Blog #9 - House Museums

A house museum is kind of like a scrapbook. The building is preserved and there are objects collected and arranged in order to represent a moment from the past. The house hasn't been strictly preserved, it's more the idea of the house that is being preserved by collecting items and piecing together rooms that bring to life a scene from history. The house is no longer a house, but a tool used to teach people what life was like when it was a house. The goal of a house museum is scholarly in nature, but it's unique in that it exists as a real, tangible experience. So much of history is recorded only in words, drawings, and photographs. It's an entirely different experience to be able to enter a historical place and walk around in it.

The Pabst mansion is a great example of a house museum. The actual building has been preserved, but its purpose has been changed. Inside, rooms have been carefully restored into a state that may not be exactly as it once existed, but combines known elements in order to create a believable example of how it could have existed during a certain time period. Occasionally mistakes are made, as our tour guide pointed out with the pink upholstery that probably would have originally been a more conservative blue or green. Still, being able to enter a space like the Pabst mansion really transports you to another time. The mansion is completely out of place where it's located now, but on the tour you learn that the area used to have many similar buildings that were lost one by one. By preserving the Pabst mansion, the area has one remaining lifeline back to its roots. If it had not been for preservation, the history of that street could have been wiped clean.

The thing that interests me about house museums is the point where preservation and reconstruction meet. Murtagh tells the story of one house museum that had all of its most important furnishings meticulously reproduced so that the originals could be sold off and replaced with the copies. From a preservationist standpoint, this seems just plain wrong. You're throwing out everything that makes the house historic. If you believe that the  real merit of a house museum is its usefulness as a three-dimensional teaching tool, though, then does it matter if it's all original or not? In the Pabst mansion there is a reproduction of a large chandelier that dominates the entryway of the house. The actual chandelier is in the possession of a bar somewhere, and they wouldn't give it up, hence the reproduction. It definitely needs to be there, it's a major part of the room and speaks volumes about the German heritage and culture of the Pabst family. Does it matter that it's not the original? And if one is to be so forgiving as to allow that, how much of the experience needs to consist of original, preserved objects? Or does it simply matter that the reproductions rest on a foundation of preservation?

Blog #8 - Urbanized

When I started watching Urbanized, the latest film from Gary Hustwit of Helvetica and Objectified fame, I expected to be interested on an intellectual level. I didn't expect to cry, which is not something I frequently experience while watching a movie in the middle of the afternoon. We'll get to that, but first, the film is about the design of cities, which is such a complex subject because of the multitude of people and forces that come into play. Architects, politicians, zoning, public opinion… there are more factors in the formation of a city than I can hold in my head. That's why it was so interesting to see places where good ideas had been implemented well and were improving the quality of life. There were also examples of good intentions gone wrong, usually to the detriment of landscape preservation.

One of the cities featured in the movie was Phoenix, Arizona, a place I visited once a couple summers ago. Urbanized cites Phoenix as the worst offender of what has been called "sprawl." While visiting, we found it was impossible to get anywhere without a car, most trips requiring a short drive on one of the highways. Residential areas are winding streets lined with squat, cookie-cutter homes painted in southwestern desert colors with palm trees and cacti out front. In the movie, a representative of Phoenix laments the fact that the growing city is eating up the beautiful desert, but he defends Phoenix against being labelled "sprawl." He insists that Phoenix is maintaining the population density it has always had. This happens, of course, at the cost of destroying the landscape. Toward the end of the interview, the man says frankly that he likes having a house, yard, pool, and car, and that's what it comes down to. His preferred lifestyle simply comes at the expense of destroying the desert.

