POTLUCK TORONTO STORIES

TORONTO STORIES

STORIES BY: JASMINE FISHER, REBECCA JACKSON, JOCELYN KENT, STEPHANIE READ, ERIKA ROBERTSON

COMPILED BY: BRENNA PLADSEN

The series of digital stories about Toronto history and culture which make up this project are the work of fifty-three Master of Museum Studies (MMSt) graduate students. The project was inspired by the 2015 Myseum Intersections – Telling Toronto’s Stories and invited each storyteller to select an object from local collections which has significance to Toronto’s past and present. The objects inspired the authors to connect historical events with contemporary context so that they tell stories about the multiple intersections that happen in the city.

Musings will be posting collected stories once a cycle. We hope that, after reading the stories, you will know Toronto a little bit better. And perhaps you will find similar stories in your own objects!

Our partners for this project, to which we are extremely thankful, are:

• Archeological and Cultural Heritage Services 
• Canadian Lesbian and Gay Archives 
• John M. Kelly Library, St. Mike’s College, University of Toronto 
• Lambton House 
• Myseum of Toronto 
• Ontario Jewish Archives 
• Private Collection of Russian Artefacts 
• Scarborough Historical Society 
• Scarborough Museum 
• The Multicultural Historical Society of Ontario 
• The Real Canadian Portuguese Museum 
• Toronto Botanical Garden 
• Toronto District School Board Archives

While most of are partners had several objects from their collection researched and profiled, some of the institutions are represented through single objects. To finish off Toronto Stories 2017, we are pleased to present single serving stories from around Toronto. Some stories are from right next door, others are in private collections. Now, without further ado, stories from John M. Kelly Library, St. Mike’s College Archives, University of Toronto, a private collection of Russian artefacts, and the Multicultural Historical Society of Ontario.

THE BALL'S IN YOUR COURT: HANDBALL AND IRISH CATHOLICISM IN TORONTO

BY: JASMINE FISHER

What could a 115 year old ball have to do with Irish immigration into Canada? How can this small object be a powerful marker of the history of St. Michael’s College at the University of Toronto? This small leather handball tells a story about sports, religion, and Irish Catholic identity at one of the oldest institutions in Toronto. 

Leather handball c.1900, University of St. Michael’s College Archive.
Photo credit: Jasmine Fisher.

In the mid 1800s, an influx of Irish Catholic immigrants came to Canada in the wake of the Great Famine, bringing with them what would become a popular sport at St. Michael’s College, Gaelic handball.

Irish Catholic integration into the culture of the city was not easy. For example, a proper Catholic-centred postsecondary education was difficult because large institutions such as the University of Toronto was firmly Protestant. St Michael’s College School, founded in 1852, was one option for Catholics in Toronto. It was attended by many Irish Catholic students, but they did not offer University degrees, as their graduates would become part of the priesthood. This changed by 1906, when St. Michael’s College became an official part of the University of Toronto.

Despite this integration, St. Michael’s College was still seen as different from the rest of the University, so in-house sports teams evolved as a way to interact with other faculties. Eventually, the success of St. Michael’s College teams became a instance of pride for much of the Irish Catholic population in Toronto. 

University of St. Michael’s College Handball teams, group photo, 1905. 
Photo credit: University of St. Michael’s College Archive.

Hockey and football had a large following in Toronto, but Gaelic handball was also well known. Similar to squash, players must throw or hit a ball against the walls until one player misses. Rather than the tennis ball and racquet which are used in squash, Gaelic handball’s main equipment is a small leather ball and the players’ hands to hit it back and forth, as can be seen here. This leather handball, 4.5cm in diameter, found in the University of St. Michael’s College Archive dates to c.1900, and it was part of a thriving tradition of both formal and informal teams.

This ball is a perfect example of the sporting equipment used during the early years of St. Michael’s College’s integration into the University of Toronto. The sport is still played today using a small synthetic ball rather than leather, and it even has several official leagues in Ireland.

Leather handball c.1900, University of St. Michael’s College Archive.
Photo credit: Jasmine Fisher.

This leather handball represents the development of a sports culture and the popularity of a quintessential Irish sport at St. Michael’s College, and thus the intersection of Irish culture grounded in Catholicism and the traditionally Protestant education system of Toronto. If such a small, everyday piece of sports equipment can represent such an important cultural connection, what stories can be found in the hockey pucks and soccer balls used by people in today’s Toronto?

