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Showing posts with label Memento Reading Selections. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Memento Reading Selections. Show all posts

Thursday, September 15, 2016

History of Victorian Mourning Jewelry

Compass Rose Jewelry's line inspired by Victorian mourning jewelry, which has an interesting cultural and natural history. Mourning jewelry of the late Victorian era (1860s – 1880s) represents not only the love, loss and grief of Queen Victoria as a human being – but of the experiences of people across Europe and the Americas experiencing loss of loved ones on the teetering edge between the old world and the modern era. A time bridging an older world of European tradition and a new world of innovation and technology – the Victorian Era was steeped in layers of social convention, personal stories and political change.
Queen Victoria, in her decades of reign, influenced politics, fashion and social convention of the country, and indeed much of the world.  Utterly devoted to her husband of more than two decades, Victoria was distraught after his death in 1861.  Victoria and Albert’s was a marriage based truly on deep respect and romantic love, though was firmly contextualized within the constraints of the time.  Though it took Victoria several years to share responsibilities of ruling with Albert as she was rather controlling and precise in her dedication to the responsibilities of the throne. However, Albert’s expert administrative abilities and grasp of global political shifts at work surpassed Victoria’s, though neither of them imagined the how much the world would change in their children’s generation. 
Victoria came to rely on Albert heavily for political advice and decision-making.  Albert was member of a minor house of the Sax Coburgh and Gotha line – a smallish German-speaking Duchy (Germany did not exist as a unified country until 1871). The British people were not excited about a “foreign” king, so Victoria would rule as Queen and Albert would be her Prince Consort. Because Victoria’s mother was also a member of the Sax Coburgh line, Victoria was also fluent in German, which was the prmary language used between Victorian and Albert and their children in their private household.
Though both the Queen and Albert were fascinated by the emerging array of technologies it was Albert who was involved with the organization of the 1851 World Fair and Great Exhibition – home of the famous Crystal Palace. Victoria understood herself as a guardian of morals and an example to the realm, which by the middle of her reign included Great Britain, The Republic of Ireland, and India. It was at this exhibition that Albert received one of the first commercially available keyless-wind watches – a new jeweled design of watch that sparked a watch chain and fob trend that lasted several generations.
As a personal embodiment of the royal line and the Empire, Queen Victoria observed and emphasized the reserved traditions of the time. Intimacy, sex and indeed the acknowledgement of being in a physical body, were ideas her highness preferred not to dwell upon. Tightly constricted in tight corset and expansive crinoline hoop skirts, the 1850s-1870s mid Victorian fashion very specifically circumscribed the ideals of gender, class and fashion. She supported the introduction of the new science of ether anesthesia in childbirth, which had been used in the birth of her seventh and eighth children. However, Queen Victoria was adamantly against breastfeeding, which seemed to her backwards and overly bodily, and was horrified when several of her daughters wanted to nurse their own children.
When Albert died in 1861, Victoria’s world came crashing in around her. She went into a state of mourning that lasted forty years.  In this historical moment, we are reminded that the great Monarch was also a person. Upon Albert’s death, Victoria collapsed to the floor, then gathered up the youngest child, Beatrice, only four, and wrapped her in Albert’s nightclothes and lay their until dawn.  
As so eloquently stated in Victoria’s Daughters, “When Albert died, not only did the normal physical and emotional love that passes between spouses vanish with him, but so did the one person over whom this queen did not want to reign.”
So complete was Victoria’s state of mourning, she withdrew almost completely from politics for several decades and brought the whole country into mourning with her.  Until her death, she wore black widows weeds, demanding that her children did the same.  Consumed by her grief, she did not tolerate laughter or joviality from her children.  Casual expressions of missing their father were disallowed - seen by the Queen as being disrespectful to his memory. Victoria's relationships with her children (and indeed her own mother) were complicated – a somewhat difficult combination of love, disappointment, respect and criticism.  Intimacy was not a strong suit of the Victorian age. The family palaces, especially Albert’s private rooms at the family home at Balmoral, Scotland became mausoleum-like shrines to Albert’s memory. Nothing in the Prince Consort’s rooms was altered. Victoria ordered that fresh clothes and warm shaving water was changed by valet’s daily, waiting patiently as if he would, at any moment walk into the room. The Queen – a monarch and figurehead, was clearly a woman overwhelmed by grief.
As political change and upheaval shifted loyalties and boundaries in Europe, Queen Victoria continued to mourn in her private world. In addition to her strict black mourning dresses, the Queen wore only black mourning jewelry.  Despite her absence from public life, she mandated that only mourning jewelry could be worn in court until about 1880.
Because of its somber and dark appearance, Queen Victoria took to wearing black jet jewelry, from Whitby, in Yorkshire. As a limited and fairly difficult medium to work with, jet was expensive. It’s a hard material, requiring skilled craftsmanship to avoid breakage during carving. Black glass became a popular alternative, as it was more available, less expensive, and easier to work with. Other common materials for mourning jewelry used between 1860 and 1900 were Onyx, Vulcanite, Gutta Percha, and Bog Oak.
Mourning was the backdrop of the time. The entire late Victorian era has been described as “the Cult of Mourning” where mourning entered social conventions, fashion and indeed infused most aspects of life.  Indeed, throughout the 1860s, Queen Victoria was not alone in her Grief. 
In the United States, the Civil War raged, and women from both North and South donned mourning clothes. President Lincoln was shot – throwing the already unstable nation into further uncertainty. This was a moment in time when the photography became more commercially available, when the faces of people could be captured in light and shadow instead of pen and ink. This new form of visual memory converged with the development of longing and sorrow as a way of life. Lockets, hair jewelry, and love tokens abounded as mothers and wives held on to these keepsakes of hope or remembrance.
Mourning required strict protocol. The first year was full mourning, where only black clothing and jewelry was permissible. After that, half-mourning colors including as gray, mauve and purple were suitable.  Victorian mourning conventions have influenced the aesthetics of many subcultures over time, including gothic, steampunk, punk, s&m, fantasy and anime.