Later, the movie moves to the city of Stuttgart, Germany. We are introduced to two warring sides on the issue of a project called Stuttgart 21, which includes the construction of a high-speed rail system. The mayor explains the project as a necessary step for the city, replacing the aging and largely unusable tangle of older tracks and the crumbling station with a futuristic, eco-friendly underground railway. He had a beautiful model, and honestly, I was sold. Next we were introduced to the protesting members of the public, who were numerous. It turns out some of them quite like their crumbling old station. More than that, though, they like the beautiful park full of humongous and irreplaceable ancient trees that would have to be removed in order for construction on the railway to begin. One resident speaks of how important these gorgeous trees are, telling the story of the townspeople during Germany's great depression searching for any scrap of wood to burn for warmth, but leaving the trees untouched. Just as I came around to the anti-Stuttgart 21 side, the scene changed to a recording of workers with chainsaws slicing through the ancient trees while riot police beat back screaming townspeople. As I said, I didn't expect to cry during this movie, especially not because of Germans cutting down trees, but watching these powerless people cry out in despair as corporate-backed politicians literally uprooted their past really got to me. Some things are worth more than "development." There are more important ideas in this world than "progress." I was so sold on the idea of a high-speed train, but in the end, I was reminded of this excerpt from Douglas Adams' classic book, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, which takes place after the complete demolition of the Earth by alien bureaucrats.

The trouble with most forms of transport, he thought, is basically one of them not being worth all the bother. On Earth—when there had been an Earth, before it was demolished to make way for a new hyperspace bypass—the problem had been with cars. The disadvantages involved in pulling lots of black sticky slime from out of the ground where it had been safely hidden out of harm's way, turning it into tar to cover the land with, smoke to fill the air with and pouring the rest into the sea, all seemed to outweigh the advantages of being able to get more quickly from one place to another—particularly when the place you arrived at had probably become, as a result of this, very similar to the place you had left, i.e. covered with tar, full of smoke and short of fish.

Blog #7 - Lake Park

We visited Lake Park on a rainy morning in late October. Emerging from the dry safety of our cars, we walked down some concrete stairs and convened in a sort of alcove behind and underneath the main building. A group of women practiced yoga on one end of the alcove while Dr. Chris introduced us to the park. The drizzling rain subsided and we set off on our exploration. The park consisted of elements common to most parks; grass, trees, and a series of small landmarks connected by paths. Lake Park has the added bonus of (as its name suggests) a view of the lake.

We met up with a member of the Lake Park Friends, who explained some of the history of the park. He told us about the designer, Frederick Law Olmsted, who is famous for designing Central Park in New York City. This fact instantly elevated my perception of the park. This wasn't just some park in Wisconsin anymore, this was a slice from the mind who carved that famous green rectangle into the Big Apple. This wasn't just any park, this park had credentials, and for that reason I understood why this place was significant enough to be preserved. This space had been carefully designed by capable minds, our experiences while walking these paths were carefully engineered. It seemed to me that preserving a park like this simply involved two parts routine maintenance and one part "let it be." Altering the park would not only be offensive to the intent of the original designer, but also to the people who have come to love it. After all, that's what is important about a park like this. It belongs to everyone, it's a part of us. Mount Vernon was important to save because it was the home of someone beloved to us, but Lake Park deserves to be saved because the park itself is beloved to us. The park and our collective experiences there belong to all of us.

That doesn't mean the park isn't in a constant state of flux. Time marches on, after all, and there's plenty to consider as it marches across the many opulent bridges in the park. We were told that the bridges had recently undergone massive restoration, which goes far beyond my recipe of routine maintenance and "let it be," but in this case a necessary ingredient in preserving what is most important about the park, the experience. After all, it isn't the metal and stone making up the bridge that belong to us. It's the experience of walking across it, looking over the side and out to the lake, strolling along and listening the rustle of the wind in the trees.

