Saturday, 29 November 2014

Archival Film Adventures!

Since I’m planning to apply as soon as possible to do a postgraduate diploma, I thought I’d do some activities that will help me research areas of archiving I’m unfamiliar with and generally expand my awareness. Some time ago, I sent an e-mail to the Yorkshire Film Archive, in York St John University, asking if I could visit, and was delighted when the manager, Graham, offered to take me round himself. As a film fan, I really wanted to learn more about film and sound archiving, and the fantastic morning I spent at the YFA last Friday did not disappoint.

http://www.yorkshirefilmarchive.com/

The archive is situated in the corner of a library on the university campus. After a welcome, I was first taken round their three main storerooms. The archive will accept film or video from anyone at all who wants to donate, provided that it’s about Yorkshire or featuring Yorkshire people and generally useful to them – so the first room is full of people’s donations that are waiting to be accessioned. Graham showed me some of the reels of tape, which had come to them in various containers such as toffee tins and tupperwares. You could tell most of them had been dug out of people’s attics! They are all held in this room until someone is able to check them and assess what’s on them and their usefulness. If considered appropriate, the film strip is then transferred to a standardised reel, labelled with an accession number and brief description then moved to the next storeroom.
These rooms were really quite cold – definitely a lower temperature than our stacks at the Brotherton. This is because old film is in great danger of deteriorating. Graham showed me an example of some acetate film that was in quite a bad state – the most obvious sign being that it smelt of vinegar! I had meant to ask him if they had ever got anything in that was on the nitrate film stock that can explode like in Cinema Paradiso. I never did though.
Then I was taken to the room in which is stored the film that has been transferred to digital tape for use by the archive. This is incredibly expensive to do and so is only carried out on demand, for specific projects: research, television, exhibitions and so on. In fact, the whole archive is very expensive to maintain, considering all the specialist equipment, labour time, and the need to keep those cold temperatures consistent, but they get funding from various sources. Sadly, we also have to consider that technology moves on, and the equipment used to play this tape will one day be obsolete, meaning, presumably, another transfer to a different format and more expense.
Graham told me quite a funny example of a recent user of the archive: the band Metallica. They had wanted to show some film footage of fox hunting during their Glastonbury set; it was meant to be a joke because of the big controversy over their singer’s support of hunting. I think I’d feel uncomfortable helping them out with something like that, but I guess you can’t pick and choose these things!
Next we went and talked to Steve, who works with the film itself. He views people’s donations when they come in and assesses whether they are unusual or interesting enough to be kept, making sure that they’re relevant. He also writes catalogue records for the film. When I’d read some of these online, I’d been surprised that each one featured a quite detailed descriptions of what went on in the film. I felt this must be time-consuming, but I was told it was important so that researchers or in fact the archive themselves can find specific parts of the film that are of interest, or can cross-reference when doing a search. Steve was viewing a new film when I came in, on a huge reel-to-reel machine, a lot more hi-tech than the cine-film projector in my dad’s loft! Like many, I expect, the film seemed to feature a family holiday. He said they get as much information as they can from the owner regarding what exactly is happening in the film, but still it’s very often difficult for them to ascertain what’s going on!
Finally, I went into the room where film is cleaned and repaired – again using special equipment including quite a large cleaning machine, as well as solvents and so on. The best part, though, came when I was shown some of the actual films the archive themselves were producing from pieces of footage. I had no idea they did this themselves but apparently an editor comes in every week. I saw a short extract from ‘Filmed but Not Forgotten’, their current, Heritage Lottery-funded project for the WWI centenary. They have taken all the films they have from around this time – obviously not a huge number – and remastered them so they are available for the public to view. They’re also running a campaign to try and identify some of the filmmakers and the people who are in the films.  http://www.yorkshirefilmarchive.com/videos/filmed-and-not-forgotten  . Interestingly, the Brotherton will be helping them out with this by digitising a programme for Ripon Sports Day from 1916.
The other two films I saw were ‘Trike to Bike’, a lovely 5-minute film they made for the Tour de France, which you can see here: http://www.yorkshirefilmarchive.com/content/le-tour-comes-yorkshire  and, excitingly, an unfinished version of the trailer they’re making for Hull, City of Culture  – more info about this is here http://www.yorkshirefilmarchive.com/content/film-search-hull . Everyone who might have a film about Hull is being encouraged to search their attics, as they really want to expand this particular film collection in time for 2017.
The edited films I saw were of an excellent quality. I was really inspired, but also moved to think that so much of this footage was recorded by ordinary members of the public, in their back gardens, or perhaps out at a community event. Now their images will be preserved as long as the archive lasts, going on into the future to educate and enchant anyone who views them in the years to come. Without even knowing it, these people have made their mark on history.
I left the archive on a real high – I’d love to work somewhere like this some day. The staff were really nice and I’m so appreciative of Graham for giving up his time to show me round. To anyone out there who have a film to donate, or just want to find out more about what YFA does, I’d very much recommend it.