Works cited
Wamsley, K. B. and D. P. Ryan. (2008). The Fighting Irish of Toronto: Sport and Irish Catholic Identity at St. Michael’s College, 1906-1916. In P. Darby and D. Hassan (Eds), Emigrant Players: Sport and the Irish Diaspora (163-181). London: Routledge.
Google books link: https://books.google.ca/books?id=Bb6MAQAAQBAJ&pg=PA180&lpg=PA180&dq=university+of+st+michaels+college+irish&source=bl&ots=3tPyu1PDPO&sig=vPuY6QdjudfDMwn56MJHXEqP6go&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0CGYQ6AEwC2oVChMI7raBhoPSyAIVw2w-Ch3-AgxO#v=onepage&q&f=false

NOSTALGIA, CHILDHOOD, AND THE PAPAL VISIT

BY: REBECCA JACKSON

Ciboria from St. Michael’s University Archives.
Photo Credit: Rebecca Jackson

The University of St. Michael’s College (USMC) archives, at the University of Toronto, houses two ciboria from the 1984 Papal Visit. These two ciboria were donated to USCM by the Archdiocese of Toronto. The photo here tells us that these ciboria were prepared for the Papal Visit by students in the Archdiocese of Toronto. A ciborium is a metal cup or container used to hold and distribute the Eucharist, the bread that Catholics believe to be the body of Christ, during Mass. Often, ciboria are quite ornate and have lids. While there is no official record of how or where the USCM ciboria were used, I would speculate that these were used at the Mass at Downsview during the Papal Visit of 1984 which drew a crowd of thousands.

Some of you may know that 1984 was the first time a pope visited Canada. The late John Paul II, the only pope to visit Canada, came to Toronto twice on this thirteen-city marathon that spanned from coast to coast.

Much telling footage of the Papal Visit is preserved at the CBC digital archives. This material is worth a peek even if just for a reminder of some fantastic fashion from the eighties. During the first week of the visit, over 13.5 million Canadians tuned in to listen to CBC’s radio coverage of the Papal Visit. Some said the Papal Mass at Downsview, an area in northern Toronto, was the largest gathering of people in Canada to date! The archives reveal that John Paul II arrived at the Mass in a Canadian forces helicopter, like the one pictured here, to find a gathering of nearly half a million people. You can see the crowds for yourself on this CBC broadcast.

The USMC ciboria provide a window into this significant event in Toronto’s history. Events like these are often reported and remembered on a grand scale. These ciboria let us look at a smaller part of this grand event. Imagining a smaller community, like a school, and how it prepared for the Papal Visit can bring it closer to home. Do you remember the bustle and excitement when your school got involved in something like an Olympics, festival or parade? You can read one blogger’s recollection of the exciting event to gain some insight into what this might have meant to the kids who prepared these ciboria.

A moment in a city’s history that brings together so many people is worth remembering. Equally important are all the small moments that helped this event happen. So what do you think? Are you hoping Pope Francis I comes to Canada?

A big thank you to the University of St. Michael’s College Archive for their help and access to their collection.

Works Cited

Archives of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Toronto. 30 years since the first Papal Visit [Web log], Retrieved from http://archives-archtoronto.blogspot.ca/2014/10/30-years-since-first-papal-visit.html

CBC Digital Archives. (1984) Pope’s First Visit. Retrieved from http://www.cbc.ca/player/News/CBC+75th+vignettes/ID/2157160111/

CityPulse Tonight. (1984, September 14) Rewind [Television broadcast]. Toronto, Canada: CityNews. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O21rufR-tOc

Dmytrenko, K. (2014, September 11). A meeting of Saints in Midland. Retrieved from http://archdioceseoftoronto.blogspot.ca/2014/09/a-meeting-of-saints-in-midland.html

News Staff. (2013, March 6). REWIND: Papal election stirs memories of John Paul II visits to Toronto. City News. Retrieved from http://www.citynews.ca/2013/03/06/rewind-papal-election-stirs-memories-of-john-paul- ii-visits-to-toronto/

Stewart, B. (Reporter). (1984, September 21). The National [Television broadcast]. Toronto, ON, Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Retrieved from http://www.cbc.ca/archives/entry/papal-tour-wraps-up

BREAKING THE ICE WITH A SHARED HOCKEY HERITAGE

BY: JOCELYN KENT

When Luba’s west-end Toronto neighbourhood announced that its annual Solstice Party would be retro themed, she was at a loss as to what to wear. When immigrating to Toronto from Russia in 1998, she and her family brought very little clothing with them. And of that, none of it was old enough to qualify as “retro.” So she pulled out her recently purchased hockey jersey, a replica of one worn in the 1970s by the Soviet Union’s national team. 

Replica of hockey jersey worn by Vladislav Tretiak of
the former Soviet Union’s national team (Photo Credit: Jocelyn Kent)

Her outfit was an instant hit at the party.

Like many immigrants, Luba says, “I like to feel where I came from.” As such, she and her husband Yuri collect Russian objects. While the jersey evokes a period of their lives in the former Soviet Union, it also reminds them of the particular day in 2009 in Toronto when they bought it at a charity auction at the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto, hosted by the famous former Soviet goalie Vladislav Tretiak.

Whenever friends host parties to watch Team Canada play hockey, Yuri now proudly wears his red Soviet jersey, no matter whom Canada’s up against. And why wear any old Soviet jersey, when you can wear the jersey worn by Tretiak who countered shots attempted by some of Canada’s greatest players during his career? 

Detail of Tretiak’s name and autograph on reverse
(Photo Credit: Jocelyn Kent)

It’s a humorous jab at his friends’ confidence in the national team, reminding them that Canada’s hockey supremacy is not absolute. Despite sportswriters predicting an easy victory for Canada in the historic eight-game Summit Series with the Soviet Union in 1972, by the end of the tournament’s first game (Soviet Union 7 – Canada 3), it seemed Tretiak and the Soviets might give the Canadians a run for their money.

