Anthropology and Photography at the American Museum of Natural History

These images are all housed within the archives of the American Museum of Natural History. As a class assignment, each student in my class Anthropology in and of Museums (taught at the NYU Program in Museum Studies in Spring 2009 and in Spring 2011) was given an image to research. Barbara Mathé, the Museum Archivist and Head of Library Special Collections and I selected the images. We gave them to the students and encouraged them to think at first purely from the image: what could they learn not only from the content of the image, but the way in which it has been annotated, catalogued, curated, and archived. Following these leads, each student conducted original research into their images. These are their stories.

Dr Haidy Geismar, Anthropology and Museum Studies, NYU

When discussions arose around a photo research project, I instantly became excited. Looking at the history of an image and its life as an object intrigued me and I wanted to expose a different side of my photo object, a side that may not be easily seen in the initial glances. I had delved deeply into the Hyde Expedition and into the passions of the individuals who traveled to the Southwest and had their dreams, and hopes either solidified or dashed at Chaco Canyon. The individuals I researched were unique and joined the Expedition by way of different academic fields, personal journeys, goals and expectations. These individuals held particular pieces to the larger history of Hyde Expedition, its successes, and its controversies. The individuals caught in the group photo above had dreams, hopes, and lurking beneath the distortion in the image, deep animosities towards their peers. These feelings lie below the surface layer of the photograph and can be discovered in deep research and analysis.
The photo I was given is actually a photo of a photo, perhaps taken in hopes of being used in the American Museum of Natural History’s (AMNH) Canyon exhibition called Chaco Phenomenon in 1987. In the late 1980s those who were designing the exhibition looked for ways to illustrate the important individuals that participated in the Expedition. This photo illuminates and obscures faces, even giving hint to personalities in the Expedition’s cast of characters. As time has passed the individuals who participated in the Expedition have been interpreted, vetted for facts, and re-produced by historians. As images, they are both chemicals and light combined into an image of a living moment and once living humans who cannot participate in the conversation about their intentions, actions, and the consequences of what they thought and did. Photos like the one I was given provide much space to interpret, allowing for other voices and research to, once again, change these objects from lost archival objects to living objects.

Continue reading "The Layers of Social Interaction in a Photo" »

Before me is a black and white photograph of three women and a child, outdoors, sitting on blanket. At first glance that is what the photo is of. Yet every moment I spend looking at this photo increases the depth of the image, the questions I have, and the beauty and appreciation I feel for the photo. My first inclination is to find out as much factual information I can about the photo from the text on the front and back of it. Writing on the front of the image tells me that this was taken by someone named P.E. Goddard in New Mexico in 1909. I feel an immediate sense of excitement as I am from New Mexico and am passionate about the history of the state, especially in the years leading up to its adoption into the United States. The back of the photo reads, “Mrs. Ruben Springer, her mother-in-law, and her sister making baskets, preparing sling for trucking, and doing beadwork.” Questions arise as to who these women were, where do they fit into the narrative of Jicarillas in New Mexico, why and in what context was the photo taken, and what can this photo mean for me.

I decided to approach these questions by breaking up my research into the history of the people and the region, the history and intentions of the expedition in which the photo was taken, the search for named individuals, and finally the realizations I came to along the way.

The History of the Jicarilla Apaches In New Mexico

The Jicarilla Apaches are one of six Athabaskan tribes, which migrated south from Canada as early as the fourteenth century. The original occupation of the Jicarillas stretched from Arizona to Oklahoma and throughout New Mexico and as far north as Colorado . The first threat to their land was presented not by the Spanish, but by another Indian tribe, the Comanches from the South. With the aid of the Utes, another tribe known for their war tactics, the Jicarillas were eventually overwhelmed and pushed from their land into a much smaller area mostly in Northern New Mexico. After being forced to retreat and loosing a vast amount of their population, the Jicarilla’s split into two smaller bands known today as the Olleros and Llaneros. The Olleros, who took refuge in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains were the more sedentary of the two and were known by other tribes for living in (semi-) permanent structures. The Llaneros, or plains peoples, were the more nomadic band of Jicarillas and were living in tipis, or tent-like structures made of hide and supported by moveable and reusable poles . After learning this, it is my belief that the Apaches photographed here are of the Llanero band. Behind the women in the photograph is what clearly looks like a tipi. From the side we see, it is unadorned and small. The fact that the women are working outside of the structure, and all other interactions seem to be taking place outside of the space lets me know that the tipi is likely used only for sleep and protection from the elements. While these people were likely moving around the landscape in order to survive based on available commodities, their nomadic nature during this turn of the century time may have allowed them flexibility in trade. More of this to come.

