Monthly Archives: March 2014

What does a museum curator do?

Being a museum curator is a fascinating job. The incredible specimens we are privileged to work with every day, and the huge variety of things we do, ensures that this job is forever enchanting. I have worked in museums for 10 years, and I am still in my honeymoon period.

But what do curators in museums do? I am often asked this very question. Sometimes people have actually answered it for me by saying ‘Ohhh, so you are a little like Indiana Jones?’. After a little quip about having a whip under my bed, I sadly admit that being a curator in a museum is a lot different (although I still am super flattered to be called Indiana Jones!).

No that's not me. That is a photo of Harrison Ford. Although we do look uncannily alike, that is where the similarities end. A museum curators job is a little different from the work of Indiana Jones. Image from here.

No that’s not me. That’s a photo of Harrison Ford. Although we do look uncannily alike, and that is how I hold my whip, that is where the similarities end. A museum curators job is a little different from the work of Indiana Jones. Image from here.

I am Curator of Natural History at Plymouth City Museum and Art Gallery. Although my degree was in Geology, I look after all the geology (rocks, fossils, and minerals), all the zoology (vertebrate and invertebrate animals) and all the botany (plants). This is quite standard for ‘smaller’ local authority museums where there is little funding for a curator for each specialist area, so a natural history curator looks after everything. This isn’t a bad thing; it keeps things extremely interesting, as we are constantly learning new things with the collections.

From the small independent and local authority museums to the large national museums, the essence of a curators job is the same; the core collections work. This ‘core’ work we all do is essential to make sure the specimens are in the best possible care. I will provide examples using natural history collections, but the essence is the same for working with dead things or paintings.

The ‘core’ curatorial work includes:

1. The magic number

Every single individual specimen in the museum collections should have a unique number; an accession number. This number is unique to that specimen. Like a bar code, it links information, notes, forms, and correspondence directly to that specimen.

When a collection comes into the museum it is recorded in the accession register and given a unique number. As each specimen in this new donation is recorded and documented, individual unique numbers are given to each. All the data is recorded along with the number, so it can be cross referenced in a simple, easy system to find a specimen and all its information. Nice and simple. One would like to think.

100 years of numbers, and different numbering styles, makes things a little more interesting. And a little more frustrating; two different specimens may have the same number; numbers may have rubbed off or fallen off; specimens may be numbered 19.01 and this could be recorded in the accession register as 1919.01 or 1901.19. My favourite are those wonderful large-scale documentation projects in the 1990s where specimens  have been given a new ‘temporary numbers’. Over 20 years later, those ‘temporary’ numbers are still going strong.

A beautiful sub-fossil hyena tooth. The number on the specimen tells us where it has come from, when, who found it and notes and publications. Unfortunately, another seven different specimens share this number!

A beautiful sub-fossil hyena tooth. The number on the specimen tells us where it has come from, when, who found it and notes and publications. Unfortunately, another seven different specimens share this number!

For new collections that come into the museum, we have the privilege of numbering the individual specimens as they should be. This is actually like a wonderful honeymoon; slow, methodical, thorough, covering every detail, beautiful, entirely satisfying, and something you don’t want to end.

There is a lot number checking in a curators job. Remember, the number relates to an individual specimen and all the information with it. So without the number that rock has lost its history, it has lost it’s unique story. A beetle is just a beetle. That pickled worm is just a pickled worm. But find the number for that pickled worm, and dig in the old accession books and history files, and we find out that that pickled worm was the first individual of this species to be discovered in the waters off Plymouth in the 1950s, which was forgotten about and re-discovered only a few years ago.

There are old records and old files holding lots of information about specimens. Luckily today we use databases to store all this information, so we can type in the unique accession number and it brings up all the details about that little specimen. That is the ultimate dream.

2. Computer says ‘no’

Since the 1990s all museums (should) have a computer database. This is where the all important numbers come in. That unique individual number for a specimen is typed into the database and all the information with that specimen is recorded under the number. This is where the bar code analogy comes in: search the number on the database and all the information relating to that specimen will come up.

What is really cool is that we can keep updating information as new information is discovered. Recent research papers, oral history stories, new links, and photographs can all be scanned, transcribed and added to the database. This is really cool because projects we work on today can be linked directly to the specimens. Curators in 50 years time will have such rich records of the collections in just one click.

