According to UWO, I Have Now Mastered the Arts

"I Admit You."

When the Chancellor of the University of Western Ontario held my hands and said those three little words to me this past Friday, it was like music to my ears. In fact, after completing 8 months of course work and a grueling summer internship, the only thing that would have made this moment better was if he had followed with, "...and you're hired" (a girl can dream, can't she?!).

But alas, that wasn't to be. Instead, I begin my job search in earnest today, confident in the knowledge that my time at Western has helped prepare me for a multitude of career paths in history, heritage and beyond (provided, of course, that I can choose just one!).

I don't usually include photos of myself on this blog, but this is definitely one for the record books! Allow me to present UWO's Masters of (Public) History, 2010:


Back row, from left to right: Jordan Goldstein, Dana Johnson, Tim O'Grady, myself, Braden Murray, Tasha DiLoreto, Megan Arnott

Front row, from left to right: Sara Sirianni, Shelagh Staunton, Becca Rahey

Reading the Newspaper with a Public Historian's Eye

Newspapers. I'm my house, they're everywhere. They lay on the floor in my entryway, folded neatly and encased in coloured plastic. They're piled precariously on chairs and stairs by our side door. They overflow the blue recycling bins in the garage. They litter our kitchen table, the family room table and even the living room table. Articles are clipped, highlighted and/or written on and stuck on the fridge, filed away for future reference or slipped under my bedroom door as I sleep. As a three-newspaper family (receiving The Toronto Star, The Globe and Mail and the Whitby This Week on a regular basis), it's quite possible that we are single-handedly responsible for creating a very large hole somewhere in the Amazonian jungle.

So, this morning when I went downstairs for a cup of coffee and some breakfast, I was not at all surprised to see various sections of The Toronto Star covering nearly every square inch of the kitchen table. Nor was I particularly shocked to see that my father had "conveniently" left the paper open to an article announcing that the "Spadina House [had been] restored to its glory days." Yeah, my father's about as subtle as sledgehammer, but I was intrigued enough to pick it up and start reading.

At first I read the article like I have always read articles of this type: I skimmed the story, interested to learn a little more about Toronto's built heritage (e.g. Spadina House was built in 1866 by James Austin, one of the founders of the Dominion Bank and later, a president of Consumer's Gas Company) and intrigued by the more minute historical details (like the fact that different quadrants of the city used to have designated days on which the muckety-mucks could fashionably receive visitors). I was also mentally adding Spadina House to my ever-growing list of places to visit in Toronto.

But, as I finished reading the article, my inner public historian started to work...

I found myself looking critically at the photograph which had accompanied the article. The photo shows one of Spadina House's newly refurbished rooms in all its glory. With its cheerfully striped furniture, luxurious silk wallpaper and dramatic chandelier, the house looks beautiful and the care that the museum staff put into the new renovations is evident. That said, I couldn't help but cross my fingers and hope that the photographer had restricted herself from using a flash. Heaven forbid we overly expose the new furnishings to intense lighting.

Next, my eyes turned to the title of the article and I just couldn't help my knee-jerk reaction: Glory days? What glory days? Why does everyone always assume that the past was more 'glorious' or simple than the present? And what good does idealizing the past at the expense of the present do for a historical site or for the historical knowledge/consciousness of the public at large? I know, I know... I'm being nit-picky, but that sort of oversimplification drives me batty.

The final paragraph of the article briefly related the types of public programming that the newly reopened heritage site would offer. As someone interested in museum education, I was pleased to see that the site was going to offer three types of tours, "Meet the Austins" for those that are more interested in the history of the family, "It's a Kid's Life" for school-aged children, and a restoration tour for those visitors more interested in the architectural significance of the house and the process that went into repairing one of Toronto's historical gems. It really seems like the staff at Spadina House has thought about their site and their visitors and have made significant attempts to appeal to and service the widest possible audience.

Of course, all of these 'criticisms' are relatively minor and more than a little tongue-in-cheek. In fact, I've only included them in this posting to illustrate a small bit of the thought process which sent me into this metacognitive spiral of a blog post. I have to admit, it's a little disconcerting to wake up one day and suddenly realize that a single year of school has significantly changed the way that I do a task I've been doing since the fifth grade.


* Photograph is for dramatization purposes only and does not represent the actual condition of this blogger's home. :)

Medical Collections Not for the Faint of Heart

Earlier this year my peers and I in the Public History program had the opportunity to examine UWO's Medical Artifact Collection under the instruction of Dr. Michelle A. Hamilton. As all of us can attest, this collection was equal parts fascinating and grotesque; it was amazing to be able to get our (gloved) hands on 19th century medical artifacts and learn how to handle and examine them as true historians and/or museum curators would, but I'm sure few of us can forget the dried blood that remained on the blades of some of the saws and scalpels, even after nearly a century of disuse.

