of anthropological artwork
These highlights from
the Artwork Conservation Project in
Anthropological Archives show how an
object's treatment takes account of
its unique content and context
This oversized map of the San Blas coast of Panama was stored
tightly rolled around a wooden dowel for decades. It was so brittle
and unwieldy that none of the NAA staff could clearly recall ever
seeing it unrolled.
Our conservators gently flattened the map, removed rusted
staples, mended tears, and ... began sewing? They discovered
that the smaller scenes above the coastline were actually on
separate sheets of paper, loosely basted onto the map with coarse
thread. As they worked to secure these lovely vignettes, they
realized that the artist had used different thread, probably
adding pages at different times.
search through historic records identified the artist: Igwa
Nigdibippi, a Kuna from Panama who visited Washington in 1924
with members of the Marsh-Darien expedition.
research also uncovered a new mystery; early photographs show
the map with different scenes sewn across the top edge. Why
the change? The answer awaits diligent researchers with expertise
in Kuna art. And if they can't make it to the archives? Thanks
to our imaging and photographic staff, researchers can order
digital or photographic copies to study. (Ms. 4490)
Here's an object that really lives up to its title: "A
True Bird's-Eye View of Mount Fuji" delivers just that.
Tourists could use the heavily illustrated map to learn about
the annual fire festival in July, get practical information
for a climb, or find scenic viewpoints. But the map's importance
extends far beyond guiding mountain climbers. "Mount Fuji"
was one of many Japanese maps included in a 1939 exhibit in
New Hampshire called "Around the World."
Before being displayed, each map was carefully annotated with
English translations and commentaries for the edification of
the viewing audience. "Fuji San," the captions explain
in reverential tones, is a "graceful, sublime, and sacred
mountain... renowned as a grandeur of the Extreme Orient."
With time, the captions themselves have become an important
artifact documenting America's fascination with Japan just prior
to the second World War.
aerial view of the 1877 map (above). Conservation technician
Denise Stockman designed several prototypes before hitting on
a three-dimensional form to support the mountain. (Ms. 7457)
American photograph attached to the map evokes the collector's
travels in Japan and, in contrast to the Japanese woodblock
print, it hints at cultural differences in representation.
When we first started working with this poor book of Plains
drawings, it had a certain Humpty Dumpty quality — its
loose pages had gotten scrambled. We called on all the king's
horses and all the king's men to put it together again, pooling
knowledge from our conservators and curators to reassemble the
pages in correct order.
Conservators used the ghostly images transferred from acidic
inks to identify facing pages. Curators used their knowledge
of the way Plains Indians placed drawings in books, such as
using the juncture of facing pages as the groundline. We also
looked for pictures that spanned multiple pages — a more
difficult task than one might think, given that Plains artists
composed their scenes in a manner that seems strange to viewers
used to Western books. In some scenes, hoofprints gallop along
one page, while the horseman charges across the facing page.
By themselves, the hoofprints don't make much sense, but when
both pages are together, they tell the story of a much larger
encounter. Working together, we were able to put this pocket
book's pages into their original order and orientation before
it was rebound.
this scene from the little pocket book, the many hoofprints
across the bottom show the great number of mounted warriors
involved in this fight. Notice the hail of enemy arrows
and bullets flying past the warrior as he escapes. The story
simply isn't complete unless both pages are together. (Ms.
4452B, Inv. 08664400)
Drawings and paintings might not spring to mind as traditional
Navajo arts, but two NAA manuscripts suggest that perhaps they
should. This detailed train, skillfully drawn by a Navajo artist
named Choh, was collected in the 1880s. An 1886 report describes
Choh's easy familiarity with pencil and paper as he stood at
the counter of a trading post, drawing from memory.
pencil drawing shows the smudges and smears of time, but is
otherwise in good shape. In the Smithsonian's Annual Report
for 1886, the collector described some of Choh's other drawings,
including "telegraph poles and wires alongside the [train]
track," "pretentious birds," and "flaming
red frogs with blue stripes adown their backs and sides."
Unfortunately, these drawings did not survive.
This Navajo painting, from a set of 31, also shows how native
artists adopted commercial materials. Klah-Tso painted these
ceremonial scenes on fine cotton cloth, dyed a deep tan. He
used a sharpened stick to apply native pigments and commercial
gouache, and a brush to add commercial oils. The dynamic painting
known as The Ride is the work of this talented artist who successfully
adopted new media and new concepts. Klah-Tso's beautifully detailed
paintings and Choh's delightful train provide rare glimpses
of the Navajo world at the turn of the century.
The oil paints used for this group of
Navajo riders was in good condition, but the white gouache was
flaking off the cloth backing. Conservators treated the pigment
to stabilize it, then created specialized mats that support
the paintings and protect the paints from wear. (Ms.
138,501, Inv. 377,480)
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