Day 609ish

I passed the year and a half mark of living in Virginia not too long ago. Let me tell you, it is STILL a constant surprise, one heck of an interesting and surreal experience, for this Vegas girl to be out East. It still feels like it's just some weird cultural stunt or experimental phase I'm going through, rather than my home, my landing spot. (Anyone else feel like that?) Weird. Good and bad. Crazy, frustrating, and curious. Occasionally blissful (particularly when there's food and friends involved!!).

This afternoon I was looking over my pictures from summer 2008 and reminiscing- my gosh that was probably the happiest, most serendipitous summer I've ever lived. I remembered so clearly random fun times like this:

and this:

And this:

And this:

^ That boy comes home in 5 weeksssssssssssssssssssssssssssss. :D Family is just about the most magical thing in the world! Seriously, every time I've noticed a frown on my face the last couple weeks I've just envisioned seeing Marcus at the airport and away goes the frown and up goes my mood. I even discovered that plotting out an epic prank for Marcus' first day home motivated me into keeping a record pace on my long run this weekend (Apparently the secret to successful sports therapy is playing the glad game. Who knew?).

After browsing around my pictures a little more, I got off my computer, grabbed my camera, and documented a little bit of today, Summer 2010. THIS is what's happening in my world currently (as promised to the parents and the BFFs). Let's hope this thing works, I don't do videos:

iTour of LINDSEY'S LONG-AWAITED NEW ROOM

Because I feel like I haven't talked about art in MONTHS, below is a print from Urban Outfitters (I am ashamed) that really struck a chord with me, which is a pretty big accomplishment for anything visual at the moment; I've been trying to fill that blank picture frame you saw in the video, and it's been so hard to decide on only one image! When you only have ONE shot, one frame, one place of exceeding importance and honor to put something visual, the pressure is INTENSE! Yikes. None of these former loves will do, but I think this print below may be the winner. Well, actually I've got a plan to create a digital print of my own in a  similar design, with a sketch out of the Las Vegas mountain range instead of these random mountains.  Any other suggestions, friends? What's on YOUR walls these days? Anything new?

I'm in the New York TIMES!!!!

In a round-about way of course. :)

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/08/us/08hoover.html?ref=us

Wednesday, my museum held a press conference in a top-floor room at the super chic Pew Charitable Trust building in Penn Quarter (looked like the one at right but much bigger, and two of the walls were solid glass, looking out over the J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building and the National Archives). We four troopers who are stationed out at the NLEM's offsite storage facility had been preparing for this conference for about two weeks, selecting objects from the collection to display to reporters, and listening to/critiquing my boss as she practiced her speech.

The press conference was held to announce that the museum has acquired the estate of J. Edgar Hoover, who, in case you didn't know, is a BIG FREAKING DEAL. He was the Director of the FBI since it became the FBI (1924) all the way til 1972. Aka 48 years as the head of the nation's premiere crime fighting institution! John Dillinger and the other machine-gun slinging gangsters of the 20s? He cut his teeth on their arrests. WWII spies? He was all over them. Communists? He had them shaking in their boots. We at the museum have received everything in his home at his death and more, including his papers, photos, china, uniforms, and a crazy assortment of awards and curios presented to him by rich, famous, powerful, and grateful people all over the world (hundreds of items!!).

Please note how the article mentions the archival needs of the collection. That's ME who is fixing all that right now, as the graduate archival intern (We have a very small staff). Also note where it says, "Ms. Baty and other museum staff members are creating an inventory of all the items. The team has counted about 2,500 items, and Ms. Baty said there may be more than 4,000 items when all is said and done." Other Museum Staff Members = Me and the other intern, Elena. My friend Marissa of course read the article after I had posted it to my Gchat, and she remarked that the article made it sound like there were 20 of us hustling through this process. Nope. A total of four of us. :) I love my job, I'm getting to do so many things way above my pay grade! Oh, and the picture in the article? The photo of Hoover is cropped because my gloved hands are holding up the sides of that frame. I'm SO enjoying the closest I'll get to museum fame right now.

My workweek awesomeness didn't stop there: the next day, we four squealed to see our release written about in the NYTIMES, the Washington Post, the Washington Examiner, several notable law enforcement blogs and newspapers, and many other smaller interest group websites. So cool.

And after that (and after a free lunch at 5 Guys), Laurie introduced me to the historian at the FBI and he invited me to come visit him at FBI headquarters and do a little "shopping" in the FBI's Hoover files, to look and see if there's anything they have that I would like copies of for my archives.