Continue reading "The Jicarilla Apaches: A View Into History" »

This story about an expedition photograph of a white man and his horse begins in a cold multiuse room at the back of the archives of the American Museum of Natural History, with a mandate from my professor to produce a research project based on an photograph of her selection, demonstrating an engagement with the process of learning through object lessons. Despite (because of?) having studied as an art historian for four years, my habitus is unquestionably dominated by a linguistic modality and, consequently, what follows is the product of a deliberate effort on my part to think and write outside of the textual channels to which I am habituated. In addition to experimenting with a materialist approach stressing the physicality of the photo, mounted on a double-sided card in close proximity to five others of like size, I also wanted to avoid perceiving the photograph as a ‘natural thing’ with a primarily informational value. Instead, I tied to pursue alternative discursive trajectories, letting my research be guided by whatever thematics and relationships the photograph seemed to evoke in the course of my interactions with it. In the end, therefore, my story is about coincidence, and about what is invited and what is not.

The small photo, a very light exposure with a shallow depth of field, shows an adult male Caucasian donning breeches, long sleeves and a sun-protecting hat, frozen in an enigmatic gesture, gazing downward at his own outstretched right foot, left hand hooked into his belt (fig 1). Flanking his left side, a horse looks endearingly toward the camera, its face partially obscured by a protective mask, while in the background five or six horses graze near the base of a cliff. Handwritten in all capitals across the top left of the card, directly above my photo, are the words “BERNHEIMER EXP. ARIZONA – 1920.” Flipping back and forth between the front and back of the card, I learn that this is a portrait of the wealthy, German-born American expedition leader Charles L. Bernheimer “Playing with Skippety Anne,” his trusty horse. Looking at this relatively informal photo, with the name “Skippety-Anne” written in cursive by an unknown hand across the front, a number of questions came to my mind. Who was the photographer? Whose handwriting? Who selected such a seemingly personal, non-scientific photograph for inclusion in the archive, and why? What can it tell me about early twentieth century anthropology, and why did my professor choose it?

Continue reading "Thinking through Objects: My Story of Discursivity and Discovery through Photography" »

When doing photo-object research one sees the photograph not just as a mere representation, as an image of something, but as an object of its own, engaged with social space and real time. As Elisabeth Edwards writes in Raw Histories. Photographs, Anthropology and Museums “…the starting-point [of photo-object research] here is always with photographs themselves, the entangled histories and their significations…”. With this essay I am trying to walk in Edwards footsteps by creating a biography of a photograph out of the archive of the American Museum of Natural History that was assigned to me, I start by asking the questions Kopytoff has done before:

“In doing a biography of a thing, one would ask questions similar as those one asks about people: What sociologically, are the biographical possibilities inherent in its “status” and in de period and culture, and how are these possibilities realized? Where does the thing come from and who made it? What has been its career so far, and what do people consider to be an ideal of such things? What are the recognized “ages” or periods in the things “life”, and what are the cultural markers for them? How does the thing’s use change with its age, and what happens to it when it reaches the end of its usefulness?”

Not all of the questions will be answered in this essay, as not all of them can be applied to this particular situation or this particular photograph. But before addressing these topics I will go back to the object itself as Edwards instructed and describe the object that will be my starting point and ending point of research. With the idea of ‘photo as an object’ in mind I shall begin to describe the material condition of the object.

The photograph is pasted on a card, with writings right next to the photo as well as on the back. The photograph itself is quite clear and has a bright gray quality. Its size is 8 by 10 inches. It is not yellowed by age as most old photographs are. The image is printed slightly skew on the photo paper. The texts that accompanied the photograph at the front say “N.W. Coast – Kwakiutl – Fort Rupert” written in pencil and the negative number 337824 written in pen. The back of the photograph shows a printed list that is filled in with two different mediums; pen and pencil. Written in pen are the negative number, the subject “Bella Bella (Kwakiutl)”, locality “(AMNH) Northwest Coast”, taken by “Copy – K. Perkius”, date “12/88” and remarks “Orig. print in Anthro. Dept.”. With pencil the “Bella Bella (Kwakiutl)” line is blotted out and underneath is written: “Kwakiutl Fort Rupert”. In the middle of the page, underneath this list the following remark is written: “man is Stanley Hunt, per Barb Cranmer, Nimpkish Wind Productions. 10/30/97 – PW”.

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Museums like the American Museum of Natural History (AMNH) have used various media to both educate and entertain their audiences since the early twentieth century. Currently, the AMNH is promoting its new iPhone and iPad apps, showing exhibition preview videos on their website, and holding viewings of the IMAX film, “Sea Rex: Journey to a Prehistoric World,” every hour of the day. Each of these new media are means for the museum to both educate and entertain, just as the film, “The Silent Killer,” was meant to accomplish in 1930. While dramatic films are not used anymore within the ethnographic and anthropological departments, films are used to assist the interpretation of the hard sciences at the AMNH, particularly within the Paleontology Department, as this is a very popular area of the museum. These sorts of new media, often referred to as edutainment, are becoming more prevalent in museums such as the AMNH but all began with the development of photography and film. The relationships between photography, film and anthropology will be discussed in this paper, as well as how one views and interprets photography, film and anthropology within the context of museums and archives. I will discuss my assigned image, that of “Chief Buffalo Child Long Lance,” and the film, “The Silent Killer,” produced by the AMNH in 1930.