Later that day we entered the old North Point Lighthouse where we were greeted by a pair of lighthouse enthusiasts. After listening to the biographies of every keeper in the history of the lighthouse, we were invited to climb the spiral staircase to where the light once marked the coast. As we climbed to the top our guide grilled us on our knowledge of lighthouses. I don't remember much of what was said, but I do recall his enthusiasm. The view from the top was nice, but I felt that the reasons for the preservation and restoration of the lighthouse were separate from the reasons for the preservation and restoration of the rest of the park. Where as the park was an open space made to be discovered and experienced, the lighthouse was a nonfunctional artifact turned into a museum. It wasn't an exploration, it was a tour, and as such it didn't feel as if it belonged to me like the park did. It belonged to the lighthouse enthusiasts.

Not to say the lighthouse is underserving of preservation, it makes me happy to know that it is there and it is loved. It is interesting to me that it represents a different kind of preservation from the park. Where as the park is living and changing while preserving the experience, the lighthouse is dissected and frozen in a new state that retells the story of its past, but ceases to be a part of it. The lighthouse no longer lights, its fresnel lens rotates in a glass case on the ground floor. It hasn't been preserved so much as turned into a mausoleum for itself. Which case can we point to as an example of preservation? Is it one, the other, both, or neither?

Blog #6 - Eiffel Tower

While studying historic preservation, I have been very interested in the reasons why people feel sites should be preserved. It's amazing how different people can have diametrically opposed opinions on whether or not the same structure should stay or go. I wanted to investigate an example of historic preservation that stands as an example of a great success despite meeting opposition. The Eiffel Tower in Paris, France struck me as just such an example. When the Tower was constructed it was both loved and reviled by different groups. It wasn't even meant to be a permanent structure, but through various efforts and good fortune it has been made to last until this day, and is now internationally beloved and recognized as an icon of Paris.

The aim of researching the story of the Eiffel Tower is to find out how a structure with such an uncertain future wound up being preserved. I intend to find out who Gustave Eiffel was and why he was chosen to design the tower. Why was the tower being built in the first place? What is it made of? How was the design of the tower new and different? When it was built, who didn't like it, and why? How did Eiffel defend it? How did it come to be preserved? What practical or economic uses has it served? What kind of maintenance needs to be done to keep it standing? From all these questions I intend to illuminate the "why" of preservation, and perhaps shed some light on why it might be important to preserve buildings that may not be very well liked today, but could be important in the future.

Blog #2 - Naper Settlement

I grew up in a city outside Chicago called Naperville, named for its founder Joe Naper. The Naperville I know is a sprawl of McMansions, SUV's, and chain restaurants. The reason the name Joe Naper is so familiar to me is because smack dab in the heart of downtown Naperville is Naper Settlement, a sort of outdoor living museum celebrating the history of its namesake. In middle school we went on a field trip to Naper Settlement where we were treated to a tour of the collection of preserved and restored buildings that had been picked up and dropped next door to each other.

Being an impudent middle-schooler, I wasn't very interested in many of the old buildings, except for the blacksmith's shop because there was an actual blacksmith at work in there. In fact, there was an entire cast of players populating Naper Settlement, all in period dress and ready to explain this or that about their fictitious old-timey lifestyle. At one point on the tour we discovered a man who admitted to being a runaway slave on his way to freedom via the underground railroad. I figured he was pretty safe having reached northern Illinois, but he pleaded with us not to tell anyone we had found him, so we agreed. He explained his hardships to us and spoke passionately of his dream to become free. He turned to me, stared me right in the eye, and asked, "What is freedom like?" I thought for a second, and paraphrasing Douglas Adams I told him, "Freedom is like a grapefruit. It's sort of orangy-yellow and dimpled on the outside, it's wet and squidgy in the middle, and lots of people have half of one for breakfast." He looked to my teacher and said, "This boy is touched, ain't he?"

I never grew out of being a smartass, but I did learn to appreciate having a slice of town that wasn't in constant danger of being turned into a Starbucks. Even if a lot of it seemed fakey, it was cool that the driving force behind it was saving some great old buildings and anchoring the city with a sense of history. There's something about being able to take a walk from a working blacksmith to the Apple store that really puts things in perspective.