I'm going shopping through the former Director of the FBI's official FBI files in a week and a half. Hehehehe. I'm so excited, I have ALWAYS wanted to go into the beautiful Hoover building. It's so striking (Brutalistic architecture- some people love to lambast it but I think it's very appropriate for its purpose and setting). Plus I just want to know what the freak is going down in there! So mysterious, so imposing. And so closed to visitors since last year. Hehehe but I'm going in!

K it is late and night and I've got to go. Sorry for the lack of posts lately; my computer unfortunately contracted a virus so I can only write when borrowing a machine, like now.

Objectivity

Today I was just shuffling through large object boxes in the NLEM storage facility where I am currently working (aka the “police treasure trove”!). I’ve handled some really cool stuff since I’ve been here: a piece of the World Trade Center, delicate and beautiful arrest warrants from the early 19^th century, rows of police badges from seemingly every precinct in America… but nothing really prepared me for what I saw as I took the lid off of Box #7 this afternoon: a crimson red Ku Klux Klan mask, made of a stiff linen fabric and obviously sewn on a home sewing machine. The small, neat hemlines told me it had been made with care, probably even with pride. The mask was just lying there, benignly, on top of a layer of special Japanese unbuffered tissue paper. Beneath it were two sets of KKK robes: one crimson, one white, both similarly swaddled for preservation purposes.(I really didn't feel like putting up illustrations of this object, so here's a link to the Google image results for KKK mask if you really need visuals.)

Now, normally I’m not an object-based girl. I don’t get the thrills my coworkers get from handling and inspecting museum treasures gingerly with their gloved hands. I get distracted with wishing that I had a real reason to don that sheriff’s Stetson hat, or swing that wooden noise-maker-looking thing around (my boss explains it’s a “police rattle,” which they used before sirens to get the attention of crowds, mid 19^th century. I guess they are VERY LOUD, but ours is brittle, and therefore no one will ever use it to make a sound again…. boo). I’m glad I guess that I work mostly with archival materials, because with documents, I have the chance to use my objects to their fullest extent! I get information out of them, exactly like their original users did! And I get info not only from the written words; as an archivist, I learn things from the handwriting, the date, the paper, the seal, the stamp, the enclosures, etc.

Back to today. I finally experienced a real, visceral reaction to an object, one that was surprisingly strong, and unpleasant. The white of the paper showed eerily through the gaping holes where the eyes—the morally blinded eyes of its owner— would have peeked out. I did not not want to touch it, or even continue to look at it for very long (and I DEFINITELY had no desire to put it on). I just wanted to put it away. It was a very vivid experience, different from all other times I’ve seen KKK masks, in movies or plays (like Genna’s The Foreigner at BYU! That was good times.) No doubt it was my prior knowledge of the lawlessness, the horror, and yes, even the conspiratorial drama that the men who wore this kind of thing effected that was affecting me (Nice English there, no? :).

I couldn’t put it away quickly like I wanted, I had to fill out a condition report first. But I breezed through that pretty quickly, picking the object up by the corners of the tissue paper, seriously almost holding my breath the whole time. It’s still weird to me that something so simple, so obviously homemade, could affect me like that. I told me boss it made me a little sick. She explained that it was donated by an FBI field agent who had been on the case of the KKK during the Civil Rights Era. Fairly good backstory, right?

We had a whole debate at lunch about whether or not we as museum professionals would treat this object differently (aka refuse it) if it had been offered to us by, say, its original owner. Technically, we shouldn’t (treat it much differently). We have to look at things from a broader perspective. The object is most assuredly an interesting addition to our collection, which has the stated aim of creating “a greater understanding of the law enforcement profession and the critical role it plays in American society” through all of its accessions (all the new objects it collects).

The last few weeks, though… well, this whole first year of graduate school, actually, have taught me that I am really bad at this kind of thing- suspending my personal beliefs and reactions in order to adhere to a higher set of standards or beliefs that all fall under the category "objectivity." I have an intellectual temper like no other. You start telling me an opinion or belief that I can’t agree with, I tune you out, or worse, get angry. Obviously, this is a major flaw I get to work on! (Must learn to be more encyclopedic in scope, more benevolent in judgment, and/or more able to patiently listen to opposing viewpoints and then craft and deliver a succinct defense of whatever I think is the real truth! Someday… I'll be good.)

