Phone Photos and Cartoon Strips

This past week brought new variety to the library: a couple of phenomena I had yet to encounter.

Two patrons came in on the same day with typical questions about who created a work of art each owned. Neither of these patrons had photographs or photocopies, they each had to show me what the work looked like - on their phone! I suspect this method will only increase in frequency.

I use the photo function on my phone all of the time. It's quite handy. I need something at the hardware store and need to show the clerk the broken part I'm talking about, I show them the picture of the part I've taken minutes earlier at my house. It's great and is usually an important part of me getting the right thing.

It is not, however, the best way for me to verify a work of art.

I neglected to mention that neither patron had the ability to get the picture off of their phone and email it to me. One asked if he could send it to my cell phone and, yes, I told him no. That's all I need...

It's difficult enough to try and verify an image from a large high-quality image sent to my email. I've already blogged about some of the large images I can't read. It's nearly impossible for me to make any sort of guess from an image that's less than two inches square.

But there's more... While I was squinting to try to figure out what I was looking at (I never did by the way) one of the patrons surreptitiously kept pulling small cartoon strips from his wallet and handing them to me to read. He didn't say a word, he just kept handing them to me.

I looked at them, found them moderate funny to borderline not funny, gave a smile and just as surreptitiously handed them back. I can play that game too!

I Hate, I Mean Heart, The Rich

Anyone who works in non-profits is likely familiar with the delicate balance that exists between the haves (the wealthy benefactors who literally make it all possible because of their generous gifts) and the have-nots (the majority of the staff that works for sub-standard wages, doing it because they believe in the cause and are passionate about what they do).

This post is merely an observation on what I've encountered, brought to the forefront of my mind because of a movie line from 1986. Read on...

In recent years I've seen two distinct sides of the "haves." The first group is those who give silently (i.e. no strings attached), and/or are practical and let the doers do their jobs. They listen, advise when asked and trust that their money is being spent wisely. Most have done their due diligence. I will call them "the supporters." In many ways, that's what they are. And I truly do love many of them. [This group will hitherto be denoted by TNH - the nice haves.]

The second group I will term "the oblivious rich." Many are at a point in their lives where they do very little for themselves: someone cooks for them, cleans for them, drives for them, books appointments for them, writes letters for them, answers the phone for them, makes their beds for them, lays out their clothes for them (as I'm writing this, I'm noticing a strong resemblance to the relationship that exists between a parent and a small child... I digress). They either have never had to do any of this, or they've not had to do it in so long, that if asked to do it, they would have forgotten how. [This group will hitherto be denoted by TOR.]

Please understand that I do not take "the haves" for granted. No one is forcing anyone to part with their money on our behalf. Most truly are doing it out of the shear kindness of their heart. And, seriously, we are really lucky to have people in our community that care enough about what we're doing to just give us their money. Without them I wouldn't have a job. I do sincerely appreciate that.

Here are some fun stories I'd like to share about each of these "haves" groups:

TNH Stories

We took a very large book donation and needed someone to help process and catalog it. A group from the museum just gave us money to get this person for nearly a year. On top of it, one from the group also volunteers with me three hours a week to help do some of the processing. It's truly amazing.

There is a core group of funders in our museum that have time and time again come through in times of crisis: a major sponsor pulls out of a show at the very last-minute and they take up the slack, they endow people's positions, they give money when it's needed with no expectation of acknowledgment or fanfare.

I have several extra-special library donors. These people have incredibly large personal libraries and, from time to time, weed their collections and simply give me books that a. I really need and b. could never possibly afford. Wonderful!

TOR Stories

When I was in my early twenties, I worked at a medium-sized museum where the benefactors not only pushed through exhibitions they wanted, they also on occasion exhibited their own work! Oh, the concerns of the curatorial staff and the patrons' lack of expertise (and, sorry but, talent) mattered not. Looking back, I still can't believe that was allowed to happen. Where was the AAM when we needed them?!

Over the years, I've experienced the "elevator ambush" more times than I'd care to remember. I get on the elevator at a low floor and find myself with a gang of TORs. By the time I reach my floor I've had at least one new project suggested to me: "Oh, you're the librarian? You should...[insert whim of appalling proportions]" This "suggestion" (i.e. command) is made to me without respect for my time, the actual details around how much money, effort, personnel it will take and whether or not it will actually matter or have some amount of positive effect.*

Here is a sampling of projects that have been suggested to me:

1. Why not just digitize all of the artists files (all umpteen thousand of them and their contents)?


2. Just get a high-grade color copier in here. How expensive could it be? (Try $15,000 plus the ongoing maintenance contract, the very high cost of replacement cartridges, my time every time it jams...)