Even cooler – yes the database does get cooler – is that the information can be linked to website! So we can select records from the database and link it to the museum websites. What a great way of giving access to thousands of museum objects! Pretty snazzy no?

Super cool. But the database is also our weakness. A lot of the time we can put a number in to search for a specimen and the ‘computer says no’.

The face of many a curator after looking for a number on the museum database. Computer says no. Image from here.

The face of many a curator after looking for a number on the museum database. Computer says no. Image from here.

When computer databases were introduced into museums, there were enormous projects to get as many numbers on the database as possible. This was great but there were big downfalls: the dreaded ‘temporary number’ was given to specimens which still haunt us today; because it was done so quickly, lots of information was left off; lots of specimens were missed. Even today there is an enormous amount to check and get on there. (For example, there are 61,000 natural history records on my museum database. That’s a lot of records. But there are an estimated 150,000 specimens, so a lot of work is needed.)

An enormous, and slightly addictive, part of what curators do is check the specimen number to see if it is on the database, and if it is to check the information is all there. This can be an overwhelming task, but done project by project, collection by collection and it is manageable. And unbelievably satisfying to see a collection with all the information on there! The honeymoon continues to delight.

3. Show a little tender love

With collections in museums over 100 years old, there will be one or two that need a little gently loving care. Some may need fixing, others cleaned, and some just packed a little better than they were: this is called conservation.

Most museums will have a conservation department. The staff there will be working on objects to make sure they are kept in the best standard and fixed if needed. It is interesting that most natural history curators will carry out conservation themselves on a daily basis. One week we can be working with specimens in spirit, another safely storing fragile ice age bones.

But we don’t do things nilly-willy! We are trained by colleagues and go to information packed and inspiring training sessions across the country. Two subject specialist groups provide excellent natural history training workshops; the Natural Science Collections Association and the Geological Curators Group. One of the greatest training comes from the natural history community; colleagues across the UK offer advice, support and mentoring without anything in return, expect to know that knowledge is being shared.

Recently donated to the museum, these Cave Bear teeth and bone need conservation work to remove the mould, clean and store in environmentally controlled boxes.

Recently donated to the museum, these Cave Bear teeth and bone need conservation work to remove the mould, clean and store in environmentally controlled boxes.

Working directly on specimens is ruddy brilliant! We get really close to the creatures, and there is such a variety. Reattaching heads and limbs to pinned insects is a good one to test that steady hand. Working with spirit specimens is an interesting, and extremely satisfying job because a mouldy dried up ‘thing’ can be rescued and transformed to its complete original form.

Conservation is a wonderfully intimate art bringing us closer to the specimens we are charged to care for, and in doing so we understand them in all their beautiful glory.

4. Putting on a display

Museums trace their origins to the old cabinets of curiosities, where collections of the truly weird and wonderful were collected and displayed en masse. As more museums began to open their main focus was education and inspiration.

This really hasn’t changed much today. Instead of being hard-core fact after hard-core fact, displays are full of interesting, quirky tales and captivating stories behind the collectors and collections. Some rather old skool [sic] curators I know, one in particular, is obsessed that this is ‘dumbing down’ the science*. Far, far from it my friend. In fact, if I may return to the honeymoon analogy, this is pretty darn sexy stuff. Quirky tales get people excited, so excited that they may play around on their computers when they get home to find out more.

We are more likely to remember an interesting tale than a cold hard fact. But there is absolutely nothing wrong with getting a few facts into an interesting tale.

Museum displays and exhibitions are what most people who visit a museum will actually see. For us curators, this is a chance to bring out some awesome collections, with their fantastic stories and get people excited!

5. The stuff of dreams

Research is another exciting part of the job. This can range from checking out the background details to a collection from 100 years ago to radiocarbon dating specimens and writing articles. Each is like detective work to find out more, and each also adds incredible value to the specimen.

Two things hold the curator back; time and specialism.

Time: Any articles I write are done in the evenings outside work. I know this is true for other colleagues who write articles too. There is no time at work to write them. We spend the evenings writing, not because we have to, but, as you will see, because we want to.