Tretiak’s skill as goaltender helped the Soviets force Canada to a suspenseful final game. As the tied last period waned, for the millions of Canadians anxiously glued to their televisions and radios in their school gymnasiums, offices and homes, he was the man to beat.

When Canada’s Paul Henderson scored the winning goal in the last minute of play against Tretiak, it became a never-to-be-forgotten moment of national triumph. It confirmed Canada’s self-image as a great hockey nation. To this day, the Summit Series remains etched in Canada’s collective consciousness.

Despite the loss, Tretiak became a hero across the Soviet Union and garnered the respect of Canadians as well. He went on to win three Olympic gold medals and eight world championships between 1972 and 1983. As Luba notes, in Canada, more than any other Soviet athlete or politician, “everyone knows him.” She and her husband feel proud wearing Tretiak’s jersey around other Canadians because he espouses sportsmanship and presents “a good image of Russia” to the world.

The Summit Series is part of the former Soviet Union and Canada’s shared heritage, as reactions to the jersey demonstrate. It is in an object from their homeland, surprisingly, that Luba and Yuri find common ground with their Canadian-born friends.

"THING-UNDER-THE-GLASS": A RUSSIAN TEA GLASS HOLDER AND ITS SOVIET ERA ORIGINS

BY: STEPHANIE READ

Tea drinking in Russia is an important daily ritual and has been for hundreds of years. Since the introduction of tea by Mongolian rulers to the Tsar Michael I in the early 17th century, it had become a staple in high society. In the late 18th century, tea was imported at such a rate from China that most Russians could enjoy a cup.

An intriguing element of Russian tea culture is the use of the podstakanniki, or glass holders. Tea in Russia is typically consumed from a slender cup that fits in the podstakannik, which literally translates to “thing under the glass” (‘pod’ = under; ‘stakan’=glass). It is usually made of silver or nickel-plated metal. The stability of this object, as opposed to narrow-based mugs or cups, led to its prevalent use in Russian trains as they were less likely to tip over. However, the podstakannik is predominantly used at home, sometimes alongside intricately-wrought tea kettles called samovars. The highly individual and beautifully decorated podstakanniki, the plural of podstakannik, demonstrate the importance of tea in Russian culture.

Podstakannik: View from the front of Yuri Dolgorukiy.
Source: Stephanie Read, 17 November 2015 

The owner of this podstakannik is a warm and friendly woman of Russian descent, who purchased it as a memento while studying and visiting her family in Moscow in the early 2000s. This vintage Soviet-era glass holder features whimsical acorns and foliage wrapping around its sides, framing a depiction of a sculpture of the founder of Moscow, Yuri Dolgorukiy. Dolgorukiy sits upon his horse in full armour, one arm outstretched out in a powerful stance.

Podstakannik: View from the side.
Source: Stephanie Read, 17 November 2015

During the Soviet era, many podstakanniki depicting important people and events in Russian history, such as Dolgorukiy and Sputnik’s launch, were sold as souvenirs in Moscow. Such podstakanniki of this time period were made in the Central Russian town of Kolchugino, about 170 kilometers northeast of Moscow. This glass holder would have been made sometime in the late 1950s or early 60s, as the statue of Yuri Dolgorukiy depicted on the front was raised in Moscow in 1954. It is interesting to see as decorations for such everyday objects some of the symbols of Soviet Union’s national identity. 

Statue of Yuri Dolgorukiy. 2008 Moscow Victory Day Parade.
Source: Vitaly V. Kuzmin, 3 May 2015

Luba, the owner of the object, has fond memories of travelling on the trains with her mother and using podstakanniki. In her home, each glass holder is of a different pattern and shape. They make for a pleasantly eclectic set such as many Canadians might have in the form of various souvenir, gift and prize coffee mugs.

Items like podstakanniki, samovars, teapots and other items for tea-making in Russia are ornate confections often depicting flowing organic shapes or complex geometric designs. They are associated with social occasions, and in Luba’s case, travelling in Russia with loved ones. This podstakannik bearing the image of the founder of Moscow is still used for tea-drinking and is a cherished souvenir of home. What is on your favourite tea or coffee cup?

Works Cited

Personal communication with Luba (did not want her last name to be known). Tuesday, November 17th, 2015

Personal communication with Egor Surahev (a Russian friend whose father collects antique podstakanniki) Thursday, November 19th, 2015

Encyclopedia of Contemporary Russian Culture. 2007. Eds. Tatiana Smorodinskaya; Karen Evans-Romaine; Helena Goscilo. Routledge: New York, NY. p. 611 of 693

Gaylard, Linda. 2015. The Tea Book. DK Publishing: New York, NY. p. 104-108 of 224Fodor’s Moscow and St. Petersburg. 2006. Eds. Christina Knight and Mary Beth Bohman. 7th Edition. Random House: Toronto, New York. p. 38

A WOMAN'S PLACE (IS WHEREVER SHE MAKES IT) 

BY: ERIKA ROBERTSON

Standing at the corner of Beverley and D’Arcy Streets, I admire the house Mrs. Csók and her husband owned in 1937. William Lyon Mackenzie King and his family lived here in 1893 while he attended the University of Toronto, but I’m here to honour a less famous life. I imagine the factory workers returning from their shifts at the Swift meat factory in the West Toronto Junction, exchanging a quarter for a hot bowl of Mrs. Csók’s homemade goulash and a pastry eighty years ago.