3. Why can't we move the archives back here? (All 900 linear feet of them! I don't even have room for all of my books.)


4. You need to get more space so you can buy more books. (No s#@t!!)

We all know that this is one of the worst financial times in the history of the United States. Corporations and non-profits alike are bare-boned with very low morale. Ask anyone. Really, ask anyone. This is a time when we are barely able to maintain, much less take on time- and resource-consuming projects.

I think people think that because not a lot of new things are happening it's because we've just run out of ideas or creativity, rather than the real reason: there is no money, no personnel and little support for taking on anything new. We're all just trying to survive!

I've observed that the number of TOR suggestions (whims) has risen dramatically during this period. Ho hum.

***

So, what prompted me to write about all of this in the first place? It wasn't because a particular suggestion from a TOR finally pushed me over the edge. (That already happened.) I was recently bed-ridden with the flu and spent a good deal of time watching movies. One of my all-time favorite films Pretty in Pink was on. There is a poignant line in the film that started this whole train of thought. Let me set the scene: Andy, the film's protagonist - a girl from literally the wrong side of the tracks - is justifying to her friend Ducky why she should be able to go out with a rich guy like Blaine - someone who's got a lot of money, but is kind and really likes her. She states:

"Hating them because they have money is just as bad as them hating us because we don't."

True. I'll admit that when I initially react to unpleasant TOR suggestions, I tend to be a hater of the wealthy. But Andy has reminded me: it's not the having money part that causes TORs to make others' lives hell, it's that they've lost their common sense.



*Please, please remember I'm a solo librarian. I am the only one who works in my library.

Why Do I Do It?

Recently, a friend referred to my blog as "that one where you complain about the patrons." Geez. That wasn't really the reason I was doing this and I hope it doesn't always come across that way.

My reasons for starting this blog were a. partially cathartic (my hubby can't be the only one who hears these stories; well, J and L, you guys too) and b. partially promotional (I think people need to know what we do in museum libraries!) Everyone who works for non-profits works hard (in theory), but it can be a bit cut-throat. And when people don't understand or appreciate what one's job entails, well you're more likely to be suggested for the chopping block when the time comes.

I try to raise awareness about the workings and reality of the museum library. I also hope other librarians read this and say "I'm glad I'm not the only one who does/experiences this." We gotta stick together and I hope people get that.

Do I spend a lot of my blog-space complaining about patrons? I don't see it that way. I try to observe and report.

Yes, I do mention things that annoy me. There was the guy who wanted me to read to him over the phone and the lady who needed her art to be the real thing. There was the idiot-savant Pez kid and the guy who got mad that I didn't know "Bob". There was that Bob and, of course, my foot guy.

But, there was also the appreciative patron and the book fairies. I talk about my amazing volunteers and the the discoveries we make. I talk about the thrill of finding something you thought would have been impossible and about the patron who went above and beyond to show thanks.

Lastly, I get to talk about books. I talk about new books, books on uncomfortable subjects, books that make me question everything and books they can't display at the public library.

I love my job. I really do and I hope I get to keep a while longer.

I'd love to hear more comments. I hope you know I'm not just complaining.

Another Weird One

Whoa, it isn't a full moon, but it should be.

My day started off on the wrong note... I run for the bus and barely make it (nothing like getting on a packed bus panting) and sit down in the last remaining seat. I should have scrutinized the person in the seat next to me - I would have opted to stand. He is obviously drunk (it's 8:15am folks) and really smells. At this point we've gotten to the next stop and the bus is now full to the brim with people standing and I really have nowhere to go.

I've got my iPod up very loud, but I can tell he's trying to talk to me about something. I look over and he puts his face very close to mine and says "how are you darling?" I show him I've got my iPod on and that I can't hear and hope he'll just leave me alone. He doesn't. He keeps talking, then does stop, but passes out and slumps over on me. It takes all of my strength not to fall off the seat into the person standing next to me. When the bus gets to the next stop, I just get up and move to the back of the bus pushing my way through people. He's startled when he falls over. Then, poor thing, another woman sits down next to him and the whole things starts over again.

I get to work and things are going fine. I'm getting a lot done and I've had some wonderful patrons. Then, my foot friend arrives. [What is it that I do that attracts weird men? My husband calls it the "geek beacon," I call it the "freak beacon."] He's been in the library a lot recently and always manages to kiss my hand (I've been careful to stay behind things so he can't see my feet...) He tells me he needs to talk to me about something. Uh oh. He explains that he really wants to volunteer for me. He'll do anything I need him to do.