When asked to look at a photo or object for an extended period of time, one can see things he or she may have missed at first glance. When I initially saw my photo-object assigned, I noted the negative number, 313148, and looked at the title listed on the archived object, “Blood—Chief Buffalo Child Long Lance.” I assumed this photograph was of this man, taken in 1930 by someone named Eugene Robert Richee, copied later by Hugh S. Rice. On the object’s reverse, it is noted that it depicts the “Plains—(Northern Blackfeet) Blood Indians of Montana.” The image appears to be extremely staged featuring strategic lighting, a painted backdrop of clouds and a lake, and a concentrated pose. The individual featured in the image is holding a spear or lance, perhaps why he is named so. The stance of the individual featured is powerful and beautiful, romanticizing the American Indian hero. “Chief Buffalo Child Long Lance” is wearing what seems to be traditional clothing for hunting or fighting, decorated with feathers. Upon my second look at the photo-object, I saw a note on the back in pencil, “See Silent Enemy—film #[275].” How I missed this extremely important note upon my first viewing, I am unsure but it gave me an excellent path to continue my research.

Continue reading "Chief Buffalo Child Long Lance,” the American Museum of Natural History, And Photo/Object Based Research" »

In this paper I will depart from the isolated elements within the assigned photograph, continuing then to the broad image of the country concealed behind it. I will introduce briefly the Miller – Roosevelt expedition, locating it in a series of collecting explorations in South America to the AMNH by the 1910’s. Afterwards, allowing the image itself and the shooting sequence to be the storytellers, I will focus on the natural and human environments where these specifically occurred. Due to my fascination with time and its imprint on landscape, which I have had the chance to deepen as researcher on Colombian trails and travels’ narratives from a cultural and historic standpoint, I will be able to draw on it in order to render an accurate and vivid account of the actual environments traversed by Miller.

Continue reading "The Miller-Roosevelt Expedition" »

If... a record is found portrayed in a way which combines artistic manner of expression with seeming authenticity, the significance deepens... and students of the history of peoples must give heed lest something of value in the interpretations of a particular culture-- and consequently all culture-- be lost – Helen Blish

Tucked into a drawer in the American Museum of Natural History (AMNH) archives lies a black and white photograph of a drawing depicting a scene from the famous 1876 Battle of the Little Big Horn. The photographed drawing is one of over 400 similar pieces done by the artist, Amos Bad Heart Bull, from 1890 to 1910 and was labeled #84 by the AMNH. The collection of drawings serves as historical documentation of Amos’ tribe, the Lakota Sioux. The pieces are composed in a style similar to the Lakota’s historical modes of record keeping, known as winter counts. But, Amos’ drawings are unique from winter counts in that he added a complexity, drama and realism to the scenes he depicts.

Unlike many photographs taken of Native Americans in the early twentieth century, Amos’ drawings serve as a powerful example of how he took control over representing and documenting his family and tribe’s history from their own perspective and in a mode that is culturally familiar to them. The photograph of drawing #84 is also particularly powerful because it depicts a scene from a famous battle of which no actual photographs were taken and portrays the conflict from the perspective of the victorious Native Americans, rather than the classic notion of the heroic “last stand” of U.S. General Custer.

Continue reading "Amos Bad Heart Bull: Taking control of history" »

Several questions come to mind while looking at the photograph of focus (negative no. 127362) located on the upper right-hand corner of its contact sheet. What is this an image of? How does this relate to the other images around it? Who took this photograph? In order to answer some of these questions I will begin by considering the physical content of this image and the larger object it is a part of. Then I will widen my gaze to examine the historical and archival context of this photograph and the man behind its creation. This process of interpretation demonstrates the complexity of a single photograph through the multitude of stories it can tell.
Looking at the black and white focal image I first see an outdoor scene with five individuals. There is a woman holding a child on the left of the image and a man in a hat standing on the right of the image. Between this woman and man, there is a child sitting on a crate and another child sitting on the grass. These individuals are standing or sitting around a shelter built of branches and leaves. Several tents are set up behind this constructed shelter. Tables, chairs, boxes, potted plants, equipment, and a hammock are also found among this scene.