This historic mansion was Mrs. Csók’s Beverley restaurant.
Photo by Erika Robertson

Elizabeth Csók made her own place in Toronto through hard work and entrepreneurial spirit. Born in Hungary in 1905, at eighteen she fell in love with a Catholic man despite the disapproval of her Presbyterian family. When the Treaty of Trianon divided Hungary in 1920, Elizabeth’s family lost their home. Fifty years later, she told historian Carmela Patrias, “My parents have house and grapes on the other side. They put the stamps on the money. When they get the money to Hungary from Czechoslovakia, it worth nothing.” So at twenty-one, she boarded a ship bound for Canada, where she married her fiancé.

The Great Depression, illness, xenophobia, and language barriers kept Mr. Csók from finding a good job. Elizabeth’s options were also limited: employers often wouldn’t hire married women because they were considered unskilled and expected to raise children. Through ingenuity and hard work, she found a way to do both.

When the Csóks moved to Toronto with their two young daughters in 1937, they saw an opportunity: a Hungarian restaurant on the corner of Beverley and D’Arcy Streets. She recalled, “Very old people owned it and it was for sale and we buy it. All the money that we have. So we start working in that restaurant.” They simply called it the Beverley Restaurant.

Mrs. Buyer, the former owner and cook, taught Elizabeth how to run a business and how much meat to order from the Slovak butcher who spoke a little Hungarian. “Mrs. Buyer show me everything, how much, because I have no idea how to cook for that many people.” After a month, Elizabeth ran the kitchen with the help of another woman and a dishwasher from Quebec. Her husband, who had “no clue to do any cooking” and a waitress looked after the dining room. Forty years later, she remembered the Sunday menu with pride: homemade paprikash chicken, salads, coffee, and strudel for thirty-five cents.

Paprikash chicken. Photo by Kobako (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5),
via Wikimedia Commons

Before hearing Elizabeth Csók’s story, the brick houses of Baldwin Village were anonymous to me. Now, they remind me of an industrious woman who made a place for herself and her family in an inhospitable city. I find myself wondering whose histories occupy other buildings I pass on my way to school.

Discover more stories like hers from the Multicultural History Society of Ontario. MHSO has made a selection of its oral history collection available online. I’m thankful to the researchers at the City of Toronto Archives for their help locating the Beverley Restaurant.

Works Cited
Frager, R. A. & Patrias, C. (2005). Discounted Labour: Women Workers in Canada, 1870-1939.

Henderson, G. F. (1998) Chronology of Mackenzie King’s Life. In W.L. Mackenzie King: A Bibliography and Research Guide. Toronto, ON: University of Toronto Press.

MHSO & Patrias, C. (29 November 1976). “Hungarian Interview—Mrs. Csok” from 1956 Hungarian Memorial Oral History Project. Retrieved from http://multiculturalcanada.ca/node/22425

Patrias, C. (1994). Patriots and Proletarians: Politicizing Hungarian Immigrants in Interwar Canada. Montreal, QC: McGill-Queen’s University Press.

THE ANTI-RELIGIOUS MUSEUM: PROPAGANDA AS EARLY INTERPRETATION AT ST. ISAAC'S CATHEDRAL, SAINT PETERSBURG

MUSINGS ABROAD

BY: STEPHANIE READ

Welcome to my final post for Musings. I would like to take the opportunity to thank our Editor-in-Chief, Natania Sherman, my fellow writers, Madeline Smolarz for getting me started, and of course all of you lovely readers.

This segment of Musings Abroad brings us again to a long-standing landmark of Saint Petersburg- St. Isaac’s Cathedral. A little background information: Peter the Great ordered the construction of the Cathedral at the turn of the 18th century. The current site is the Cathedral’s fifth incarnation, consecrated on May 30th, Peter the Great’s birthday, in 1858. St. Isaac’s took 40 years to complete and required nearly one million labourers. Having survived the Siege of Leningrad and the anti-religious ideologies of the Soviet Union, the Cathedral is a testament to Saint Petersburg’s turbulent past.

St. Isaac's imposing footprint by night. Photo Credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

The Cathedral is an architectural marvel. The central dome is one of the largest in the world; artisans embedded 100,000 clay pots within the dome to enhance insulation and acoustics. Sixty workers died painting the dome gold due to the mixture’s high mercuric content. The foundations rest on 10,000 pine logs necessary to stabilize them over the marshy topography of the land running along the River Neva. The Cathedral is adorned with 112 Finnish granite columns; the portico columns weigh 114 tonnes each. The French architect Montferrand built everything in the Cathedral on a massive, awe-inducing scale; from the soaring domes and shining Afghani Lazurite and Ural Malachite altar columns, to the towering mosaic icons that took over 60 years to complete. Stark and overshadowing from the exterior, the Cathedral doors open to invite the visitor into the bosom of the traditional icon.