Text and Image source Compass Rose Design 

Friday, May 20, 2016

A Mug In Auschwitz Held a Secret Treasure





For more than 70 years, the false bottom on this mug hid a Holocaust victim's treasures.

An X-ray reveals the jewelry concealed behind the false bottom, which separated from the mug after more than 70 years.

The necklace was carefully wrapped in canvas before being concealed in the mug.

Tests revealed that the ring has the properties of gold 583, used in products made in Poland in the 1920s.
Marcin Inglot/Auschwitz Museum


From the outside, it looked like any of the other mugs in the Auschwitz museum.
But on the inside, this one had a secret — faithfully kept for seven decades.
A false bottom concealed a gold necklace and a gold ring inlaid with stones.
The enameled mug was one of more than 12,000 pieces of kitchenware that Nazis stole from people sent to the Auschwitz concentration camp in occupied Poland.
"The Germans incessantly lied to the Jews deported for extermination," Dr. Piotr M.A. Cywinski, the director of the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum, said in a statement. "They were told about resettlement, work and life in a different location."
But the Nazis would allow Jews to take only a small amount of luggage. It was a calculated move: If you were going to start a new life, and could only take a small bag, you'd fill it with your most precious possessions.
So when a victim arrived at Auschwitz, the Germans could be confident they'd be able to loot their luggage and find valuables.
Victims often tried to hide costly possessions from sight.
On one hand, Cywinski says, that's proof that Jewish families were well aware that their belongings would be looted during their deportation.
But it's also a heartbreaking reminder of how much people didn't know about the fate they faced at Auschwitz.
Every effort to hide valuables "shows that the Jewish families constantly had a ray of hope that these items will be required for their existence," Cywinski says.
"Despite the passage of more than 70 years since the liberation of the German Nazi concentration and extermination camp, there are still cases of accidental discovery of objects hidden by the victims," the museum statement read.
And that's what happened with the mug, which was being examined as part of routine work at the museum when the false bottom was discovered.
Beneath, there was a necklace coiled in a circle and wrapped in canvas, and a ring with some stones remaining in the setting.
"It was very well hidden, however, due to the passage of time, the materials underwent gradual degradation, and the second bottom separated from the mug," Hanna Kubik of the Memorial Collections said in the museum's statement.
The museum says that while every find is "carefully documented," it is often impossible to connect a personal item to the victim who owned it because of a a lack of identifying characteristics.
"The jewellery found in the mug will be stored in the Collections of the Museum in the form reflecting the manner in which it had been hidden by the owner, as a testimony to the fate of the Jews deported to the German Nazi concentration and extermination camp," the museum writes.
More than 1 million prisoners, mostly Jews, died at Auschwitz during the Holocaust.
Source is NPR