In my position this summer as the Archives Assistant at the Sunnybrook Health Science Centre Archives my first task was to catalogue all of the archive' s photographic holdings. The majority of the collection consisted of aerial views, interior and exterior shots of the hospital under construction and various departments, equipment and staff from the 1970s. To be honest, for the most part the photos were a bit of a snooze. Thankfully, every once in a while there was a photographic gem (like the black and white shot from the 1940s of an Italian prisoner of war who was undergoing physiotherapy after having one of his legs amputated from the knee down) to keep things interesting.

This week, however, I've moved on to cataloguing the archive's Medical Art Collection. While this means a fair bit of wading through past hospital brochures and stationary layouts for printers, it also means discovering some really beautiful and detailed anatomical sketches that were originally commissioned from the hospital's Art Department by doctors for teaching or learning purposes.

My favourite find so far - hands down - is the file of facial sketches that were done for a doctor that was about to undertake reconstructive surgery of a patient's nose. The file contains various reference materials (e.g. Polaroid's of a human skull, anatomical sketches from a textbook of the underlying structure of muscles, veins, etc. in a human face, and photographs of the actual patient before surgery). The artist then used those items to complete a series of sketches of the patient himself, what the patient's skull structure likely looked like and what certain nerve systems, veins and/or arteries looked like. The artist then layered all of these sketches over each other to complete a final sketch of the patient which showed all of these different parts in relation to each other.

After the drawings were complete, the doctor who had commissioned the sketches then added his own notes about the surgery overtop of them, indicating where arteries and veins were layered closely together, where certain systems were buried under deeper layers of tissue and cautioning himself to not "put the incision too close to the margin of [the] nostril."

As the title of this blog posts suggests, the final pieces of the file were considerably more graphic than pen and ink sketches and doctor's surgical notes and definitely not for the faint of heart or the squeemish: included in the file were photographs of the patient taken during the procedure when part of his nose had been removed and immediately post-op when stitches and bruising were evident.

To see the artist's process from beginning to end was fascinating enough on its own, but then it was also really neat to see evidence of the use to which the sketch was put. It definitely added another layer to my appreciation of medical art and how items from the archives could/should be used to educate and engage the public at the hospital. With its combination of art, education and enough of the "grotesque" to fascinate without sensationalizing or exploiting the patient (sometimes a thin line for the public historian to walk), the file in its entirety would make an excellent exhibit for one of the hospital's display cases. In fact, this might be exactly the type of public history-related project that I suggest to my supervisor that I take on by the end of the summer.

We'll see. I'll keep you posted.

[Note: Artwork by P. Cunningham, posted with permission from the Sunnybrook Archives]

Toronto Opens Its Doors

Last weekend 150 buildings of architectural, historic, cultural and/or social significance in the City of Toronto open their doors to the public for their 11th Annual Doors Open Toronto event. This year’s theme revolved around architecture within the city and offered the public a number of opportunities to focus their attention on the craftsmanship of some truly extraordinary local buildings and historic sites. And, if my own sore feet and sunburned head are any indication of the kind of time that everyone else had, I’d say that this year’s event was a rousing success.

In past years I’ve participated in Doors Open events solely as a spectator; clutching the Toronto Star Program Guide in one hand, I’ve targeted an area of the city with plenty of properties within walking distance of each other and set off (usually by myself) to enjoy a day of free sight-seeing, something people rarely take time to do in their own backyard.

This year, however, was a little different than most. As part of my internship with the Ontario Jewish Archives, I volunteered to help out at the OJA’s Doors Open Toronto site, the Pape Avenue Cemetery.

Established by Judah Joseph and Abraham Nordheimer in 1849 on a ½ acre of land on what was then Centre Street, the Pape Avenue Cemetery was Toronto’s first Jewish cemetery. As such, it is the final resting place of a number of the city’s first and most prominent Jewish residents, including Judah Joseph’s own son, whose illness first prompted Joseph and Nordheimer to seek out a more local Jewish burial site (in the 1840s the closest Jewish cemeteries were in Montreal and Buffalo, nearly a full day away by horse and buggy). Unfortunately, over the years many of the cemetery’s early stones, including the one for Joseph’s son, have toppled over and sunk into the ground so that they are no longer visible.

Due to space restrictions in the city, the cemetery was closed to new burials in the 1950s. Since then, the beautiful iron gates which lead to the property have rarely been open to anyone other than the property’s Christian caretaker and a thick cover of ivy on the gates have kept even the most curious Toronto resident from being able to sneak a peek. This year’s Doors Open event marked the first time in decades that the cemetery was open to the general public and as such generated quite a large interest from the public (a mention in both the Globe and Mail and the National Post as a site of special interest didn’t hurt either, I’d assume).