Stephanie in front of the gigantic bronze doors designed by the Italian-Russian sculptor Ivan Vitali, inspired by the Florence Baptistery.  Vitali also designed the fountain in front of the Bolshoi (big) Theatre. Photo Credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

St. Isaac’s is a relative stone’s throw away from the former principal home of the Tsar and his family, as well as the aristocratic neighbourhoods. The Cathedral stood as a beacon of Imperialist power. Peter the Great was highly interested in employing European (especially French and Italian) architects and artists in order to build a truly ‘European’ city. After the October Revolution, the Church and State were separated; in 1922, the government removed several tonnes of gold, silver, gems as well as the bells from St. Isaac’s in order to finance feeding the poor. The Cathedral closed in 1928, and three years later it re-opened as the Leningrad Museum of Anti-Religion. 

Inside the Cathedral. Notice the green (Ural Malachite) and blue (Afghan Lazurite) columns flanking the main altar. Photo Credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

The Soviet government transformed St. Isaac’s cathedral into an allegory for the decadence and corruption of Tsarist Russia, and, by a long extension, religion generally. Interpretive materials and tour guides depicted every aspect of the Cathedral as a symbol of opulence, wastefulness and violence. Hundreds of plated gold sculptures, mosaic floors and gilded altars were juxtaposed against the poverty of the peasants. Interestingly, the Soviet government utilized various strategies and vehicles of interpretation which we see in contemporary museums, albeit for the purpose of conveying its political ideologies to a vast audience.

Looking heavenward into the dome; although they resemble paintings, many of the illustrations have been replaced with intricate mosaic. Note the ring of golden angels at the base of the rotunda. Photo Credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

The Museum of Anti-Religion enjoyed high visitor numbers. Factory workers and tradespeople would organize to visit the Museum together. Visits to the Museum and similar institutions were incorporated into school curricula. Displays included a maintained narrative of the ‘development’ of religion since ancient times, highlighting instances of violence and oppression in the name of organized religion, from the biblical slavery of the Israelite people by the Ancient Egyptians, to the role of the clergy in their support of the Tsar (and the attempted subjugation of the peasantry) during the Russian Revolution. 

Looking into the rotunda from an upper outdoor walkway.  Note that every angel is posed differently. The angels are only millimeters thick and very light, gilded using a method called "galvanoplasty". Photo Credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

These displays attempted to ‘talk’ to visitors. Rather than allow visitors to make their own conclusions in the exhibition halls, museum operators included a range of interpretive materials such as text labels, maps, images, and testaments in order to effectively convey the Museum’s message. The use of interpretive strategies was not at all limited to within the walls of St. Isaac’s; institutions across Russia widely adopted such methods, intent as they were on reforming and educating the peasantry while promoting the government’s most valued ideals.

A close-up on the decoration of the ceiling and walls, a chandelier, and over-the-top gilded Corinthian columns. much of which had to be painstakingly restored after the Second World War. Photo Credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

In 1937, St. Isaac’s became an art history museum, quite possibly due to Stalin’s interest in making peace with Russian religious communities on the eve of the Second World War. Bombing, shelling and lack of care during the Second World War greatly damaged the Cathedral; the effects of strafing are still visible on the marble columns and steps of the building’s exterior. The Cathedral housed the priceless collections of the various city-palaces surrounding Leningrad. Camouflaged domes and boarded-up windows discouraged German bombing. Twenty years passed after the Second World War before conservators and craftspeople could complete restoration on the Cathedral. 

Conservators left the evidence of bullet and shrapnel holes as a testament to the Cathedral's fraught history and Leningrad's heroic resistance. (for more information on the Siege, see my previous post here). Photo Credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

Today, St. Isaac’s Cathedral continues to be a state museum, however any sign of the previous museums under Socialism are gone. Worship takes place in side chapels, as well as on special holidays. Tourists and locals alike stop to bow their heads until they gently touch the glass panes protecting priceless icons. Recently, there was a proposed reinstatement of St. Isaac’s as a Cathedral following a politically-backed return to Russian Orthodoxy. Millions of visitors enter the Cathedral every year, and so many people have argued against dissolving the Museum for fear of losing accessibility to the Cathedral. Considering its inspiring beauty and its entrenched status as a symbol of Saint Petersburg, it is not difficult to understand why!

Thank you for reading... and never stop musing! Photo Credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

GREAT AND TERRIBLE BEAUTY AT THE ST. PETERSBURG ZOOLOGICAL MUSEUM

MUSINGS ABROAD

BY: STEPHANIE READ

Calling all natural history lovers to another installment of Musings Abroad! This post takes us to another cultural landmark of regal St. Petersburg, the Zoological Museum. Located on the Eastern tip of Vasilyevsky Island facing the Winter Palace along the Neva River, the Zoological Museum is one of the largest Natural History Museums in the world. The Museum serves not only as a testament to the diversity and beauty of the fauna of this world, but also to the evolution of the taxidermy and display of animal specimens.