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Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Foundling Museum, London, Two Articles



The Foundling Museum’s Collection contains many treasures associated with the Foundling Hospital. However, it is often the humblest objects which leave the greatest impression on our visitors, namely the eighteenth-century tokens.
In 1741 when the Hospital first opened its doors, mothers were asked to ‘affix on each child some particular writing, or other distinguishing mark or token, so that the children may be known thereafter if necessary’. Since babies were renamed on admission, a system had to be created whereby a returning mother was able to be reunited with the baby she had handed over to the care of the Hospital. Between the 1740s and 1760s the procedure involved a swatch of fabric being cut from the baby’s clothes and then cut in half; one half was attached to the child’s admission paper or ‘billet’ on which was written the child’s unique admission number, while the other half was given to the mother. By keeping the swatch and remembering the date her baby was admitted, a mother could provide the Hospital with the information needed to identify the child.
However, in the event that the little piece of fabric was lost or the date of admission forgotten, mothers also left an object unique to them – a token – as a means of identification. These everyday items range from found objects such as coins, medals and jewellery, to personalised items created for this purpose such as poems, needlework and inscribed medallions. Pennies are some of the most common tokens and these were frequently personalised with engravings, inscriptions and punctures to ensure they were not mistaken for another’s. Once the admission information was taken the billet was folded up and sealed with the token inside, never to be opened unless a claim was made, meaning these little fragments of maternal hope were never seen by the children. At some point in the mid-nineteenth century the billets were opened and some of the more interesting tokens were put on display in the Hospital however, no one thought to make a note of which tokens belonged to which baby, so the majority of the tokens are themselves orphans.
I was taken up to the Picture Gallery and ... Mr Nichols, the school Secretary wanted to see me before I went into hospital … beside the pictures on the wall were two or three showcases… there was nothing to say what it was, but I knew instantly what it was. There was all little tokens in there ... bits of ribbon, bits of lace, buttons, bits of material, bits of tickets, coins ... I knew instantly that these were things that … mothers had left to be able to identify their child by ... I suppose they all hoped at some stage … I was just transfixed by this ... I kept wondering what my mother had left with me. Not realising, at that stage, that that system had finished years before … It was just a heart-breaking moment.
Robert Cox, former pupil
The custom of leaving tokens with babies lasted until the 1760s, when receipts were introduced. However, the system was so established that babies continued to be left with tokens so that by 1790 they numbered over 18,000.
Research into the tokens has revealed some of the circumstances surrounding parents’ decisions to give up their baby, as well as the poignant stories of the foundlings to whom they belonged. This research is ongoing however, it is likely that many tokens will never be reunited with their infant owners and it is this air of mystery, separation and loss that prompts such a strong reaction from our visitors.






The Foundling Museum, London, celebrates the opening of a new and highly emotive exhibition entitled Threads of Feeling. The exhibition will showcase fabrics never shown before to illustrate the moment of parting as mothers left their babies at the original Foundling Hospital, which continues today as the children’s charity Coram.