How would the meaning of that mask change if it had been given to us by a Klansman who wanted it to be “immortalized” in the collection? By taking it from an agent, haven't we accomplished that already, in a certain way? Eventually, my colleagues and I came to a tenuous and sticky conclusion that where it came from doesn’t change the object’s value to the museum itself. This sticky consensus is very emblematic of the type of ethics-laden questions curators and museum directors have to deal with all the time. It’s part of the job. As museum professionals, we’ll take this historical object, iron it, pack it in tissue paper, store it in a long line of textiles,and use it to tell the story, to tell the truth, about an important and horrific vigilante movement in the American South. (Ironically, Box #7 sits in between boxes containing bullet-proof vests and the uniforms of Lucius Amerson, the first black sheriff in the South since the Reconstruction). In my final analysis, the ideas that this mask and robe may evoke, the story of American law enforcement that it helps tell, gives us is its final value. We do NOT value it for its original function.

That is my favorite part of being a museum professional. Finding things that open up my and others’ eyes a little more and ask us to push back. All this in order to make us realize that we are a part of the history that came before us, even (or rather, especially) the history that makes us sick and challenges us to leave a better legacy than others have done. Such is the glory of objects.

I still hate that mask though.

Back to the secret files of J. Edgar Hoover… I love my job.

Gossip and Lasting Sacrifice

I absolutely loved my friend M.C.'s post last week, right here. If you're too lazy to click it and read (although you should, she's a great writer), I'll tell you what I got out of it: 1. Benjamin Franklin, if you read his autobiography, was a completely brilliant, stuck-up #$$, and 2. more importantly, there is a great deal of value in being real while simultaneously being positive. Don't wait til something awesome and news-worthy happens to write a blog, basically.

I'd been thinking about the idea of being real and forthright right before M.C. published her eloquent thoughts. Someone called to my attention the fact that I put a lot of my idealism, my super-awesome museum/art blather up here, with very little.... gossip, for lack of a better word, about myself, to balance it out. :) Do you concur?

So I thought of a bunch of stuff to write and confess on this blog to make up for that imbalance... but I don't want to overwhelm all 8 of you, so I'll start with this: I think I've been watching too much Glee.

Juicy, I know!

Haha. There are several wicked awesome real-life stories that that little revelation entails, for more info, see me (one of the perks of being my friend, not just my blog reader). But I would just like to point out that I really deserve a little Glee this week especially. It's Police Week, the week when they place the names of 194 men and women killed in the line of duty in 2009 on the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial's walls. They bring in the grieving families and coworkers of the fallen officers to see their names. They treat them like royalty-- motorcade escorts, trained support counselors, camps for the children, etc-- in an attempt to help them through the monstrous task of mourning and learning to live again (cheesy as that sounds... you'd understand if you were here). This week, 20,000 people will pass by the memorial to lay flowers, mementos, pictures, sometimes guitars, toe shoes, car doors, and coffee cups-- any and everything-- at the wall, in memory of their friend or loved one. Often times they just stand and stare, or cry. Or laugh (my favorite).

This week my job has been to talk to the families at the wall, make sure they have paper so they can do a rubbing of their loved ones' name, give them tape to stick their little mementos on the wall, hand them tissues, and just listen. It's been three days, and I already feel like I have attended one hundred funerals. Here at the wall, I have been brought nearly to tears at least 6 times already as I contemplate the ultimate sacrifices that these people, who are often very simple, humble, and funny, are ready to make. They really and truly accept and live amazing principles like valor and sacrifice. And they're so nonchalant about it. I randomly hear stuff like this all the time, "Well, in my third shoot-out, I realized this was a suicide-by-cop scenario, so I let down my gun and got behind the car..." and the more I speak to the police officers, the more I realize that they are just about the last people on earth who take seriously the cause of protecting people. They are some of the last and greatest people I know of. They stand and stare down what can only be classified as pure evil on a daily basis.

I've heard horrific things in three days' times (three to go). I've seen the numbness on the faces of those who are here for the first time, here for one tragic, horrible reason: a spouse, a father, a work partner, has been shot/stabbed/crashed their car while responding to an emergency call, etc. Their emotions are written all over their face, their powerful grief and love and ideals hang in the air around the memorial. Bagpipes go off, big women sing Amazing Grace, brass bands play, and flag guards and solemn processions abound.

I think they deserve a lot of Glee. After work yesterday I went to Zumba to shake it off, then I visited my very favorite pregnant friend, to laugh and remind myself of the flip side of life, all that is good and positive, all the things that my new friends at the wall so valiantly serve and protect.