Looking South toward the entrance to the Zoological Museum. Note the whale skeletons and collection of seals and walrus species. Photo credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

The Zoological collection was originally an offshoot of Peter the Great's cabinet (read: mega warehouse) of curiosities. Collecting has been ongoing since the early 18th century. Below is a sample of taxidermied pets of Peter the Great from the same time period, situated near the entrance of the museum. It certainly brings attention to the evolution of taxidermy! (Note: Peter the Great also preserved the body of his friend, the French giant Nicholas Bourgeois, however to posterity's slightly less horrified relief,  he decided to keep Bourgeois's skeleton rather than stuff him).

Peter the Great's pets in the Entrance Hall. Photo credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

 As you can see, these early examples of taxidermy are straight up frightening.. unless this was some breed of puppet-horse that I am not aware exists...

Ghoulish examples of early taxidermy at the Zoological Museum! Photo credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

As we came into the Main Hall, I was started to see dozens of children dressed in all combinations of black and white rushing up the stairs. The boys were nattily dressed in formal black slacks and white shirts. The girls' hair were often intricately braided and decorated with massive white pompoms or plastic flowers. Apparently this is the dress code for school children on the Day of Learning, that is their first day back to school. Many children spend their first day back visiting museums in their city.

Children visiting the museum on Learning Day. Photo credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

The Zoological Museum has an informal, laid-back atmosphere. As you can see below, various plants occupied the stairwells and corners. I hardly saw any attendants, and I did not see any security guards. However, the space had a lived-in feel, which is not surprising as the Museum is in fact an appendage of the Zoological Institute of the Russian Academy of Sciences. The building, completed in 1832, originally functioned as a warehouse for the city's stock exchange. It is built in the Greek Revival style, which took the architecture scene of St. Petersburg by storm in the early 19th century.

A woman watering the plants in the stairwell. Photo credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

The Museum boasts a vast collection of insects, mammals, birds, fish, reptiles and invertebrates. It is, for all intents and purposes, an example of the traditional, encyclopedic Natural History museum. The labels do not have an overall internal integrity. The Museum bothers not with more contemporary interpretive strategies or interactive elements, preferring to present the collection in such a way that the visitor is awed and overwhelmed by its breadth.

The upper floor of the Main Hall, devoted to all types of insects. Photo credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

I was hoping to find this Death's Head moth among the critters. Note the display of caterpillars and cocoons as well. Photo credit: Stephanie Read, 2016/

Some specimens getting some fresh air. Photo credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

 Upon exiting the Main Hall, I entered a labyrinthine space, a single tunnel extending toward the horizon however long we walked. I felt as if I were on a subway platform inexplicably filled with animals and complex dioramas. Oh, the dioramas! They are like nothing I had ever seen: Eagles swooped over their massive nests; wolf pups tumbled over each other and tore at the carcass of a young deer; vultures scratched and bit at the body of a wild dog. These dioramas were like the insinuated scenes of Disney movies. I half expected to see old Scar being devoured by hyenas. All of these were at times juxtaposed with adorable and mundane scenes of a lumbering pair of old tortoises or a waddle of penguins. For what it's worth, the children seemed to love the dioramas.

In the diorama tunnel. Photo credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

The diorama tunnel is not for the faint of heart! Photo credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

A pretty beat-up and scruffy opossum- a Disney movie villain in it's own right.. Photo credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

This mammoth fell off a cliff. It is the only stuffed and mounted adult specimen of its kind, and even swaths of its hair have been preserved over millennia. Photo credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

These saiga antelope's live cousins are crtitically endangered. They used to thrive in the Eurasian Steppe, but now are found in Russia and parts of Kazhakstan. It amazes me that such strange looking creatures still exist today. I could not tell if the label addresses their endangered status. Photo credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

Only a few English labels accompanied select specimens, such as the woolly mammoth. For the most part, however, I was unable to understand the labels. Therefore, I appreciated the Museum from an aesthetic perspective. I would have liked to know, foe example, whether the issues of hunting and collection and their impact on the environment had been addressed in any way.

 In fact, the experience would be much like poring over a book of animal specimens, if it were not for the fearsome yet wonderfully crafted dioramas. That being said, I hope when I someday return that the Museum will have adopted some interactive and interpretive strategies. For starters, the labels could include stickers or symbols signifying whether the species in question were vulnerable, near extinction or extinct.

A Chinese water deer. I was surprised to learn that they still exist. Photo credit: Stephanie Read, 2016.

This concludes the February installment of Musings Abroad. Join me next month in Moscow for a visit of the world-renowned State Tretyakov Gallery!

MEMORIAL TO THE DEFENDERS OF THE SIEGE OF LENINGRAD

MUSINGS ABROAD

BY: STEPHANIE READ

This installment of Musings Abroad finds yours truly finally escaping the heat (!) of southern Russia to visit the chilly and prim Saint Petersburg. It is the kind of city one would love to get lost in, and in fact one has no choice, because this city is a tangled web of imposing baroque, neoclassical and art nouveau structures flanking winding avenues. Wandering through the streets, you have the choice of either being spit out at the waterfront, or along Nevsky Prospekt, the city's main pedestrian artery. The city is a hipster paradise, although this is not a surprise as the city's founder, Peter the Great, was a bit of a hipster himself. But more on this another time.