In the cases of more than 4,000 babies left between 1741 and 1760, a small object or token, usually a piece of fabric, was kept as an identifying record. The fabric was either provided by the mother or cut from the child’s clothing by the hospital's nurses. Attached to registration forms and bound up into ledgers, these pieces of fabric form the largest collection of everyday textiles surviving in Britain from the 18th Century
A selection of the textiles and the stories they tell us about individual babies, their mothers and their lives forms the focus of the Threads of Feeling exhibition. The exhibition will also examine artist William Hogarth’s depictions of the clothes, ribbons, embroidery and fabrics worn in the 18th Century as represented by the textile tokens.
John Styles, Research Professor in History at the University of Hertfordshire, received funding from the Arts and Humanities Research Council to curate the exhibition. John comments: “The process of giving over a baby to the hospital was anonymous. It was a form of adoption, whereby the hospital became the infant’s parent and its previous identity was effaced. The mother’s name was not recorded, but many left personal notes or letters exhorting the hospital to care for their child. Occasionally children were reclaimed. The pieces of fabric in the ledgers were kept, with the expectation that they could be used to identify the child if it was returned to its mother.
The textiles are both beautiful and poignant, embedded in a rich social history. Each swatch reflects the life of a single infant child. But the textiles also tell us about the clothes their mothers wore, because baby clothes were usually made up from worn-out adult clothing. The fabrics reveal how working women struggled to be fashionable in the 18th Century.”
Renuka Jeyarajah-Dent, Coram Director of Operations comments: “The exhibition so vividly illustrates how the separation of a mother from her child is never an easy act and the depth of feelings involved are the same. Coram remains a charity, which works with children parted from their parents, including those in state care, to enable the parents and children involved to deal with their emotions. Even today, an object can be a reminder and comfort when someone is parted from a parent.” The exhibition will include representations, curated by Renuka, from children, young people and families Coram works with today.
The Foundling Museum is at 40 Brunswick Square, Bloomsbury, London WC1N 1AZ. Tel: 020 7841 3600 www.foundlingmuseum.org.uk. The Museum is open Tuesday to Saturday 10am – 5pm and Sunday 11am – 5pm, closed on Mondays. Admission: £7.50, concessions £5, children free.
The Museum tells the story of The Foundling Hospital, London’s first home for abandoned children, which until the 1920s stood on the site that is now the Coram Fields children’s playground. It houses the Hospital’s fine collection of mainly eighteenth century art. The Museum also contains a gallery and research library dedicated to Handel, who was a major benefactor of the Hospital.


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Friday, April 29, 2016

For Culture’s Sake by Constantine Boym

A version of this article originally appeared in Metropolis magazine in November 1995. The text was included in the book Curious Boym: Design Works, published by Princeton Architectural Press in 2002. Reprinted with permission.

Constantine Boym & Laurene Boym (SVA MFA Designer as Author faculty) are principals of Boym Partners, an industrial design studio whose souvenir-like "Buildings of Disaster" and "Missing Monuments" series have received international acclaim and earned a loyal following of collectors.

A strange incident took place in the city of Seoul on September 2, 1994. Dozens of angry South Korean students attacked an exhibition of traditional Japanese ceramics at a prestigious museum, smashing display cases and destroying valuable artifacts. The protesters were demonstrating against the Japanese government’s past policies toward Koreans, and they had nothing against Japan’s arts and crafts. So why did they take on a cultural institution to express their anger?

Their choice would probably not surprise some of today’s leading political scientists. According to Samuel P. Huntington, a professor of government at Harvard, the great boundaries that used to divide humankind are no longer primarily ideological or economic—they are cultural. Throughout most of the twentieth century, conflicts between communism, fascism, and Western liberal democracy formed the basis for human history. The confrontation between communism and democracy, for example, drew boundaries across almost all continents, with the Berlin Wall as its most visible manifestation. But with the end of the Cold War, the globe can no longer be separated out into first, second, and third worlds. It is more meaningful now to group countries in terms of their shared heritage of language, customs, and values. “The Velvet Curtain of culture has replaced the Iron Curtain of ideology in Europe,” attests Huntington. Indeed, contemporary developments on either side of Europe illustrate in different ways the validity of culture as a political concept. In the West, the leaders of the European Union invoke a homogenized culture as they pursue the abolition of borders and the establishment of a common currency. On the other hand, tragic events in the former Yugoslavia showed how the elusive line of cultural difference could easily become a front line of bloody confrontation. As the world becomes a smaller place—people now move around the globe as refugees, laborers, entrepreneurs, students, and travelers with great dexterity—and interaction between many different peoples increases, these closer contacts can intensify feelings of cultural identity.
Moreover, in the “soft” postindustrial economy of ours, culture is what provides the backbone to strategic economic development. Most developed countries have already witnessed an economic shift from production-based manufacturing to knowledge-based industries like software, telecommunications, entertainment, and tourism. Culture is soon expected to become the world’s largest industry. In the last decade of the twentieth century, American cultural exports, such as popular movies, music and information, constituted a large part of our economical well-being. From theme parks to museum stores, there is a market direction to meet a worldwide public demand for culture-related merchandise.