Yep. I watch a little too much Glee. It, along with cookies and flowers and long showers and kind friends who let me sleep on their floor and late nights of laughter, make my life. Thank heavens!!!

"In valor there is hope."
—Tacitus

"The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are as bold as a lion."
—Proverbs 28:1

Ps I'm taking my camera with me to the wall today. You'll see pics of this awesome place soon.
Pps I realize that my supposedly juicy post turned into another idealistic one, but I don't care. That's WHO I AM! (One of Glee's most favorite things to tout: Being who you are. Got it.)
Ppps Update: Day four was a little more family reunion, a little less tragedy, yay. I got assigned to the jewelry counter at the retail store (someone must have noted my face after my shift yesterday :). Christensens, you'd be so proud. I must have sold well over $4,000 worth of goods today. Not bad when the average price of my inventory is around $40!
Pppps. Rest in Peace, handsome Detective Ridley, age 23, from the Bronx. Your mother is so proud of you. She told me all about your last act.

On being teleological

Teleology–noun. Philosophy.

1. the doctrine that final causes exist.

2. the study of the evidences of design or purpose in nature.

3. the belief that purpose and design are a part of or are apparent in nature.

4. (in vitalist philosophy) the doctrine that phenomena are guided not only by mechanical forces but that they also move toward certain goals of self-realization.

I first came across the word "teleological" last semester in my aesthetics philosophy class of DEATH, and it was one of the few words, besides Logos, that really warmed my soul whenever I read it, after I first figured out what it meant (as opposed to deconstructivism, which still just makes my soul feel like a tired, sad little raisin every time I see it).

In case the above dictionary.com definition doesn't do it for you, here's the Lindsey watered-down version: when you describe anything as teleological, you are recognizing that it has a purpose, and that it is en route to achieving its final destiny. You say something is teleological when you believe you see it mid-journey, whizzing towards some ultimate (hopeful) awesomeness. You go hiking in the woods and see the world's most amazing sunset and are moved to exclaim, "What a teleological phenomenon!" because you feel that this sunset is not only following its regularly scheduled scientific retirement into night, but it is also kindly fulfilling its God-given mini-purpose of letting you know that He loves you, specifically, in that moment (and also letting you know that He loves beauty and His whole earth, too).


The reason I was thinking about teleology today is because I fully embrace the idea that nature, people, time itself, and everything that surrounds me has a final purpose in the grand scheme of things. Up until this week, I myself was teleologically barrelling towards my finals and the successful close of my first year of grad school. All my thoughts, time, and most of my emotions were wrapped up in securing myself some good grades and in really doing the world a solid by giving it 29 pages worth of my bebe thoughts about Frederic Edwin Church's 1865 painting, Aurora Borealis, left.


And now, there is no endpoint. I feel a little empty. A little deconstructed even (NOOOOO!!!!). I came home Thursday after 1.5 hours of sleep in the past 48, having just handed in my last paper, and what did I do? I cracked open a textbook. I hadn't really gotten to peruse it this semester, and I was mocked considerably when caught.

Just call me Hermione. On finals week crack.

So, the big question is, am I teleological anymore, now that the gauntlet has been successful run? I sincerely hope so. I can't stand the thought of sitting still, or just meandering around aimlessly. I have an internship, yes, and I will learn a lot therein... but nothing quite gives you the same sense of heady direction as a semester's curriculum to be learned (except maybe the act of dating someone... haha :).

As I pondered this favorite word of mine, snapshots of select modern artworks began to crop up in my mind's eye. This seems perfectly reasonable, in retrospect: no longer commissioned by kings or the privileged class, no longer able to act as the world's source for visual stimulus (that role has been usurped by youtube and modern advertisements), modern art, as opposed to the art of centuries past, simply screams out, in its very un-understandableness (un-understandability?) for you to help define its end point, its purpose. I AM A MONOCHROMATIC CANVAS WITH SLASHES IN IT! DEFINE ME! (Google Image search Lucio Fontana for more of that sort...)