Continue reading "Image as Object Interpreting a Mearns Expedition Photograph" »

Every photograph is a certificate of presence.
-Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida

The photograph is of a solitary man traversing a seemingly endless flat, rocky plain with a load on his back. The man goes unnamed, referred to only as “Cree guide” on the back of the photograph and identified by the negative number—105570. His face and hands are kissed by the sun, the lines on his skin caressed in light and shadow as he squints to avoid the probing rays. The rest of him is protected from the elements; he wears canvas pants which fall to the ankle and are secured by twine just below the knee. He wears a plaid shirt and a soft hat with a brim that dips over his right ear. A pipe protrudes from his pursed lips and his gaze fixes steadfastly on the ground ahead of him. His right foot precedes his left and despite the overall sense that he is in motion, he paradoxically seems rooted in the earth. His body is solid and his gait is unhurried. He is suggestive of grace and patience despite his heavy burden. This man appears to be tolerant, accepting, and knowledgeable. Both of his hands cradle an oar, or perhaps two, with a tender quality as though he were holding a child’s hand. His stoicism belies an inner world of thoughts and feelings only he can know; he is shrouded in quiet contemplation as he keeps a steady pace. Slung around his shoulder is a sturdy boot, in preparation for more arduous terrain. A wooden box, marked “26,” is hung on his back, and he leans forward to counter its weight. Firewood and the box’s contents are cast in shadow. He knows and accepts that there are vast expanses of land to cover. He is not concerned. The guide travels great distances in his thin, worn shoes. His feet have known this land. This land is not “No Man’s Land” as the photographer’s caption suggests, but this man’s land.

**********

As proposed by Christopher Wright in “Supple Bodies: The Papua New Guinea Photographs of Captain Francis R. Barton, 1899-1907,” a photograph contains two connected performances: production and consumption (156). Having just described my experience of consumption, later I will outline the context of my particular photograph and its production (or, in Roland Barthes’ terms: the studium). However, I am more concerned with my subjective reading of it. In Barthes’ description of the punctum of a photograph, he states “What I can name cannot really prick me. The incapacity to name is a good symptom of disturbance” (51). This is exactly what I’ve encountered since I first saw the photograph. I am able to describe the photograph in somewhat lyrical prose but I am at a loss to explain why I am so drawn to it. My first glimpse of the Cree guide soothed and contented me for no discernible reason. Perhaps it is the intricacies of temporality at play within the photograph and my reading of it: the man appears to be simultaneously still and in motion, and I’m looking at the photo, touching it, 102 years after it was taken. Time seems to matter yet almost not at all. Somehow, this instills faith in me that all of humanity is bound up in cyclical, renewing patterns. I also can’t help but think that the man’s silence should not be taken as submission. I think he contains strength and resistance, qualities which manifest themselves not in the proud eagerness of a young warrior, but in the wisdom and fortitude of an elder. If only I could embody his perseverance in the face of physical, emotional, and mental challenges. In describing the man as such, I don’t intend to romanticize or glorify his position as a laborer. His burden is considerable and I know nothing of the environment he encountered or the relationship he had with his employers on the expedition. Instead, I aim to show the complexity of photographic readings and the multiple meanings one can derive from a single image. My reading of the Cree guide as triumphant and resilient doesn’t discount challenges or even the banality of everyday life. I find the extraordinary in the ordinariness of such a photograph.

Continue reading "Muskéko-wug Man in No Man’s Land" »

The Photograph depicts a woman emerging from a hut – two wooden sticks marking the entrance appear to be carrying the weight of layers upon layers of soil and grass, which have been added to flesh out a wooden structure. The latter is visible only at the very top of the building, giving the observer a vague idea of its architecture. In the background, we see a second building with quite a different architectural style. This one is more familiar to me – largely consisting of canvas, fragile in appearance, and held to the ground by seemingly invisible forces, it spells nomadic impermanence.
I could go on othering the tent or begin contemplating its difference to the woman's home, which the capture could easily suggest the hut to be, as she appears to move about comfortably and at ease, holding a glass in her hand. An ethnographic account of the scene, early twentieth century-style, including a detailed description of the female costume and its symbolism, or the use of the domesticated dog also present in the photograph actually appealed to me at first. Yet, it would be somewhat ignorant of the context which has already shaped my first impression.

The archive, the object and its biographical information

What I am looking at is easily identified as a museological object. I am in the research library of the American Museum of Natural History, the photograph is enclosed in clear plastic foil, mounted on a rectangular piece of cardboard, identical in size and function to thousands of others located in the rows of drawers that house the museum's photographic collections. The number written beneath the image can be read as a trace of disciplinary regulation, serializing it within a discursive “Order of Things” (Foucault, 1966). Speaking with Edwards, archival practice has made it part of an accumulation of “micro-relationships” (2001: 29), and even though its content differs from that of the related objects in its drawer, it cannot be dissociated from them (Edwards/Hart 2003: 55). On a broader level, this homogenizing effect corresponds with the notion of photographs as “serially produced objects” and the related practices of seeing, collection, and consumption as a “technology of regulation” (Edwards 2001: 28).