Oh man. Quickly, I try to think of something to say that will end this and not have him ask me about it again. I can't and I say, "well, I have enough volunteers right now, but that's nice of you to offer." Not good enough. He asks "when will you have room for more volunteers?" I say, "I'm not sure, but you can always submit a volunteer application and if something comes up, you'll be alerted." Okay, he seems satisfied. After he leaves, I immediately alert our Manager of Volunteer Programs to be on the lookout for this application and to not send him my way. [She's great and I know she will help resolve this professionally if need be.]

Okay, hopefully that's enough of weird men for today...nope. After the foot guy leaves another unusual patron comes in. I've seen him before, but it's been a while. The last time he was in I helped him with what I remembered to be a legitimate research request. He was a little socially inept, but definitely within normal limits. Well, this time I think he was off his medication. He was mumbling feverishly and I really couldn't understand anything he was saying. As he was talking, one of our security supervisors came in (in street clothes) and sat down at one of the computers. Maybe he wants to use the library? Moments later, a guard comes in and then another. Okay, something's going on. I didn't call security, but obviously someone else did.

This patron stops talking to me and sits down at one of the computers. I guess he noticed the guards because moments later, he just stood up and left quickly. The two guards follow. I ask the head of security what was going on. He tells me that this guy was seen and heard in the bathroom earlier saying something about anthrax and art work. Super.

Addendum: I neglected to mention that we also had a fire alarm in the afternoon amidst all of this. It was incredibly blustery outside while we waited for the fire department to give the all-clear...to add insult to injury.

"Volunteers can do it..." and Other Forms of Entitlement

Yeah, my pledge to put more positive stuff on this blog is being broken straightaway. These last few weeks have been a bit trying. Things have gotten a little tense at times in the library. We just opened several new exhibitions and everybody needs everything...now!

I hold myself partially responsible for some of this activity. The librarian who was here before me was not a fan of our docent corps (tour guides). She told me that bluntly in the one hour she spent with me before riding off into the sunset never to be heard from again. She didn't really like them using the library and they certainly couldn't check out books. Maybe I should have heeded her warning: "Give them an inch and they'll take a mile."

I tried a different take on this. We expanded an existing separate library for them and allowed them to check books out from there at will. I also started the practice of allowing them to check out books for short amounts of time from the general collection - the same collection that circulates to the staff.

This privilege has gotten more and more abused over time. Even though they promise to bring books back in a week, I might not see them for months. Even after this lengthy period, I still have to call, email, then call again to get a book brought back. And then I'm made to feel as if I've ask them to do something very inconvenient. I'm going to implement a reserve desk - with hourly limits - for the next series of exhibitions. I can't wait to see/hear/experience the reaction.

In the meantime, I've had to deal with person after person being upset about a book not being available. I've been told to "well call that person and tell them I want it" when the person checked out the book mere moments before this person arrived. We even bought five copies of some books (which we do NOT have the money to do) and that still wasn't enough. I think if one more person came in and was rude to me about not having a book wrapped and waiting for them to arrive, I might have honestly lost it.

As with many museums, we've suffered financially and personnel have been laid off. Our Audio Visual Department suffered greatly. They were the ones responsible for recording the training presentations that happen. In the past, the idea was that if you missed a training session, you could check out a DVD as a substitute. As you can imagine, soon everyone was like "why should I go to the training if I can just watch it at my leisure later on?" Now, when that department was reduced, everyone was told - several times - that not everything was going to be recorded. Again, they were told this several times in a number of formats (web site, email, in person).

Still people come in and ask where the training DVDs are and get upset - very upset - when I say we don't have them. I explain that some things weren't recorded because of the reduction of staff. "Well, what am I supposed to do then?" one says to me. [Okay, here's another pet peeve of mine: I hate it when someone asks me a question un-rhetorically that I obviously can't answer and then they will wait until I give a response.] What I wanted to say is "maybe you should think about coming to the training next time," but I didn't. I want to also point out that I am merely a resource for them; I do not oversee them, I am not responsible for them.

The other thing which frequently rears its head is "why can't volunteers can do it?" Librarians suffer from this profession-demeaning phenomena a lot. "What do you do? You check books in; you check books out. How hard can it be?" They think that the education (ten years in my case), training and experience are something one can get in a few hours of volunteer training. The same obviously applies to the A/V field. "Well, if they laid people off, then you should get volunteers to do it." [Again, I'm not the person in charge of this, but I am told this frequently.] Our A/V staff have years of training and have to operate very expensive, delicate and technically complex equipment. Most of them, in fact, are filmmakers or people who are passionate about film. The folks in charge of the docents did actually try to use volunteers at one point and it failed miserably.