Specialism: Natural history is a pretty big subject covering all animals, plants and geology. We have an understanding of how to care for these collections and do some exciting research into the background of them. But to dissect the minute genitalia of a beetle to see if it is a particular species is beyond my expertise! My knowledge mainly lies in ice age bones (and in the last five or so years I have become confident in other areas). This is where the great community of natural history curators comes in; I may know little about beetle genitalia and something about ice age bones, and a curator in another museum may know little about ice age bones but a lot about beetle genitalia. So we share our knowledge. We talk to each other, send each other photos, visit the collections, and learn from each other.

The core

This work, the very core of understanding and managing museum collections, is fundamental to the future of the specimens. This is work that happens every day, behind the scenes with the curators working hard to make sure they are well looked after and safe for future generations.

Unfortunately this essential work has created a stereotypical vision of a museum curator.

Mr Calvino, a museum curator in Scooby Doo. Fairly sterotypical; male, old, glasses, jacket (possible socks under sandals). Image from here.

Mr Calvino, a museum curator in Scooby Doo. Fairly stereotypical; male, old, glasses, jacket (possible socks under sandals). Image from here.

A new breed

Within the last ten years, there has been a birth of a new breed of curator. This new breed is different. There is a genuine, noticeable thirst for using the collections we look after in new and exciting ways!

Curators today have energy, boundless energy, talking to the old and the young about the fascinating stories locked away in our store rooms. This new non-genetically modified breed still carries on the core museum work, but does a lot, lot more.

All the core collections work is essential. We need to do it. It preserves the collections for future generations. It adds exciting new stories. But what’s the point if no one sees them or hears about them? If the generations of today are not seeing them, why are we keeping them for future generations?

Curators today are engaging with more people in more ways than ever before. All the work we carry out behind the scenes is needed, but we also have this burning desire to engage with people using our collections. This helps to get our stories out to lots of different people (and sometimes adds new stories), but also helps promote our subjects.

No longer do we give an annual mumbling talk about an obscure part of the collection to an audience of over 120 yrs old; we give engaging, exciting talks about our collections that mean something to the audience. Not just once a year, but we can do this maybe once a month and to all ages.

Many museum curators today are writing blog posts about their collections. This is another way for interesting stories to be told and reach new people. One of my favourites is the Grant Museum of Zoology and their post on the Underwhelming Fossil Fish of the Month. Its a fun way of getting otherwise not so exciting collections out there!

A big part of the work is getting the collections out to the local public, which can include schools, and events around the city. These types of events are excellent because people who had never heard of the museum before stumble across it, and are truly inspired by what they can see and hear. This is one of my favourite parts of being a curator – talking to people about what we look after and the awesome quirky stories that go with the specimens. If we cant talk to people about what we look after, then the curator has failed.

Yours truly showing some enthusiastic youngsters an awesome pickled spider crab at an event out of the museum.

Yours truly showing some enthusiastic youngsters an awesome pickled spider crab at an event out of the museum.

There are other fun events which can be run. Some museums, like Leeds Museum and the Horniman Museum run pub science events, where the curator leads an evening of science filled discussions. These are lovely ideas, because it is an open environment on neutral ground, so people don’t feel intimated by specialists. I run monthly natural history events in and around the city for families to come along to (here). These events range from rock pooling to star gazing and the families are really engaged with discovering something new!

What a curator does

Working in a museum is just like a never ending honeymoon; it is wonderful! Each day we are doing something different. The ‘core’ collections work will always happen which is needed to safeguard specimens. But our collections cannot talk. For my specimens in particular, the ability to make any sound has long since vanished. The curators are the voice of the collections. Through us, the collections can tell their tales, inspire future generations, bring a tear to the eye, and let people understand with true awe.

Without a voice, the collections remain silent. They remain unknown.

 

*There is nothing wrong with including scientific names and information in labels. We should be including this, but it is how the labels are written that is important.

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A pretty darn good bad cast

There. I have said it. This may be the only time I say it, so I will say it again. This is actually a pretty darn good bad cast. Two casts actually.

Can I say it? Go on. A rather beautiful cast of the top and bottom of a trilobite.

Can I say it? Go on… A rather beautiful cast of the top and underneath of a trilobite.

Apart from a few scuffs where the paint has rubbed off, and a little pink crayon where someone has used this for some children activity as a fossil rubbing, they are actually quite beautiful. (Please don’t use accessioned museum specimens for crayon rubbings. You can buy cheapish casts from fossil suppliers, then place a piece of paper over it and rub a crayon on top. It comes out with a lovely rubbing of the fossil.)