It makes me appreciate Ann Pamela Cunningham and her quest to save Mount Vernon. While reading about her, it struck me as funny that the way she kicked off American preservationism with a group of women. I wondered why there were no men in her group. Were they not interested in preservation? Was she not interested in involving men? Was it the name of the group, the Mount Vernon Ladies' Association of the Union, that made men assume that preservation was for women? Whatever the reason, according to Murtagh, Cunningham's group set assumptions in the preservation movement that would last until the late 19th century. Preservation was done by private parties to honor patriotic icons, and "women would assume a dominant role in the acquisition and management of such properties." Imagining the state of women's rights in this time period (before women could even vote) it's nice to know women could step in and dominate something this important.

Eventually men got in on preservation as well, and as assumptions about the field fell, the government became involved. According to Murtagh, "There was simply no nationwide organization which could respond to controversial preservation issues with greater alacrity and freedom than could government."    After looking up the word "alacrity," I couldn't really picture any government body acting with "brisk and cheerful readiness," but perhaps things were different back then. Nevertheless, the National Trust grew off of the National Park Service as a way to unify the nation's preservation efforts. The National Trust grew and took on a life of its own, establishing itself as an entity independent of the National Park Service. After battling its way through the political system, President Truman signed a bill in 1949 to create the National Trust for Historic Preservation in the United States. The rest, as they say, is history.

Blog #8

I live in a brand new subdivision. Before that, I lived in a brand new subdivision. Before that I lived in a 1970’s ranch house that probably at one time was part of a brand new suburb. “Sprawl- technically defined as ‘low density, automobile-dependent development beyond the edge of service and employment areas’ -is ubiquitous and its effects are impacting the quality of life in every region of america, in our largest cities and small towns” (1998 Sprawl Report). The report I quoted from goes on to list rapidly sprawling cities and the problems they are having. While I can’t give scientific data about the places I lived, I can see how people moving further and further away from the city would cause issues, both from increased use of cars and the detriment to the landscape. The house we moved into when I was five, it was in a new suburb, backed up against more 70’s style ranch houses. I remember then it only took us forty five minutes to get to downtown Chicago. While this may seem like a huge number to someone who lives in a city, to me, because I grew up with it, seemed like a normal amount of time to get anywhere. When we moved for the third time, again into a new subdivision, It took an hour and a half to get downtown. And there were other problems too. There were actually protestors from the town holding signs where the suburb was being erected. Before the construction began and the people came, there was (apparently) a beautiful field where the town used to hold fairs but the township sold it to developers. This tidy sum bought a new police station, but at what cost? And did they really need a million dollar police station for a town of only a couple thousand? I realize that by living in the neighborhood, I am part of the problem, but if it were up to me I would always live in a city. Driving hours in each and every direction is a hassle for everyone and its not good for our environment or our landscape.

Blog #5

The Iron Horse Hotel Is an amazing place to see old history brought together with modern touches and ambiance. It is a darkened modern place with eccentric touches that both invites the patron but also cause them to think in a new way. All of the modern touches mixed with eclectic furnishings and ambiance lead one the find the Iron Horse a trip into the past, in the most beautifully way I could find. I love the idea of exposed brick mixed with exacting IKEA furniture and other modern touches that make the place both feel lived in, and relevant, despite its warehouse beginnings. The iron horse was part of the revival that the 5^th ward of Milwaukee wet through to try and meet up with the chic third ward and the entire city leaving its more industrial roots and attempting to reach into the future with a more metropolitan feel. I enjoy the ambiance of the iron horse, it is my taste in aesthetic That I have always dreamed in order to who my own personality on furnishings. The iron horse is the epitome of my personal taste mixed with the ideals of this class and what preservation can do to bring a shelter from a bunch of walls into a useful and beautiful , relevant place that will one day showcase the most modern furnishings with in beautifully antiquated walls.