I want to also make a point about replacing what was once a paid qualifications-preferred position with a volunteer one. Once you make the replacement, it's incredibly hard to go back to paying for that service in the future. Any of us who work for non-profits know this - if there is a way not to pay for the service, the administration will figure out a way to do it in perpetuity.

I guess I just wish rather than acting entitled, people would be a little more sympathetic to the fact that we're in an economy where people are losing their jobs and services are being cut, but we're all still trying to do the best job we can under really difficult circumstances.

Something Wonderful

Yes, I use this blog to express my frustrations on a variety of topics - namely patrons who are rude, act entitled or are oblivious to the demands of my job.

I was recently reminded, however, that for every one of the frustrating encounters I have, I have an equally positive - and sometimes truly gratifying - experience. I shared one of these experiences more than a year ago. Like the evening news, with this blog I tend to dwell on the negative, rather than the positive things.

I'll try to be better about the balance. I'm a positive person in real life. Maybe that's been hard to pick up on?

At any rate, about a month ago a person emailed me from very far away with a very normal request: he had some work by an artist local to my geographic area and wanted to know if I could find some information about him. This was actually a pretty easy request. I hit my normal artist databases and found great information. We even had an artist file on the artist.

I photocopied everything from the file and printed out the additional information. I got the patron's address and mailed everything to him. Super easy.

Now this is usually the end of the story. I never hear if the person received it and have no idea if anything became of the work in question. That's totally fine. I don't expect anything.

A couple of weeks later, however, something wonderful happened. I received a very gracious letter in the mail from the patron. He compliments the service, explains how the information will help him and gives me a little insight into his situation: he's retired, he had always been an art lover, but age and physical ability have kept him from visiting museums as he would like. He also enclosed a book he had written and signed it to me. I learn through a little research that he is a well-respected oceanographer who has published extensively.

I now not only feel appreciated; I feel loved.

Seven Days

I recently read the book Seven Days in the Art World by sociologist, and occasional contributor to The New Yorker and The BBC, Sarah Thornton. Booklist summarizes it this way:

Art and business, personal quests and personality cults, big bucks and the triumph of concept over beauty, being cool and in the know—these are the cardinal points in the contemporary art world. Enter Thornton, an art historian and sociologist with moxie and a brilliant game plan. Willing to ask obvious questions, she infiltrates the seven circles of this competitive realm.

Even though I work at a museum that has a pretty substantial contemporary art collection, I still found the information in this book eye-opening and informative. It also made me seriously question the validity of contemporary art.

This book exposed my concern with the idea of the artist's studio. What does it really mean when the "artist" is merely the concept person, not the maker? It also gave a voice to my suspicion that collecting has little to do with the work: is it truly because of a passion for the art or because contemporary art happens to be preferred commodity of the jet set?

My declared area in graduate school was the Renaissance, specifically book production in Italy. I've always loved historical art more than contemporary, but often feel guilty about that - it's contemporary art that's where it's at.

I thought a lot about art styles and periods that I really like: early-printed European books, lush Venetian cinquecento paintings, the Hudson River School painters, the French Academic painters, the German Enlightenment painters, Gilded Age portraiture, French and British porcelain, 19th century photography, and, admittedly, many many contemporary photographers, specifically: Loretta Lux, Katy Grannan and Niki Lee.

Maybe it's the conceptual part of contemporary art that alludes me. Maybe it's the documentation aspect of historical art that attracts me. Maybe I just need to see beauty and feel like that's not really the aim of most contemporary work.

Don't get me wrong. There are contemporary painters, installation artists and sculptors I like as well, but I often fear I like them for the wrong reasons:

• Damien Hirst is quite handsome and friends with a lot of cool rock stars.
• Jeff Koons is admittedly a bastard and I detest a great deal of his work, but some of it just makes me happy.
• Anne Hamilton has ended up with dead animals in several of her installations, but I appreciate the immense coordination, sensory overload and technique that goes into her work.
• Liam Gillick is also quite lovely and has a beautiful voice.

See what I mean?

My own contemporary art collection (which is very modest) is mostly photographs. I have them because they were made by a friend and/or speak to me in a very meaningful way. They stir some emotion in me or remind me of something. They document something: a place, a friendship, a history.

I'd be interested to hear from others who've read this book. What is your opinion of Contemporary Art? Did it change by reading the book?