Upload new images. The image library for this site will open in a new window.
Upload new documents. The document library for this site will open in a new window.
Show web part zones on the page. Web parts can be added to display dynamic content such as calendars or photo galleries.
Choose between different arrangements of page sections. Page layouts can be changed even after content has been added.
Move this whole section down, swapping places with the section below it.
Check for and fix problems in the body text. Text pasted in from other sources may contain malformed HTML which the code cleaner will remove.
Accordion feature turned off, click to turn on.
Accordion featurd turned on, click to turn off.
Change the way the image is cropped for this page layout.
Cycle through size options for this image or video.
Align the media panel to the right/left in this section.
Open the image pane in this body section. Click in the image pane to select an image from the image library.
Open the video pane in this body section. Click in the video pane to embed a video. Click ? for step-by-step instructions.
Remove the image from the media panel. This does not delete the image from the library.
Remove the video from the media panel.
Julie McGee, an associate professor of Africana studies and art history, and her University of Delaware students were able to examine
and restore photographs, mostly of African Americans from the late 19th
and early 20th century.
note: The following story was originally published in a recent edition
of UD Research Magazine, the theme for which was UD Disruptors. As a research university on the leading edge, UD has a multitude of creative thinkers and doers.
The box was labeled “moldy photos” – a warning that its fragile contents would require special handling.
Something truly special emerged from that box, too, something no one
expected until Julie McGee, associate professor of Africana Studies and
Art History, and her University of Delaware students got their hands on
the 53 photographs inside.
The work they did during McGee’s one-semester class in the fall of
2017 — “Curating Hidden Collections and the Black Archive” — is a
fascinating study in how to research, conserve and catalog a piece of
history with few available guiding landmarks. And it laid the groundwork
for future classes to do likewise.
The photographs — mostly images of African Americans in the late 19th
and early 20th century — brought much more than the technical
challenges a conservator accepts when working with historic images and
objects that need attention, as these surely did. They also raised
questions of justice and pointed to systematic obfuscation of the
stories and identities and truths of marginalized people.
The “Baltimore Collection,” as the photos now are called, doesn’t speak for itself but it has much to say to us.
“I work with and am often drawn to objects that exist in the realm of
the unknown with the premise that they matter deeply, but for various
reasons this meaning, and even their visibility, has been obscured. Part
of the work is enabling them to be seen and providing context for ways
of knowing,” McGee said.
Not fully, certainly, in this case — but far more than they would otherwise have been.
Move this whole section up, swapping places with the section above it.
Amber Kehoe (second from left) of the Winterthur/University of
Delaware Program in Art Conservation talks with Allison Robinson (left)
and Ethan Barnett as they study the photographs and provenance of the
The photographs came to the University from an art history alumna,
Jessica Porter, in 2001. Her late father had found them abandoned in
Maryland, McGee said, and they arrived at UD with little or no
explanation. A variety of photograph types were in the box, including
tintypes, albumen prints, matte collodion prints, silver gelatin
printing-out prints (POP), silver gelatin developing-out prints (DOP)
and one halftone.
Almost half of them were made in Baltimore, the others in Philadelphia, Atlantic City and Washington, D.C.
McGee, a curator with special expertise in African-American art, said
the photographs had been evaluated when they reached the University.
They were assigned the number “9999.0910,” a category that indicates a
preliminary status as objects of educational quality or, in some cases,
disposable if they cannot be stabilized or salvaged.
When she arrived at UD in 2008 as curator of African-American art for
University Museums, she started to explore everything in the
“I was trying to get a better grasp of the totality of the collection
that represents African-American culture,” she said. “Is there anything
that is not cataloged yet — anything we may have overlooked? Sure
enough, there was a box of ‘moldy photographs.’ The mold was no longer
active, but the photographs clearly needed conservation … and were in
various stages of deterioration.”
They also raised far more questions than they could possibly
answer — a challenge for curators and those who capture and catalog the
metadata that explain each photograph and its context.
What should be done with these photographs? Should they be digitized,
which — in effect — creates another collection? How could they be made
accessible to others? How do you catalog the unknown? How do you
describe the race of a person? Should you? Why?
McGee built a course around this box of photographs and the questions
they represented — “Curating Hidden Collections and the Black Archive,”
an interdisciplinary seminar that included 11 students drawn from
history and museum studies, art history, the Winterthur Program in
American Material Culture and Africana studies.
The work started with students trying to learn as much as possible
about each item and also trying to describe the photographs and whatever
they learned about them in accurate terms.
Those conventions and the words and details included in such data are
under great scrutiny in this field — in a transformative period,
“We looked at the cataloging and metadata schema used by varied
institutions that had similar collections of photographs of unidentified
people, including the Library Company in Philadelphia, the Smithsonian
National Museum of African American History and Culture, and the Library
of Congress,” McGee said. “And the students elected to diverge from
some of the standard modes of visual description.”