Thursday, 20 November 2014

Gott some news, Pease take note! (Ok, enough with the puns now)

Well, today I’m not quite sure where to begin… I had a pretty exciting time in the art store last Thursday because I found a whole bunch of artworks from the Mrs. Frank Gott collection. Frank Gott was Lord Mayor of Leeds from 1917-18 and Beryl Gott the Lady Mayoress. She was also Leeds’ first woman alderman and one of the city’s first female magistrates. The Gotts, like the Ford family, began as wool merchants – Leeds is largely built on the textile and wool industries so generally big on cloth.


If this webpage is anything to go by, it seems Mrs Gott bequeathed things all over the place and the Brotherton library is no exception. We have the couple’s papers and very many artworks, mostly drawings and prints. A lot of these depict scenes of Leeds or old plans – here’s one:
 
 
These are either in the store or displayed around the library but (fun times for me) not all of them have records. The notes left by a previous art gallery collections manager indicated that there were a few Gott Bequest things around – she even left some images – but I just couldn’t account for all of them. Then I had the brainwave that, instead of doing any more fruitless searches on the database, why didn’t I just LOOK AROUND?!! I can tell this will be an important lesson in my archiving career. In a few minutes I’d found several prints that I’d been searching for, which means I can start to make records for them. Then (taking the ‘look around’ idea to a new level) I glanced slightly to the right just before entering Special Collections to return the store key and saw two more Gott pictures on the wall! How many hundreds of times had I walked past those?!
Well, I’ll try and contain my excitement and not write any more about that because when I told my manager about it at my 1-to-1 she said she wanted me to write a blog post for Special Collections about all this because I could ‘get some emotion into it’! I can’t remember past blog posts of theirs being especially emotional but I’ve told her I’ll do my best. So I’m going to be blogging for the Special Collections website! Obvs will post a link when it’s live.
I also asked if there were any chance I could take photos for my own blog and she said I potentially could do a couple, but I don’t think I’ll be doing many if at all unfortunately. As well as anything else, there’s something I hadn’t thought of – issues around copyright. You can’t publish something that is inside copyright without permission, and the rule generally is that the writer or artist has to have been dead for 70 years. From what I gather, it seems that this includes reproduction of images. So the portraits might be a possibility but the Edith Culman collages would be out. I’m sure people take photos of people’s art and stick it on the net all the time but apparently you can’t do this officially. Anything we digitise and put on our website also has to be within copyright. It’s been suggested that I might even be able to write some letters requesting permission at some point; watch this space!
More finds followed while in work yesterday… For no reason whatsoever, while in the stacks I went and had a look at the Cottingley Fairies collection, but that’s for another time! I then went and deframed the Pease Family Portrait and got a huge surprise. When I’d removed the frame, underneath was a small stretcher with quite a large pencil drawing of a young girl on it. It was inscribed ‘Cara, 1921’. Why had Marian Pease covered up this lovely drawing with a photograph of a portrait? A possible answer emerged when I took the stretcher down to show the conservator. She looked at it closely and pointed out that it was not an entirely genuine pencil drawing, but a print that someone had added to in pencil. Maybe this was why it hadn’t been deemed worth displaying – it wasn’t a ‘proper’ drawing. Meanwhile, the back of the stretcher had been padded with a Radio Times from 1941 – interesting in itself! I pictured the scene: it’s wartime and Marian Pease doesn’t want to spend money on frames, so she takes this picture of a family member, one she’s not particularly fond of but doesn’t want to throw away, puts the photograph of her father’s family over the top, stuffs it with this week’s Radio Times and puts a simple frame around the whole thing.
And who is Cara? It’s Margaret Cara Benson Rablen, who, along with her sister, bequeathed the Ford family portraits collection. She was born in 1914, died in 2011 (you can see her obituaries on Leicester Quaker sites) and is the great-granddaughter of Hannah Pease. Much to impress my manager with for next time, ha ha! 