One could argue that design as a discipline is supposed to related to the world at large. And if the world is changing, so should design. Since the spread of the Industrial Revolution, design has internalized the century’s reigning economic, technological, and social influences. The entire vocabulary of the design language reflects this: We talk about practicality, cost-effectiveness, new materials and manufacturing processes, and human benefit. Good design is often synonymous with design that “works.” Nonfunctional objects, on the contrary, are automatically banished from the field. Such a view, however, may no longer be adequate. In a new world where culture has become a major determinant, design will have to find a new paradigm, a different mode of “working”—one based less on performance and more on communication, emotion, and joy.

In this respect, it is worthwhile to look at souvenirs. These objects represent an important part of our civilization’s material culture. They can be found in every home, regardless of a person’s economic or social status, and they can be as different as a miniature marble leaning Tower of Pisa and a monkey made of coconuts. Not surprisingly, the sale of souvenirs amounts to big business—more than $20 billion annually in the United States alone. Yet the entire phenomenon of the souvenir is largely excluded from the high culture of design and completely ignored by the design professions. If we accept that design is a way of communicating ideas, then souvenirs are quintessential design objects. They can carry complex layers of information, from “programmed” messages to personal sentiments. Beverly Gordon, a professor of environmental studies at the University of Wisconsin, makes a distinction between souvenirs and mementos: The former are commercially produced, universally recognized, purchased objects; the latter are individually saved or found objects that have a deeply personal meaning. It is the first category that provides an interesting case study for product designers. A souvenir is manufactured to serve as a reminder (the word, in French, means “to remember”) of a non-ordinary experience, place, or culture. The object works metonymically, as a part or a fragment that evokes larger places and events. Its partialness, however, is always supplemented by a personal narrative or recollection. The popular appeal of souvenirs is rooted precisely in this combination of material object and immaterial, fleeting sentiment. Unlike many “serious” products or appliances, the souvenir always contains a built-in emotional value, such as a memory of a past journey or the affection of a faraway friend. Preservation of memory serves as profound motivation for a lifetime passion of collecting. Once in New York, I visited an apartment of two elderly Holocaust survivors. They met in Europe shortly after the Liberation, and soon got married, but could not conceive a child, her health being seriously damaged after years in the camp. One day, he gave her a small toy bear, a touching souvenir of the family they were never to have. Collecting and giving each other bears has become their life-long tradition . Eventually, their spacious apartment became home to over a thousand bears of every conceivable material, size, and look. These are not functional useful objects, and most of them have little or no “artistic value”. Yet how is it possible not to take this collection seriously, not to treat it with a proper affection and respect?

People’s attitudes toward souvenirs, though, can best be described as a love-hate relationship. Everyone has and buys them, but they are easily dismissed and thrown away. Designers are the most critical, instantly relegating these keepsakes as kitsch—but you can always find them in designers’ own homes. Often, they try to find the tackiest, most outlandish souvenir possible to bring home for the amusement of their peers. Why is it that a certain silliness and tastelessness prevails—and is even appreciated—in this product genre? According to Beverly Gordon, such objects help to accomplish an “inversion of the ordinary”—just as when fun and recreation briefly substitute for the realities of everyday life. When on vacation, people tend to go to the extremes of good taste, spending money on strange, whimsical, nonfunctional items precisely because they wouldn’t do it in their daily existence. In this sense, a souvenir’s emotional, accessible, funny design is essential for it to function properly. “Inversion of the ordinary” puts souvenirs in opposition to objects of “good” design, with their characteristic usefulness, seriousness, and value. Instead, souvenirs offer the option of different attitudes and aesthetics—for people who are, at least temporarily, not practical, serious, or thrifty.