While a number of Doors Open sites allow the visitor to wander freely or provide them with a pamphlet of some sort, Ellen Scheinberg, Director of the OJA and one of my internship coordinators this summer, instead chose to organize a 15 minute tour of the site for visitors. This allowed members of the public to interact directly with or ask questions of knowledgeable volunteers and members of Toronto’s Jewish Community, including a representative of the Holy Blossom Synagogue (which is responsible for the site) and Susan Brown, a local artist and art teacher who was able to speak about the significance and history of the carvings on the headstones.

Throughout the day, my main role was to act as a gopher, helping to register visitors to the site, have them sign legal waivers before they could enter the cemetery and then organize them into manageable tour groups for the guides.

Although my role was a supporting one, it was very interesting to observe and talk to members of the public that came to this event. Through this, I was able to get a feel for the type of people in Toronto that are interested in local history and heritage, especially with that which is specific to the city’s Jewish community. As well, I was able to sit back and notice the types of people who were missing from the cross-section of visitors (mainly twenty-somethings) and think about ways for the Ontario Jewish Archives to engage this section of the population in future events. Finally, the event also exposed me to the realities of running this type of initiative and all of the work that most go into it months in advance in order to ensure that it is successful.

It was a long, scorching hot day, but a fun one nonetheless. I definitely can’t wait to do it again next year!

Facets of Fame

During my meeting with Ellen Scheinberg of the Ontario Jewish Archives this week, she suggested that I may be interested in seeing the Facets of Fame: Portraits of Toronto Photographer Al Gilbert photography exhibit which is currently on display at The Market Gallery in the St. Lawrence Market on Lower Jarvis Street, Toronto. Although the exhibit runs until September 11th, 2010, Ellen suggested that I visit it as soon as possible as a way to expose myself to one of the OJA’s most recent projects and to see first-hand one of the various ways that the archive is seeking to engage the public in unexpected public spaces.

Although what I know about the art of photography could barely fill a thimble, I’ve always admired the work of those who have the ability to look at people, places and things and capture them on film in unique and bold ways. Since my mother also had the day off work, I suggested that she come with me and off we went to see the work of one of the country’s most respected portrait photographers.

The exhibit begins – quite suitably, I think – with the work of Al Gilbert’s father, Nathan, the man who first exposed Al to the world of photograph and taught him the basics of the trade in their family’s photography studio during the 1920s and 1930s. Nathan’s work included dozens of clever family photographs of bar mitzvahs, birthdays, vacations, holidays and everyday life that all seemed just a little bit cheeky.

My favourite photo from this section of the exhibit would have to be the photo in which Nathan layered a photo of himself over a photo of President John F. Kennedy to make it appear as though the two men were having a discussion in the Oval Office. In the days of Adobe Photoshop, this might not seem like a big deal, but when you think about all the work that had to go into creating this absolutely seamless image in the 1920s, the outcome is astounding.

The majority of the exhibit, however, featured more than 75 portraits taken by Al Gilbert over the course of his career and was broken down into sections which included luminaries from Toronto’s Jewish and non-Jewish communities (e.g. Michael Lee-Chin, Mel Lastman, Ed Mirvish, etc.), as well as figures of national and international importance (e.g. Pope John Paul II, Frank Sinatra, Prime Minister Diefenbaker and others). And, under each photograph, the OJA has mounted not only a description of the accomplishments of the person in the photo, but also the techniques and equipment which Mr. Gilbert used to achieve the final product, a two-pronged tactic which, in my opinion, gives the exhibit more depth and appeal to a wider audience than if they had only included one type of detail or the other.

Although a number of photos made me stop and take an extra moment to fully admire them, there was a small handful that simply gripped me by the throat and demanded my attention as true works of art. For example, the black and white photo of jazz legend Oscar Peterson, which was used for the brochure of the exhibit’s launch event was breathtaking. The lighting and composition were simple enough, even classic, but there was something about the way that Gilbert captured every crack in the man’s skin and the light in his eyes that moved me. Another favourite of mine was the one of Ed Mirvish taken in one of his theatres. Mirvish was wearing this really bold striped suit and a more subtly stripped tie in yellows and black and he contrasted amazingly with the pure red of the rest of the frame (the seats, walls and carpets were all the same shade of red, although patterned differently). It was definitely more playful than the Peterson image, but no less striking.

A few of the images (like that of Frank Sinatra and the Pope), I could have done without but I think that was because the rest of Gilbert’s photos were so amazing that I was absurdly let down when they were merely good. Also, I wasn’t always of fan of the photos in which he layered a dignitary overtop of a print of a place which had meaning to them (e.g. combining a photo of Mel Lastman with one of Mel Lastman Square at night or the bishop and his church), but I’m sure that says more about my personal aesthetic than Gilbert’s abilities as a photographer.

The exhibit is free and easy to get to. I highly recommend that anyone living in or visiting Toronto this summer drop by and enjoy the photographs before they disappear back into the archival holdings at the OJA.