For example, many photograph data points have historically described a
person’s race only if they are not white. Whiteness has not typically
been described in the title of most photographs cataloged.
The descriptive title is critical, though, because it generates the
citation. It will be the priority text in a catalog and will often
determine what people find when they do digital searches.
“Descriptive titles — bracketed to indicate they came from a
cataloger — can be updated over time to reflect greater knowledge about
the object and sensitivity to the biases they reflect. For example,
19th-century photographs of black women holding white infants,
historically described as ‘nannies,’ are being revised by institutions,”
McGee said. “The difference between ‘nanny’ and ‘unidentified enslaved
person holding their white charge or unidentified child’ is significant.
Transparent cataloging, like that at the Library of Congress, makes
note of the changes in descriptive titles by retaining the older titles
in the full record. When we use digital collections we rarely think
about this level of curation. We simply accept the data provided.”
Students developed a database for the collection, using Artstor, the
enormous digital platform that holds a trove of images from museums
around the world. They filled in appropriate category fields and created
new reports that included conservation notes for the photographs. Those
notes were created by students who worked on the collection during
Prof. Debra Hess Norris’ Winter Session class in the highly regarded
Winterthur/University of Delaware Program in Art Conservation.
“It was especially nice for our students to have the opportunity to
stabilize a collection that had been studied intently by other graduate
students at UD,” said Norris, Unidel Henry Francis du Pont Chair of Fine
Arts. “Many of these portraits were severely water- and mold-damaged
and they required consolidation and cleaning, often under magnification.
“The conservation treatment of the Baltimore Collection was a
wonderful project — connecting teaching with preservation and a powerful
collection — one my students and I will always treasure.”
Some photographs had the name of a studio stamped on them, offering
clues to the time and place the sitters could have been there. Students
pursued such clues to see if they could find more information.
Dorothy Fisher, a doctoral student in art history, saw the
photographer’s name and address on the back of one of the photographs
she was working with — the faded, barely-there image of a woman in a
white dress on a residential street of Baltimore row houses. The front
steps of the house were white.
“Even with a magnifying glass, you can’t see the woman’s face,”
Fisher said. “You can see part of a tree, part of a street lamp. But you
can clearly see those white steps.
“In my hubris, I was convinced I would find which residential street this was.”
Her quest was frustrated by one stubborn fact of Baltimore history.
“Those row houses with white steps could be anywhere in the city of
Baltimore,” she said. “There is a tradition of white steps in the city.”
As the class worked, they developed a website and used it to share their thoughts about the images they were working with.
Ethan Barnett, a doctoral student in the African American Public
Humanities Initiative, wrote a series of powerful poems in his post
titled “Dear ‘Unidentified’ woman in photo 31.”
Photo 31 is a portrait of an African-American woman and a white boy
on a porch. The woman is seated, holding a teddy bear, and the child is
standing beside her, looking up at her face. In the prologue to his
poetry, Barnett asks about their connection. Are they neighbors?
Related? Is she a caretaker?
Barnett said his poems are a response to “the historical erasure of
blackness within photographs and the distribution of power that
whiteness holds onto mercilessly within the world.”
His poems develop with extraordinary voice, starting with a sort of
polite distance and moving urgently toward familiar tones to deliver a
litany of awful news from the 21st century, where the debate apparently
still rages over whether #BlackLivesMatter.
Of course, there are debates over whether any of this matters. Every
family has photographs of people they can hardly identify anymore,
images that may have limited value even to those who are attached to
them in some kinship way.
But these point to something else, McGee said.
“What the Baltimore Collection represents to me is that we
‘privilege’ objects that are in great condition that have legacies and
histories that can be recorded,” she said. “And those are things that
have provided dominant resource material for that which we can study.
“The Baltimore Collection gives us something you don’t often find
visible in public collections — objects and histories that have not been
extensively researched. Its digitization and visibility contribute to a
larger narrative related to ‘hidden’ collections and what they have to
In other words, there are many holes in our history and many of those
holes were deliberately gouged. As diversity increases — in thought,
identity and experience — the gaps and the sense that something precious
has been lost or hidden become more evident. Curators can address that
in significant ways and students at UD have added a sense of urgency to
In the Baltimore Collection, lives are captured at a moment in time,
within a specific context, carrying a unique reality. They are now
preserved for our education and enrichment, part of the UD Library’s
Special Collections and housed in an acid-free box marked “The Baltimore
Photographic Portrait Collection: Preserved.”
Article by Beth Miller; photo by Doug Baker; photo illustration by Dave Barczak
Published Feb. 25, 2020