The archivist's hand-written caption in the top right-hand corner of the cardboard generates a first layer of meaning: 126 – JESUP – SIBERIA – BRODSKY. The handwriting is different form that of the image number - the object has not been lying dormant since it first entered the collection, it has been taken out of its drawer, looked at and thought about differently. I am looking at a “palimpsest of curatorial thinking and acts of description” (Edwards/Hart 2003: 51) that points to the social life of the object. Thus, the image of the woman and the dog “cannot be understood in one single point of its existence” (Edwards 2001: 13) - an analysis of its content cannot be separated from the historical and social trajectories along which it moved and continues to move as an object. A retracing of its biography can “reveal traces of past orderings” (Edwards/Hart 2003: 49) and the way they generated different layers of meaning. As I am about to add my own, I cannot merely ignore this complex materiality. Even if it were for the sake of a national-geographic-style documentary of the picture's content, giving expression to my critical attitude towards turn-of-the-century anthropological and photographic practice. Thus, the archive becomes a space in which I participate in the image's history, hoping to grasp part of the complex processes through which it links past and present.

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American Museum of Natural History Research Library, Photograph Collection, Drawer 137, P. E. Goddard, New Mexico/Arizona

Not a lot is going on in front of the camera in the three prints shown above, which are housed at the American Museum of Natural History’s Research Library and Museum Archive. The prints show three views of the same wood framed, earth covered structure. The background consists of nearby rocky outcrops and a rather desolate landscape spanning into the distance. There seems to be some small shrubs by the outcrops, but no large trees. Where did the large branches supporting the structure come from? There are two shadowy figures with their backs turned to the camera in one of the prints; their presence does not bring much life to the scene. To me, the three prints evoke an almost frightening sense of barren, secluded emptiness.

Important contextual information is typewritten, handwritten, and stamped on the back of the heavy paper on which the prints are mounted. The photos were taken by P. E. (Pliny Earle) Goddard in April 1910. At that time, Goddard was an Associate Curator in the Department of Anthropology at the American Museum of Natural History (AMNH). Goddard was conducting fieldwork in the early years of the Huntington Southwest Survey, an expedition to the American Southwest for the purposes of anthropological research and collecting. The Survey lasted from 1909 to 1921, funded by AMNH trustee Archer Huntington.1

The reverse side also identifies the earth covered structure as a Navajo house near Fort Defiance in Arizona. Further below, a handwritten note states that negative number 14483, which corresponds to the print on the upper left corner, was published in “Handbook # 2, p. 135.” Handbook # 2 (the second volume of the AMNH Handbook Series) refers to Goddard’s 1913 publication Indians of the Southwest. Along with the image from the upper left corner print, Goddard gives the following information on pages 135 and 136. The house in the picture is a winter house with timber framing, brush for thatching, and several inches to earth for insulation and protection against the elements. The doorway faces east and a large hole on top of the doorway admits light and air while allowing smoke from an interior fire to exit. In contrast, the Navajo either build simple brush shelters or a stone wall to protect against the wind during the summer.2

Indians of the Southwest is a 191 page ethnographic overview of Native American groups from the American Southwest. The Navajo winter house image serves as a representative overview in two ways. First, the image represents a facet of Navajo culture (a facet that Goddard deemed significant enough to include in his sweeping overview). Second, the image is a type specimen of all Navajo winter houses. The image serves this second purpose well. I mentioned earlier that the three prints are virtually empty of human or any other living presence. Such lack of life makes for a perfect architectural type specimen; nothing in the image distracts from the architectural features of the house.

However, Goddard may have taken the three Navajo winter house photos for a reason other than publication as an architectural type specimen. On January 24, 1910, Clark Wissler, Chief Curator of AMNH’s Department of Anthropology, sent a letter to Goddard containing these fieldwork instructions:

As the work among the Navaho is a matter of collecting, I may add that we have planned for a section of the hall to contain a hogan with a life sized group in which can be shown weaving, carding and spinning and also silverwork. You should provide the data, photographs, costumes, etc. necessary for such a group. As to the hogan, I suggest that a small one be purchased, the logs marked, and shipped to the Museum. Some interior photos showing detail of structure will be useful. 3

Writing from Fort Defiance on April 1, 1910, Goddard told Wissler that he purchased “a good old type, conical hogan for $20.00.”4 Goddard’s letters in preceding months show that he had already purchased other houses/structures. His standard procedure seems to have been to take detailed notes on the appearance of a structure (namely measurements) before dismantling and shipping it in pieces. As indicated by Wissler’s letter, photography was another way to document the appearance of a structure. I believe that Goddard took the three Navajo winter house photos along with notes and measurements immediately before dismantling the structure. The photos would have been useful aids for rebuilding the house at AMNH. This would explain why the three photos lack a sense of human presence: Goddard intended the photos to accurately document architectural features, not social life.