Traditionally, souvenirs have been manufactured exclusively for the tourist market. But in a new, shrinking world—as the mobility of the population exponentially increases—souvenirs, in a different form, are among the few objects from home that can accompany a person to a foreign land. Souvenirs, then, have the potential of being transformed from a superfluous product of consumption to an object of emotional survival. Instead of a tourist cliché, a souvenir can serve as a proud representation of a person’s cultural identity. Think of all those souvenirs that multinational New York City taxicab drivers display on the dashboards of their cars. In the aftermath of the September 11th events, many of New York ethnic shops placed American flags and souvenirs next to symbols of their own cultures as a message of peace and understanding. In a world divided along the lines of culture, such object-symbols can no longer be marginalized. Almost always, souvenirs are designed anonymously—no well-known designer, it seems, would ever attach his or her name to one. And designing a new souvenir is rarely given as an assignment in design schools. So there’s been little progress in the genre; all the design movements of the past few decades have just passed it by. But, hopefully, these attitudes will change. The world needs a lot of new souvenirs—for culture’s sake.

Friday, October 30, 2015

America's Got a Case of Souvenir Mania

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Read more: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/smithsonian-institution/americas-got-a-case-of-souvenir-mania-5598658/#HR66cgxe8eIhQrxE.99
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For days on end William Bird locked himself in a brightly lit storage room with hair clippings, a wood chip and two 80-year-old pieces of cake. There was also a punch bowl and the cuff of a woman’s blouse stained with Abraham Lincoln’s blood. Bird, known to friends as Larry (no Celtics jersey, but almost as tall), was digging through the American History Museum’s political history collection for overlooked gems to put in his new book, Souvenir Nation, out this month from Princeton Architectural Press, and the subject of an exhibit by the same title opening August 9 at the Smithsonian Castle.

The things he exhumed didn’t usually look like treasure at all: bits of rock, a napkin, a fish-shaped can opener. But “if you drill down deeply enough into the things that you have,” says Bird, a curator at the museum, “there really is a much richer history than you might ever think just by looking at the surface.”
The United States, it turns out, was a nation of casual plunderers from the start. Visitors to Mount Vernon snapped splinters from the moldings; beachgoers in Massachusetts chiseled off chunks of Plymouth Rock; tourists snipped fabric from the White House curtains. By the early 19th century, newspapers were referring to illicit souvenir hunting as a “national mania.”
Bird thinks that the practice was so popular because it allowed any American, regardless of social standing, to connect with the nation’s history. “If the past could be touched,” he says, “it could be chipped away, excavated, carted off and whittled into pocket-size bits, giving form to persons, places and events that lingered forever in the act of possession.” In contrast, mass-produced mementos, he says, “only partially satisfy an emotional urge to connect with an ached-for past.”
After culling the museum’s collection, Bird ditched the white gloves and moved back into his office down the hall to research the keepsakes. He focused on more than 50 relics, including a vase carved out of a timber from the USS Constitution, a piece of the white towel used to signal the Confederate surrender at Appomattox and a chunk of Plymouth Rock. The two pieces of cake are from President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s 52nd birthday celebration (a fund-raiser for polio patients), and the hair clippings are from various presidents. (A reporter once wrote that Andrew Jackson gave away so many locks that he sometimes had “the appearance of having passed from the hands of the barber.”)
Objects arrived in the collection from abroad as well—a sugar cube-size block of the Bastille, a painted fragment of the Berlin Wall, a stone from Joan of Arc’s dungeon. When Napoleon Bonaparte left for exile on the island of Elba in 1815, he gave two table napkins to William Bayard, a wealthy American traveler, who in turn passed them on to the future mother-in-law of Smithsonian Secretary Spencer Fullerton Baird.
Bird’s favorite object in the collection is a pinkie-size chip from the wooden tie that completed America’s first transcontinental railroad. An 8-year-old named Hart Farwell collected the chip a month after the tie was nailed down in May 1869 and kept it with him as he grew to become a pioneer independent telephone company developer in Indiana. Bird likes to display the sliver on an oversized pedestal, partly as a joke, but partly as a reminder of how large it loomed in the mind of the boy collector.
“Many historians are grounded in the belief that objects are not supposed to cause you to have feelings,” he says. “When it comes to this stuff, though, each thing has its own little human story. How can you not feel a personal connection?”
Americans mostly quit defacing historical objects after the rise of the preservation movement in the late 19th century. Yet travelers and history buffs still pick up found objects, Bird suggests, because they’re more personal than prefab trinkets. The collecting impulse lives on—thank goodness. “You can’t have a museum without people who are interested in finding and saving things,” Bird says.


