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 café (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…