Continue reading "Anthropologists and Navajo Winter Houses: Different Contexts for Similar Photographs" »

Two figures, a man and a woman, stand close to one another in front of an adobe wall. A sliver of a wood-frame window is visible to the left of the man. He wears a light-colored dress shirt with a tie held partially inside between two of the buttons. The sleeves are rolled up past his wrists and the hem is tucked haphazardly into his waistcloth. Two vertical sections of beading run down each of his pant legs and a similar beaded pattern covers the tops of his moccasins. His face is weathered and framed by dark hair streaked with white and parted down the middle into two braids. Large hoop earrings hang from his ears. His right arm rests at his side, the fingers lightly gripping the fabric of his waistcloth, while his left arm is bent across his chest, the fingers relaxed. The woman is several inches taller and many years younger than the man, and stands with her body turned slightly towards him. Her dark hair is parted down the middle and pulled behind her head, covering her ears. The dress she wears has short sleeves and a large collar and is cinched at the waist with a belt. She wears a large necklace and two bracelets and her left hand holds a beaded bag. Her light-colored shoes have a slight heel and are laced with string tied in a bow around her ankles. Both the man and the woman look directly at the viewer, their faces expressing a friendly grin with lips parted and teeth showing.

The photograph described above, and pictured at right, lives within Drawer 138 of the photography archive at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City, where it has been assigned the number 282746. Handwritten black ink on the back of the photograph identifies the photographer as Clyde Fisher, the date as August 8, 1934, the location as San Ildefonso Pueblo, and the individuals depicted as Juan Gonzales and Te Ata.

One of most evident characteristics of the photograph is that the composition is very deliberate. The creation of the image was planned and required the coordinated participation of all three people involved. The expression on the faces of both Te Ata and Gonzales exudes a sense of comfort and familiarity with Fisher, the photographer. The ease with which Te Ata addresses Fisher can be explained by the fact that they were newlyweds, having been married ten and a half months when the photograph was taken. Her wedding ring is prominently visible in the photograph. Although Gonzales and Fisher were not as well acquainted, it is probable that they would have met two years earlier, in 1932, during Fisher’s cross-country lecture tour. While in New Mexico during the tour, Fisher visited San Ildefonso (at the time, a pueblo of less than one hundred and fifty people) where he photographed Maria and Julian Martinez making blackware pottery (Whitman 1947, 3; Green 2002, 121).

Continue reading "Photograph 282746: What it Means to be Indian" »

At first glance, my photo seems like one of hundreds I have seen in text books. It is a picture of an archeological dig, mounted on a card next to three other similar photos. Along one side there is a neat, handwritten note: “S.W. Archaeology, Nelson – N.M. 1914.” On the back, along with two versions of catalog numbers, it says briefly, "adobe plug in north wall of room 3, bldg XII. San Pedro valley, NE of Bernalillo, N.M." As I contemplated the photo for the first time I couldn’t help but think that it was a rather ordinary image. One, that as a student of anthropology, I had seen quite often. To me it was clear that it was nothing more than the use of photography to document the excavation process and finds at an archaeological dig, a common practice today. As I went forward with my research, however, I realized that Photograph 2A22080, formerly Number 646, told a story beyond the image it captured. Photograph 2A22080 is an object which marks a shift in the methodology of American archaeology, in the long entwined histories of photography and anthropology, and in the intellectual framework of a man who would go on to heavily influence the practice of Archaeology. Given the limited information on the object itself, I began by looking into the photographer, N.C. Nelson, his history and his activities in the pertinent year, 1914. Quickly, I was able to determine that Nelson was an archaeologist working under the American Museum of Natural History to undertake a geographical survey of the American Southwest, but the story my photo tells begins a few years before and endures today.

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The handwritten label on the back of my photograph selected for this project reads: “Chicago World’s Fair Exhibit. Anthropological Dept. 1893.” In centuries prior, during a time without the globally interconnected technological communication systems that today make our world feel so small, world’s fairs and expositions showcased the latest in human accomplishment, discovery, and innovation. Ethnographic museums were both called on to fill exhibition halls and were founded out of the collections amassed during the exposition period. The heyday of expositions and museum anthropology occur simultaneously and reflect aspects of one another. This paper will explore world’s fairs in more general terms, as well as the specific details of the World’s Columbian Exposition. Following this background information, a closer look will be given to the Anthropology Hall at the 1893 Exposition in relation to my particular photograph. Utilizing primary and secondary sources, I seek to tease out as much information that my object, a photograph of an exhibit at the Chicago World’s Fair, can tell about the science of anthropology at the end of the nineteenth century.