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A toy Statue of Liberty was one of thousands sold to raise funds to build the real statue's pedestal. (Eli Meir Kaplan)
Above Text and Images from http://www.smithsonianmag.com/smithsonian-institution/americas-got-a-case-of-souvenir-mania-5598658/




Souvenir Nation: Relics, Keepsakes, and Curios from the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History Hardcover – May 21, 2013


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History of Souvenir Spoons




Above images from Sterling Flatware Fashions.


History Of Souvenir Spoons

Collecting souvenir spoons has been a popular hobby for many Americans since 
the late 1800s when this European fad swept the nation.
Souvenir spoons grew out of the birth of leisure tourism in Europe around the 
mid 1800s. Wealthy Americans on a Grand Tour of Europe brought home these 
souvenirs marked with the names of cities and some of the famous landmarks 
they had seen.
The first souvenir spoons produced in the United States were products of 
well-traveled silversmiths. The inaugural souvenir spoon was produced in 
1889 by Galt & Bros of Washington D.C. It featured a profile of 
George Washington and was created to mark the 100th anniversary of his 
presidency. It was shortly followed by the Martha Washington spoon.
A year or so later the most famous collector’s spoon was designed, sparking 
a national obsession that lasted until World War One. In 1890 jeweler 
Seth F. Low visited Germany and purchased several unusual spoons. Upon 
his return he designed the Salem Witch Spoon for his father’s company and 
it was trademarked on January 13, 1891. Low described the design as featuring 
"the raised figure of a witch, the word Salem, and the three witch pins of the 
same size and shape as those preserved in the Court House at Salem”. Several 
thousand were sold.
The interest in souvenir spoons suddenly exploded. At the end of 1890, there 
were only a handful patented or in production in America. Around half a year later, 
hundreds of souvenir spoon patterns were being produced to commemorate 
American cities and towns, famous people, historical events and significant 
events of the time.
In 1891 several books on collecting souvenir spoons were published and by the 
time of the Chicago World Fair in 1893, what is now considered the Golden Age 
of souvenir spoons had well and truly begun.
This grand world fair was also known as the Columbian Exposition, as it 
commemorated the 400th anniversary of Christopher Columbus's arrival in the 
New World.  It lifted souvenir spoon collecting to a whole new level. At the time 
this was a niche hobby. Along with 27 million visitors, the fair brought spoon 
collecting national exposure.  Some reports say more commemorative spoons 
were produced for the Columbian Exposition than for any other event in history.  
But the 1893 Expo was not the only factor in creating this spoon collecting 
phenomenon. The 19th century was a time of immense growth in the United States' 
economy. It was the age of industrialization with the rapid acceleration of 
technology and the invention of mass production techniques. The production of 
souvenir spoons became more efficient and the volume of goods increased.
Further, the collapse of the silver market also in 1893 meant silver became 
affordable to many ordinary Americans for the first time, whilst retaining its 
image of being for the privileged and wealthy.
Over the next 30 years every expo, fair and event was an opportunity to 
create a souvenir spoon. But the mania was short-lived, by the advent of 
World War One the appetite for souvenir spoons had waned and by the end 
of the war it had almost disappeared.
Today it is once again a niche hobby. Embellished spoons at tourist 
attractions are a familiar sight and hundreds of spoons change hands at 
auctions around the world.
Text source is PBS. Link here

Link here to see more intricate designed spoons from various time periods. 

Thursday, May 29, 2014

Possessions and Belongings, Gemma Green-Hope, Artist




Link here to watch the video.


When filmmaker Gemma Green-Hope’s grandmother passed in 2010, the family had to sort through her possessions and belongings. As she explains on Vimeo:
“I inherited some of her clothes to wear, books to read, a bicycle to ride. But how do you make sense of all the other things that someone leaves behind, the things nobody sees, boxes full of photographs, and bits of string? I used these objects alongside images and memories of my own to make this short animation, which I dedicate to her memory.”

Music by George Manson
Elizabeth Boat made by Rachel Sumner
With excerpts from:
The Fairies’ by William Allingham,
Eternal Father, Strong to Save’ (The Naval Hymn) by William Whiting

Source is Twisted Sifter.