The previous bad casts have been awful. Shocking. So terrible that I have had to really look into what they are supposed to represent. But these are good. Really good in comparison!

What has me even more excited is that there is information written on the back! Can you imagine! A bad cast with information!

Striking gold! Information about a specimen with a specimen! A true rarity in itself!

Striking gold! Information about a specimen with a specimen! A true rarity in itself!

The information tells us what the fossil was, where it was found and who made it. It is a cast of a trilobite, which were pretty successful marine creatures living from around 520 million years ago until the whole group became extinct around 250 million years ago. From species smaller than a finer nail to the big Welsh beasts that would have terrified us paddling in the shallows, trilobites were amazing creatures. Some could roll up into balls for protection, like a woodlouse might today. Others had exquisite spines and spikes growing out of their hard external skeletons.

This cast is of the beautiful trilobite Triarthrus eatoni which lived around 440 million years ago (the Upper Ordovician Period). These casts are actually casts of models of this trilobite. But why the models themselves were made is wonderful is all part of their story.

The Ordovician sediments at a small site in Rome, New York, preserved trilobites and other creatures in unbelievable detail. They were discovered in 1892, and came to the attention of Mr Charles Beecher who was working at Yale University. Beecher noticed that almost everything of this trilobite was preserved, the antennae, and even the gills on the legs.

Gorgeous, almost perfect, pyrite fossils of the little trilobite.

Gorgeous, almost perfect, pyrite fossils of the little trilobite. Image from here.

The specimens themselves were about as long as my thumb. To truly show them off, Beecher made larger brass models with this new understanding of trilobite anatomy. The models are not exactly the same as the fossils, but Beecher appears to have been given a little artistic licence.

These casts are of Beechers models. They show a lot of detail of these extinct creatures. Long antennae coming out from under the head can be seen. These would have been used to sense movement and chemicals in the water. Feathery gills attached to each leg let us see how trilobites were able to breathe under the water. Such soft tissue preservation is very rare in the fossil record, because it decays so quickly.

This will be the only time we get excited about a rather good bad cast. There are a few shockers to come. Lets enjoy this one.

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The road kill fossil

Yes, this is another cast of a real fossil. No, before you ask, I don’t know why it was allowed to be made.

Not a pancake, but an extremely bad cast of the belly of a tortoise.

Not a pancake, but an extremely bad cast of the belly of a tortoise.

The label with this specimen says “Tortoise. Plaster cast on rectangular slab” (‘Tortoise’ has been written in pencil, possibly after the specimen was donated). The label then mentions those two chaps I am beginning to loath; “Presented by Mr J. R. Gregory, per A. G. F. Gregory. April 10 1906”. There is more information about those two fraudsters on these labels than the actual specimen they took a cast of.

It would be ever so splendid to jump back in a time machine to April 1906 and accidental bump into Gregory and Gregory knocking their briefcase full of bad casts over, accidental breaking them all so they never ended up in the museum. If that happened though, these posts would never exist, so I would never have gone back in time. Love a time travel paradox.

Or they could have just sent some more really bad casts in May 1906.

As it is, we are stuck with these bad casts and must do what we can to get them out there.

This ‘rectangular slab’ holds a cast of a tortoise or a turtle. The belly of one in fact. I admit, this is far from the greatest belly ever to be posted on a blog. I also admit that this looks like something that has been flattened by a lorry. A road kill fossil.

The only story I can think this bad cast is trying to tell is that these reptiles have been around for a long time, and fossils of them have been found.

I am inclined to say this is a cast of a turtle. It appears more turtle-like than tortoise. Turtle or tortoise, the story begins a long, long time ago in the Triassic Period, around 220 million years ago.

The origins of turtles is a little murky, but becoming clearer with new finds each year. One current contender for a turtle ancestor is a rather bloated looking reptile called a Eunotosaurus discovered pretty recently in 2008. A funny potential ancestor you might say. You would be right, but fossils of this creature show really thick ribs which curved around its back. This is possibly how the first turtle shells evolved.

The pot-bellied Eunotodaurus. The potential ancestor of turtles (and tortoises and terrapins).