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This photo, titled Invocation-Sioux, came from drawer 149 in the photography collection. Physically, this photo is mounted on white matte board, with a stamped negative number below and writing going along the side reading “107 Sioux Curtis.” The photograph also shows a border, and information below that reads the title, the photographer, “from copyright photo 1907 by E.S. Curtis,” and what type of a print it is and who made it “Photogravure, John Andrew and Son.” Because the photograph has a border surrounding it which contains this information with the photo frame, we can ascertain that it is a copy, taken not from a negative, but a pre-existing image, most likely a print in a book. Information on the back of the matte board gives us the location of the original, “Vol. 3-Plate 109,” showing that it definitely came from a previous publication It also gives us the name of the publication, North American Indian-E.S .Curtis, and the date that this photo was taken, “May 1971.” These last to entries are both stamped, which could suggest that this photo was part of a series entered in mass, since they went to the trouble of having stamps made.

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Introduction: The Connotative Power of Photograph Card 73
On July 26, 1922, Gladwyn Kingsley Noble, an Associate Curator in Herpetology at the American Museum of Natural History, and his young wife, Ruth Crosby Noble, an Assistant Curator in the Museum’s Department of Public Education, departed New York on the SS Iroquois for the far-flung shores of Santo Domingo, the island in the Caribbean which is now present-day Haiti and the Dominican Republic (AMNH, AR 1922 6). The immediate mission of the Angelo Heilprin Expedition to Santo Domingo was to study the life cycles and collect specimens of the rhinoceros iguana and the giant tree frog, both indigenous to the island. I first encountered this expedition not through display text in the Hall of Reptiles and Amphibians or through published accounts in annual reports of Natural History, but rather through an unassuming page of photographs, labeled only Angelo Hielprin Expedition to Santo Domingo, 73. In these photographs, the vividly recorded faces of the women and children of Santo Domingo stare out, compelling me to ask questions about their stories and identities. Alongside these intent eyes, the faded and distant landscape of northeastern Santo Domingo, labeled only as the region of Samana, rests before me, silently reflecting the landscape in which these people lived their lives.

Continue reading "Contrasting Contexts, Fluid Meanings: The Exploration of Four Photographs from the Heilprin Expedition to Santo Domingo" »

In the image “Public Health Hall 1921,” (Figure 1) students are exploring the exhibit hall established by the American Museum of Natural History’s Department of Public Health. The students appear to be of middle school or high school age, and look as if they’ve just entered this hall, as they throng towards the cases, bundled in coats and hats. Some stare off across the room, while there are others who chat with those near them or examine the glass cases. A few look directly at the camera, acknowledging the photographer. In their hands, they hold papers; perhaps worksheets or brochures intended to be consulted while engaging with the exhibit. Though not in uniform, the students’ dress is remarkably invariant. All seem to be wearing dark stockings and ankle boots. Though their dress is largely the same, the students’ faces do not have the uniformity that one might expect from a homogenous community. The group in this exhibit suggests a multicultural background that has been assimilated into a single American educational ideal.

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The above image and its minimal textual clues are the starting point for this journey. Like all images there is a history behind this one, a story surrounding it, which this paper will uncover. The essay is laid out in sections following the natural course of research on the image. The first section will document the researcher’s first impressions of the above image, without having any prior background knowledge on it. The subsequent sections will delve into the factual findings on the image. It will be curious to see if there are any commonalities between the researcher’s initial educated guesses and that of the actual facts about the photograph.

3/2/09-Visit to the AMNH

On a cold snowy day the Anthropology in and of Museums class met at the American Museum of Natural History. Barbara Mathé, an archivist at the American Museum of Natural History’s research library, gave the class a tour of the archival storage of photographic images and films that it houses. Near the end of class each student was given an image that they had never previously viewed and asked to jot down any first impressions. The image I received had this text on the front, number 108272, 122- Johnson New Hebrides, and on the back was written, “(Nagapate and his head men inspect the picture sheet) New Hebrides, Martin Johnson, 1918”. My first impressions, directly as I initially wrote them, are as follow:

The image shows three men standing on a type of platform, almost like a stage. Two of the men are facing the white screen, while the third directly looks at the photographer. It looks like a picture of a picture. Similar to the behind the scenes images of films, this photograph manages to completely erase the fake reality created by what appears to be a staged scene. The camera has zoomed out to show not just a close up picture of the three men in front of a white background, but rather the whole scene. It is as if the camera has stepped back from what might have been just a photograph of the man’s face or upper body. The screen looks extremely out of place in this setting. I am curious how they rigged the screen up in such a natural setting, on trees perhaps? The caption on the back of the image does say that these men are inspecting the screen, but that does not necessarily give clues as to the screens purpose. As mentioned earlier it is possible that the photographer was looking to take portrait pictures with a clean white background. The first questions that arise are, was this an expedition? If it was did Martin Johnson lead it or was he just the photographer? What is the general history of the expedition? Where is New Hebrides? Was New Hebrides a specific destination of the expedition or a side trip?
These were the initial reactions and questions that I had regarding my photograph. The following sections will look to the research findings on the image to determine if any truth lay in my initial guesses.