After hours of deliberations, they decided not to help us. Photo: Stephanie Read, 2016

If the Toronto subway is George R. R. Martin, stopping constantly to the consternation of millions, then the St. Petersburg subway is Hunter S. Thompson. After a few days of arriving at our destination exhilarated and dazed, we decided to look closer to home for a cultural experience. Happily, my fiancé and I were staying a few days with his great aunt in a cozy apartment in the city. As we wolfed down home-made borscht, I thought about all that she had seen in her years growing up in the city, known then as Leningrad. My parents were Billy Joel fans, which probably explains a lot about me, so I already harboured half-formed notions of Leningrad, mostly involving vodka and clowns. Thankfully, I was about to be set straight. 

Ominous subway doors at Moscovskaya Station, Saint Petersburg. Photo: Stephanie Read, 2016

The plans were set in Russian, so I didn't have much of an idea where we were going as we headed down Moskovskye Avenue. However, the obelisk of Victory Square is not hard to miss, and it was not long until we were upon the "Monument to Heroic Defenders of Leningrad", a memorial museum dedicated to the victims and survivors of the Siege of Leningrad, a 900-day ordeal that cost the lives of over a million Russians in the Second World War. The monument is imposing and beautiful- a towering obelisk at the foot of a shallow recess in the shape of a horseshoe. The recess is encircled by a jagged broken ring, symbolizing the breaking of the Siege in 1944. Around the ring, several eternal flames burn orange. Soft classical music plays. The effect is sobering, but the music is somehow reassuring rather than trying to evoke sorrow. The memorial is as much a testament to strength as it is to loss.

Inside the circular recess at the Memorial to the Defenders of the Siege of Leningrad. Photo: Stephanie Read, 2016

The broken ring symbolizing the end of the Siege, with the obelisk in the background. The doorway on the right is the museum exit. The entrance is directly in front of the exit on the other side. Photo: Stephanie Read, 2016

On each side of the horseshoe, visitors enter and descend a dark staircase lined with lights made from original shell casings recovered after the Siege. The interior is dark and forbidding, like a tomb. Adorable babushki (elderly women) liven the space up considerably, descending upon us from all directions and asking if we'd like to watch a video about the Siege. After the video was done, a woman approached us excitedly and asked if we'd like to watch another video. After that video, we were induced to watch a third. 

The staircase to the museum, lined with shell casing lights. Photo: Stephanie Read, 2016

Shell casing lights with the 'hero-cities' listed underneath: the Russian cities that did not fall in the Second World War. Photo: Stephanie Read, 2016

Seeing that things had gotten out of hand, we tried to get away but there was no use; our personal tour guide led us through the memorial, pointing out and explaining the significance of each artifact one by one. My companion dutifully translated everything to me: a gear pulled from a machine by starving and desperate citizens and boiled down for the pork fat used to lubricate the spokes; the diary of a little girl chronicling the death of each of her family members until she too faded away; the 125 gram piece of "bread" (a mix of inferior flours and a silicate filler) that served as the daily ration for citizens working upwards of 16 hours a day manufacturing shells in intolerably cold temperatures. I realized that some of the babushki could very well have been children during the Siege. It was incredible to learn about these tragic artifacts from these bubbly and utterly matter-of-fact guides. 

A helpful guide. Each marble pillar holds artifacts devoted to different aspects of war and civilian life during the Siege. Behind, a mural depicting life during the Siege. On the other side, a near-same mural depicts the liberation in 1944. Photo: Stephanie Read, 2016

A wee piece of "bread" with weights equaling 125 grams. On the right, a rations card, necessary for survival. Photo: Stephanie Read, 2016

It is rare to visit a memorial site of over a million victims, whose story is one of victory. Exiting the museum, one emerges behind the obelisk onto a square flanked by sculptures of victorious men and women raising their hands in the sky, cheering and holding each other in relief. It was impossible not to share a bit of their joy in that moment, as well.

Inside the museum, looking toward the Liberation mural. Photo: Stephanie Read, 2016

As nations continue to slowly turn to face the dark aspects of their history, the line between memorial and museum is drawn by current affairs. Sometimes the only victory we have is our ability to tell our story through the darkness, and to be heard. To tell it and to be heard is an important and symbolic action of agency and the reclamation of power. Museums making an effort to include the stories of the marginalized and overlooked understand this. And yet, to tell and retell our experiences is also a sign of deep trauma; like the Ancient Mariner, the individual feels they must repeat the story, so convinced they are that no one is listening, or no one will believe them. How can we help people tell their stories as a path toward their healing, rather than in order to heal museums' reputations?

Men and women emerge from the underground, wondering what will come next. Photo: Stephanie Read, 2016

Many of us might think that the trends adopted by progressive museums will have resounding, and perhaps even immediate and measurable effects. However, museums have taken their actions for granted before. The truth is, we have undertaken a great challenge to redefine the sector, and only the greatest understanding and courage will turn the boat around, so to speak. Therefore, emerging museum professionals, brace yourselves for the new chartered course. Expect delays. Get resourceful, imaginative and determined. If you aren't making waves, you are doing something wrong. Our museums of inclusiveness are still in their infancy, and unforeseen challenges are ahead. If we prevail, then when we are old, we too can speak excitedly of the past and the future.