Wednesday, 12 November 2014

A collage education

I had a pretty good two days’ work last week. It was all very quiet, because everyone was helping the conservator do a survey of hundreds of old books that are to be moved to the store on the Western campus, to assess what protection they would need. You had to go over them on their shelves in the stacks and identify which books needed tying round with cream tape, or putting in paper wrappers or envelopes.  I had come in earlier in the week to help, so I focused on getting through the objects that was still to survey in the L-shaped room. On Wednesday I scanned Marian Pease's letter onto the Pease family portrait record (I seem to be getting the hang of doing this now). I also worked out how to use the Special Collections camera, despite never having owned a camera since childhood and certainly not a digital one! I photographed a couple of long Victorian labels, including the one on the back of Christopher Rawlinson, so now I don't have to copy down all that Latin.  I transferred the photos to the computer, ready to attach to their records next week.

So I was already feeling quite pleased with myself, then the big boss came in and I hopefully managed to impress her by telling her that I'd found out the provenance of the portraits (meaning what collection they come from) and of the 70s mixed media collages.  Then I went for lunch to the Pickards letting agents cafĂ© (yes really) opposite the uni, and they played Lykke Li the whole time.  So I was in a pretty good mood that day. 

There are several collages, all made by a woman called Edith Culman, who died in 2004. They are mostly from the late 60s and early 70s and believe me they look it – no skimping on the hessian and brown corduroy. Some are made entirely of fabric, others from materials as diverse as string, straw, wood, painted paper, egg cartons, peach stones and, very weirdly, a lamp that seems to have come from a camera flash. None of them seem to represent anything in particular and are just swirly lines and chaos; in fact it takes some working out which way up they go, which makes measuring awkward.  I remarked to myself while looking at the first one that I had no idea what this curly shape was meant to be – then had to laugh when I saw that the title was ‘Pas un Escargot’, or ‘not a snail’ – that narrows it down anyway!

However, just as I was wondering why on earth we had these things in the first place, I discovered, with some help from staff, that they came from the Holocaust Survivors Friendship Association’s collection, which comprises interviews, correspondence and personal effects of survivors who came to Yorkshire to make a new life.  http://holocaustlearning.org/  I could then see how these collages might help a historian or art student reflect on the lives of such survivors, and how, perhaps, I would only get a rounded picture of what inspired Culman by looking at the rest of the collection in the stacks.  I also noticed that one, extremely disordered collage had a note on the reverse that said ‘Untitled piece: Parkinson's phase’. This object is mounted on MDF, instead of on hessian cloth like Culman's earlier work. I wondered if the artist's Parkinson's disease had made a change of materials and style necessary or if it was a personal choice, or even if this art somehow expressed her symptoms and emotions. I have found a handlist (separate list made by us) for the collection and do intend, when I can, to look at some of Culman’s letters, especially those between her and other survivors across the world, because I think that sounds really interesting.
 
I have tried to find pictures of the collages online, but can find nothing like them!  I'm not sure anything like them exists anyway, well not since the 70s.  I've decided to bite the bullet and ask my manager at our next meeting whether I definitely can't take photos of artworks for my blog.  Probably can't but worth asking.  If I can, I'll add some, if not then I guess I will just have to try and replicate one of the collages myself.  Off to the supermarket for eggs and peaches then…