Continue reading "Journey of Discovery: The hunt for the Cameraman and the “Cannibal”" »

A picture paints a thousand words and a photograph captures a moment that portrays the story of its subjects outlining a historical point in time. The photographer sees one thing and the subject looking out gazes with another thought and intention behind the situation, a century later the curious onlooker interprets the historical significance through contemporary eyes. The ancestors of a culture, an anthropologist and his subject, all visual keys to unlock the past and continue the evolution of knowledge and the study of humanity. What contribution does this photograph provide in the accumulation of cultural knowledge for the Maori people and what is the connection to New York and the American Museum of Natural History.

A photograph of a noble group of Maori1 posed theatrically, some looking ahead others looking to the side, but none smiling or portraying any emotion. Seventeen men and twelve women handsomely adorned in traditional woven feather cloaks, wielding weapons and embellished with striking hei tiki2. Well manicured and regal, some with facial tattoo’s, and all wearing fine European clothes, and framed by marble pillars, a makeshift backdrop and wooden display cabinets peaking from the sides.

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The photograph depicts a gathering. Women, men, and children, wearing hats, dresses, suits, and ties, form a loose semi-circle in a clearing in a West Coast forest around a phonograph. Its operators stand to the right, military in their poses and their explorer’s dress—leather leggings, riding britches, and boots. The cover of the recording—“Pres. Wilson’s Speech,” the archivist’s notes on the back of the photo’s cardstock mount tell us—lies in the dry grass, the only thing that punctures the gap between crowd and phonograph. The men in front in the front of the crowd are Native American (1), and of the Suquamish tribe in Port Madison (2), Washington, according to the unknown archivist’s written words. Their Nativeness is marked: they too wear suits, but for most of these men, pinstriped pants peek out of leather shoes, and starched collars emerge from the tops of patterned blankets and fringed tunics. Some of their faces are painted, some wear headdresses, and one holds a leather drum and stick, while two others point long wooden sticks into the earth, which swells under the leather-clad foot of the man with the striped leggings. This regalia marks their difference from the rest of the crowd.

Continue reading "Unsettling Histories: A Photograph from the Wanamaker Expedition of 1913" »

“A concentration on content alone, ethnographic appearance – the obvious characteristics of a photograph – is easy, but will reveal only the obvious. Instead, one should concentrate on detail….Consequently the arguments explore specific photographic experiences: how photographs and their making actually operated in the fluid spaces of ideological and cultural meaning. (Edwards 2001: 2-3)

It is this type of thick description illustrated by Elizabeth Edwards, which I intend to achieve in the analysis of three photographs from the Jesup North Pacific Expedition in the library collection of the American Museum of Natural History (AMNH). My intention is to analyze the photographs through addressing the historic cultural circumstances of their creation, while also attending to the meanings currently being made within the museum and my own associations. I conceptualize my work as falling within what Christopher Pinney characterizes as photography “being rephotographed…not chiefly to the conservation process by which the decaying archival image is reproduced for another generation, but rather the manner in which dark recesses of photographic archives are coming under scrutiny and images of an imagined past brought from the darkness to light” (Pinney 1992: 90). This is a trend that is already apparent within the AMNH’s treatment of the photography from the Jesup North Pacific Expedition through the exhibition and related materials of “Drawing Shadows to Stone: Photographing North Pacific Peoples, 1897-1902.”

Continue reading "The Jesup North Pacific Expedition - a Koryak Man, named Tapoka, taken by Waldemar Bogoras" »

The head of the Hittite Goddess, cropped and rotated to approximate the image on the lantern slide. (Kurt Bittel)

In the archives of the American Museum of Natural History, there is a lantern slide. It shows a head carved in stone from an archaeological excavation. This image presented me with several mysteries. I not only had to identify the subject, but also the reason why the slide was at AMNH. When I first saw the slide and its box, I thought the image had been used in eugenics lectures. Now, however, I believe the reverse is true. The slide’s owner was actually a strong opponent of eugenics. I believe that he used the slide in lectures arguing against the practice of eugenics in anthropological research.

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In my hands is a black and white image from the archives at the American Museum of Natural History of a congregation of people who are positioned in front of a fairly modern looking building. Some look directly into the camera and others gaze to the side. Perhaps something other than the photographer has caught their attention or the photographer has requested that they focus their attention in that direction, no one can be sure. Careful consideration has been taken to provide some seating during the photo shoot. The same can be probably said for the arrangement of the individuals in relation to one another. Decisions needed to be made as to who was in the center of the photograph and who was relegated to a periphery role in the frame.

Continue reading "Origins of an Image - E.W. Merrill, the Tlingit and the Potlatch" »