the Jewish culture and identity from not only a religious perspective, but also an ethnic point of view, opening up space for a conversation about what it really means to be Jewish. For Frieda, although she was not a very observant Jew, she supported her cultural background through her donations to various Jewish charities while continuing to be an active member of the community.

This idea of Jewish culture and ethnicity on display in museums is not a new concept, but at the same time it is not very common. The Jewish Museum in New York is an amazing example of the intersection of Jewish culture and other important themes that appear in museums today such as social issues and engaging in activism. As illustrated by Frieda Schiff Warburg’s experience, the Jewish experience is not a straightforward concept but it encompasses multiple experiences, conversation, and community, and that is the importance and value of the Jewish Museum. The Jewish Museum helps harbor these experiences and is a safe space to hold conversations through exhibitions and displays that support the Jewish community and those interested in the question, “what does it mean to be Jewish?”