The pot-bellied Eunotodaurus. The potential ancestor of turtles (and tortoises and terrapins). (Image from here)

From this pot-bellied, long-tailed reptile came the wonderful turtles. The ribs fused together to form a hard, protective shell around the turtle. Something strange happened with these animals; these fused ribs grew to a dome like shape, but also fused with some kind of hard amour on the outside of the skin.

Turtles had an advantage by moving to live in the water; their shells. This protected them from predators (although not entirely). They could also swim huge distances, so spread around the world fairly quickly, where some groups stayed and adapted to their little local environment. Some moved back onto the land where they adapted to have tougher harder shells to minimise water loss.

From this pretty awful cast is a fascinating tale, drastically reduced here. Turtles and tortoises are amazing creatures and very close to people hearts. For some strange reason we have an empathy and fondness towards this scaly beast. Their slow lumbering gait along with their old, wise faces both make us all warm inside.

Unfortunately this terribly cast doesn’t quite have the same effect.

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The bizarre beaked beast

When I first saw this bad cast, I got a little excited as I thought it was the head of a dinosaur! We have one other cast of a dinosaur fossil in the museum, but that Iguanodon tooth is really bad. I was wrong, but I would find out that I wasn’t too far off.

A side on view of a pretty big turtle dinosaur creature.

A side on view of a pretty big turtle dinosaur creature.

There was a number scribbled on the back, so a little fumble through our old accession book revealed a long name scrawled in the most appalling handwriting. It seems that 100 years ago the curators thought it would be quite funny to write things down in their most untidiest handwriting with a little smirk on their face knowing that their future replacements would struggle immensely with deciphering their lopsided lettering.

Those funny jokers had no idea that a century later a wonderful research aide, known as Google, would be around. Touché mes amis.

After a couple of attempts of searches, due to several mis-spellings firing blanks, I found the creature. The skull belonged to a rhynchosaur called Hyperodapedon gordoni.

Rhynchosaurs were a group of beaked reptiles that were closely related to crocodiles and dinosaurs. Unfortunately these were not around for as long as their 2nd cousins, and they became extinct around 230 million years ago.

The group was quite successful on their short time on Earth of around 20 million years or so. They were pretty big plant eaters (herbivores), and some could grow as long as two cars. The skull of some species, including Hyperodapedon, holds fairly varied teeth for a reptile, which is presumably why this cast was purchased: the front two teeth on the top and bottom jaws are pretty big, and curved to create a ‘beak’ at the front of the mouth, and the back ones were more flat. This was perfect for eating tough plant material – the front ‘beak’ would slice and the back teeth would grind it down.

The wonderful Hyperodapedon reptile. It was awesome and long, and could eat plants. It couldn't scale down vertical surfaces.

The wonderful Hyperodapedon reptile. It was awesome and long, and could eat plants. (Contrary to this illustration, it couldn’t scale down vertical surfaces.)

Hyperodapedon gordoni was a pretty cool plant eating reptile and it is likely that they grazed in herds of hundreds of individuals. The large two holes at the back of the head shows it’s relationship to the archosaurs (the group that includes the crocodiles and dinosaurs). These two holes are found in the skulls of animals from this groups, and a few others (including tuataras, lizards, snakes and the avian dinosaurs around today – the birds). The overarching group that holds all of these creatures with two extra holes in their heads is called the Diapsids.

View from the top. The two holes close to the front are for the eyes. The two big holes near the back are for something else.

View from the top. The two holes close to the front are for the eyes. The two big holes near the back are for something else.

In Hyperodapedon these two holes would have attached big muscles from the head, and allowed the jaw to open pretty big. This would have been very useful for slicing effortlessly through the tough vegetation it relied on.

This isn’t the greatest cast ever made. But, to my sheer delight, I have found another museum that has a similar cast and is actually worse! If you have seen some of the other posts on bad casts, you know that we have some pretty bad plaster casts of fossils. You can also imagine how I grinned from ear to ear when I saw this beauty on another museum’s website!

This cast from the Grant Museum and is most definitely a bad cast, a worst cast than mine! My victory, and smugness, is short lived. I have just realised that although their cast is pretty awful, they are actually using it. Something I am not doing.

This example from the wonderful Grant Museum of Zoology, is a lovely way of how we can use our bad casts. Perhaps we should not be ashamed of them and hide them away. Let’s be proud! Lets get them out!

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