Behind the scenes at the Penn Museum

Museumgoers in this short-attention-span era prefer their cultural experiences spoon-fed. Having been primed by audio tours in art museums and hands-on exhibits in science and technology museums, they expect interactivity in all of their museum encounters. The challenge for the institution is providing that interactivity in a way that both respects and genuinely illuminates the subject matter while (one hopes) avoiding cheesy gimmicks.

One of the best solutions is to make an actual human being available to provide insight and answer questions. This strategy, alas, isn't particularly practical or cost-effective, since the knowledgeable people on staff generally have better things to do than hang out waiting for visitors.

The Penn Museum has come up with an ingenious response: It has built a glass-fronted artifact conservation lab in a room off its Iraq exhibit. There, visitors can observe conservators as they clean, restore and preserve artifacts — mostly but not exclusively mummies— from the museum's collection. In addition, twice a day the museum's principal project conservator, Molly Gleeson, slides open the glass window next to her workstation and answers questions about activities in the lab.

Reconstructing a dinosaur

What makes this project so interesting is that it brings the conservators' work to the forefront. This is the sort of backstage work that's rarely acknowledged publicly, except during major restorations like that of the Sistine Chapel or a job that's been completely botched, as occurred when an elderly and untrained woman tried to help fix a Spanish fresco last summer.

A museum display involves two facets— the object itself and the significance of that object. We can all remember the "whoa" moment of encountering the original of a painting we've only seen in reproduction— Van Gogh's "Starry Night," anyone?— or the disappointment when we discover that some awesome ancient artifact is a forgery.

But in some ways, an object's physicality is almost secondary. We look at a Van Gogh and see not paint and canvas, but an expression of an inner state. Similarly, in a natural history museum, what we gawk at isn't just a collection of bones, but the group of them arranged meaningfully into the skeleton of a dinosaur.

Connoisseurs vs. artisans

In any case, these two facets are reflected in a museum's division of labor, between the curators who determine meaning and the conservators who preserve, mend, or evaluate it as an object. The curators are respected as connoisseurs, while the conservators are regarded more as artisans.

In reality, however, the two functions are inextricable: The curator needs the conservator to examine and analyze the object, and the conservator needs the curator to guide his or her attention to the significant aspects.

I got a taste of that relationship recently when I took an in-lab tour, conducted jointly by Gleeson and David Silverman, curator-in-charge of the Egyptian section. Gleeson was examining a small painting. She was able to tell Silverman about the panel and paint used; Silverman contributed his knowledge of typical figure poses and color choices— which hand holds the ankh? Is that hand before or behind the body? What color is the loincloth? — in authentic works of the supposed period.

Combining their expertise will enable the team to determine whether the painting is real or a forgery; and if it is a forgery, when the foul deed might have been done. By bringing the conservators out from backstage, the Penn Museum gives its visitors a feeling for that interrelationship.