TRAVEL THE BLACK SEA: AIVAZOVSKY NATIONAL ART GALLERY IN THEODOSIA, CRIMEA

MUSINGS ABROAD

BY: STEPHANIE READ

Welcome to the first Musings Abroad blog post! Every month will feature a different museum, historic site or two from my travels in and around Russia this past summer. As I become familiar with North American museological trends, I am always interested in learning what museums are like across the world. It is my hope that this column will shed some insight into some of the unique characteristics of museums abroad!

Outside of the Aivazovsky Picture Gallery, Theodosia, Crimea. Photo: Stephanie Read, 2016

We begin our journey in the resort & port town of Theodosia (or Feodosia) in the Crimean Peninsula. The ancient Greeks founded this town in the 6th century BCE. Across the rolling hills there remain testaments to Theodosia’s complicated history, as evidenced by its 14th century ruins of Genoese lines of defense, an ancient Turkic Karaites cemetery, and a monument and park dedicated to the victims of Chernobyl. More recently, one can see advertisements everywhere with Putin’s face and “KRIM = RUSSIA” superimposed over a Russian flag.

A tour guide whom I am pretending to understand at the Aivazovsky National Art Gallery. Photo: Stephanie Read, 2016

Theodosia is known for its beaches of finely-ground seashells, as well as for being the hometown of the renowned 19th-century painter Ivan Aivazovsky (b. 1817- d. 1900). Brush off those pesky seashell bits if you can, because the Aivazosky National Art Gallery is where we will be visiting today. 

Taking in the beauty of Aivazovsky's work: following the states of the sea from lethargic to lethal.
Photo: Stephanie Read, 2016

It is important to note that everything worth doing takes time, and this applies to gaining entrance to the Aivazovsky Gallery. Regarding obtaining entry tickets, a set of confusing and illogical steps have been put in place by the Gallery administration. I can only assume that the reason for this is to ensure that none but the most devout can gain access to Aivazovsky’s masterpieces. Lucky, my party was tenacious, and we made it into the Gallery. I was particularly interested in visiting because we were supposed to see a show in Moscow on Aivazovsky’s work at the renowned Tretyakov State Gallery. I had seen the Turner show at the Art Gallery of Ontario and hos sublime seascapes had captured my imagination. I was therefore excited to see the works of one whom could arguably be deemed Turner’s Armenian- Russian counterpart. 

The guide discusses the masterworks of Aivazovsky in the aptly named Red Room. Photo: Stephanie Read, 2016

The Gallery is in the house Aivazovsky designed and had built for himself in 1845. The house is decorated with sculptures and looks like an Italian villa. It was built to accommodate Aivazovsky’s studios and as such the rooms are large, airy and bright. In 1880, he began to exhibit artworks there, making the ANAG the third oldest museum in the area after the Hermitage Museum and the Tretyakov Gallery. During the Second World War, officials evacuated the entire collection to Russia, and later to Armenia.

Aivazovsky's easel, palette and brush. Behind (left) a glimpse of Battle of Cesme at Night, 1848.

Like most galleries and smaller museums I came to visit in and around Russia, the halls are guarded by little old ladies- the (in)famous babushkas. If you speak Russian, there is no need to pay for a tour or an audio guide; often as not you will be approached by these highly knowledgeable and implacable women anyways. The Gallery does not have interpretive information for English visitors, nor any interpretive panels at all. It provides free tours (in Russian), and audio guides for a price. The halls are hung with a few paintings per wall apiece, not so much in the salon style but that of a traditional gallery. In terms of the feel of the space, it was like that of a large home which someone had just moved out of, leaving only the paintings and chandeliers behind. On the other hand, it was a lovely experience to contemplate the dramatic naval scenes placed as they might have been in Aivazovsky’s home long ago. 

Loud sigh! Where are the babushki when you need them? Photo: Stephanie Read, 2016

Security standards are comparatively relaxed. I was struck in particular by a visitor carrying her Chihuahua in a blanket. I thought at first that it was an unfortunate-looking baby. My party and I were also distressed to see that some visitors had no issue sneaking under the rope barriers to take pictures close to the artworks. It is a miracle they didn’t smash a bust in the process. The collection is mighty, but overall the setting is not capable of complimenting and enhancing the balanced beauty of the artworks. I cannot speak for the safety of the artworks themselves, but they, the furnishings and the historic parquet floor all seemed in fine condition. 

One of the halls in the ANAG. Information such as the date and title of the works are inscribed on
small plaques fitted into the canvas' frames. Photo: Stephanie Read, 2016

A timely article (which you can access here) describes the challenges facing Theodosia’s heritage sites, such as the 14th century Tower of Constantine, which suffered compromising and serious damage to its foundations this summer. It seems that in this time of political unrest in the peninsula, issues of conversation and cultural sustainability have been put to the side. Aivazovsky’s stormy waves perfectly captures the instability and turmoil which simultaneously threaten and shape the future of this ancient city’s cultural treasures.