I can think of no better, more... calming adjective for this work, Condensation Cube, 1963-2008, than teleological:



It was one of my favorites to visit when I worked at the Hirshhorn. What you see is pretty much what I saw: a clear plastic cube that comes up to the middle of your thigh, it has about an inch and a half of supremely clear distilled water in the bottom and an ever-varied pattern of condensation droplets streaking the sides, which changes depending on the time of day and the season (although in my experience, these streaks were almost always grouped into the corner of the cube that was nearest the window. Methinks this photographer cheated to get this all-over condensation look). Despite its simplicity, it is a work that really stops people in their tracks, and I think that is because they sense immediately that it is making bare its own destiny, its own journey. Behold! I am a never-ending variation on the theme of water condensation!

As you look at it, you are caught up in the simple patterns, imagining what it would look like if the whole thing were covered in drops. Or you stare closely at it, trying to see if you can spot any drops rolling down the sides. Or you are wondering what would happen and what the cube would ultimately look like if you gave it a giant shove down the escalator... :) By making itself so plain, by revealing over and over again the trick that will continue to be its reason for creation and also its reason for continual adoration by visitors and curators, Condensation Cube, 1963-2008 is a really (dare I say it?) beautiful example of the simple idea of teleology, as it always is, in action.

Good Morning, Museum

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Whether you are a morning person or not, you just need to know: one of the most serene and invigorating experiences in the world (10x better than a caffeine shot) is the act of walking around in a museum before it opens (or, to a lesser extent, after it closes). Truly. Even though I've repeated this action again and again in different museums, I still feel a unique power in just those few seconds of museum "dawn." It soothes my rumpled morning soul like no other. :)

I don't know what it is. A quiet moment of satisfaction as you walk through the oversized doors and look up and around, with nary a soul (except the security guards) in sight. I guess you could say this experience relates to the virtue of savoring each moment, and/or the value of living in the present. You'd be right. In the mornings there are rarely any fantastic changes to greet me, except that the floors have been neatly swept, the stray chairs have been gathered in (thank you, dutiful night custodians!), and all the bright lights that normally crown the displays cases, artworks, and architectural settings with a golden halo are switched off (they lie in wait for the flick of the switchboard by the lead custodian, which was me at the BYU MoA, circa 2006-2007. I did always enjoy turning on the lights...)

In short, museums looks roughly the same in the morning. But as we all know, museums are a special place, and thus their mornings have special powers. They even have the ability to reinstill my commitment to my career at times (which is really useful right now... leisure hours are at an all-time low thanks to my busy schedule. My apologies to those who don't hear back from me as quickly as possible, and my sincere thanks to multiple family members who keep building me up and helping me along this crazy semester!). Many times I have savored my morning moment of stillness, and felt my inner Cinderella well up and say, "This is why I'm here. My gosh this is gorgeous." And all is well.

My museums are organizations kept up by (hopefully) the best intentions of many people's hearts and pocketbooks. They are beloved, highly visible, and sometimes sensational institutions visited by publics coming from far and wide with a really wide range of reasons for making the pilgrimage. Museums house surprising, creative, and intriguing collections of curios and valuables, and they rotate these objects under the public's gaze through the means of various well-selected (aka "curated") exhibitions. I've loved these big, beautiful spaces since I was little, when my dad would take me to the exclusive grand openings of libraries, museums, mansions, casinos, and the like (Viva Las Vegas!) and I would "feel the power." (Totally unrelated note: I heart Emperor's New Groove).

However, the moment is really quickly forgotten, even by me (And I mean quickly- give or take two minutes). After I reach the museum and bask in its morning glow, there are classrooms to set up, tour details to recall, training sessions to attend, colleagues to chat with, blah blah blah... and of course, the inevitable onslaught of the day's visitors: bring on the crying babies! And the shrieking and sprinting children, and the harried-looking adults, and the uncertain yet excited tweens moving around in little herds, snapping future facebook profile photos in front of the most picturesque pieces of the museums. These are glorious places during the day, too, in their own way.

Today I escaped my afternoon lesson with the memory of my morning reverie still in tact for once, and thus I decided to record it for posterity here.

http://www.nbm.org/about-us/historic-building/360-degree-tour.html

This link takes you to a nifty little 360 degree tour of my current haven, the National Building Museum. In this "tour" all the lights are on, so you can't get quite the same morning view, but you can still definitely get a sense of the emptiness, the clear light, and the beauty of the space... and hopefully a sense of why I go on such random fancy tangents about it, too. If you were to come visit me out here, ps, I would shower you with all of the interesting historical information printed below the tour window. And I would deliver it in my best, most entertaining and mysterious teacher/tour guide/docent voice. We would have a great time. :)

And with that, I bid you good afternoon. Wherever you are.