2-The History of Conservation

Conservation’s Prehistory
Keeping, safeguarding, and repairing objects are not a uniquely modern concern;
however, what we now call ‘conservation’ is a product of the mid-to-late 19th century
and the 20th century.1 To understand how it has developed, it is necessary to look at
why and how objects were preserved through history.2
Each civilisation collects and cares for the objects it values most highly. The
necessities of life in the hunter-gatherer communities of our Palaeolithic and
Mesolithic past required that everything had to be carried from one location to
another to find and exploit food resources.3 Function was valued and the few attempts
to repair and restore things that have come down to us, such as the Montastruc spear
thrower suggest that preserving function was important, although aesthetics or other
factors may have played a secondary role (Ward et al. 2009). Bitumen repairs on stone
and ceramic objects in the Neolithic and Bronze Age suggest similar motivations
(Dooijes and Nieuwenhuyse 2009).
By the Greek and Roman Period, aesthetics played an important role in the retention
and appreciation of objects, and we begin to see the names of makers (or artists)
being associated with their works. Additionally, objects began to serve an
educational component. Public displays of art showcased the wealth, authority and
exceptional achievements of men who commissioned them. Greek sculpture was va-
lued by the Romans and taken as booty to decorate monuments, serving also as
testimonies to the military accomplishments of victorious Roman generals (Kousser
2015). In his Natural History, Pliny the Elder cites a reverence for objects of the past as
the reason that ‘restoration’ was undertaken by the Romans on both objects and
monuments (Sease 1996). There are also references by both Ancient Greek and Roman
writers to the damaging effects of damp, light, and the threat posed by fire and
insects (Strong 1973; Caple 2011: 2–5) indicating that the individuals collecting
objects were aware of the need to care for them and had some understanding of what
we might now term the agents of deterioration.
During the early medieval period, we see tantalising glimpses of preservation efforts
tied to the curation of older items, for example, the signature of an Anglo-Saxon me-
talsmith on a reworked and restored brooch (Penn 2000). There are also continued
efforts to combat decay mechanisms, such as the storage of manuscripts in satchels
(Case Study 6B: Loch Glashan Satchel). However, functionality continues to be the
focus and instances of preservation were balanced with instances of loss as many ancient
buildings and structures were dismantled and used as quarries for pre-worked stone.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003009078-2
 The History of
Conservation 29
The Renaissance interest in the Classical world and its art meant that it became
fashionable for elite individuals to collect classical statuary and architectural details
recovered from excavations at Roman, Etruscan, and Greek sites and to display them
in their gardens, private rooms, and public spaces. These pieces were rarely displayed
as found, but instead were normally cleaned and often restored. Following the ex-
ample of Cosimo de Medici in Florence, who employed Donatello to consult on the
cleaning and acquisition of his antiquities (Sirèn 1914: 444), Cardinal Andrea della
Valle (1463–1534) commissioned the sculptor Lorenzo di Ludovico to complete some
of his broken classical marble statues, adding heads, arms, and legs as required. This
appears to have set a trend for restoration, Vasari commented in 1550 ‘antiquities thus
restored certainly possess more grace than those mutilated trunks, members without
heads or figures in any other way maimed and defective’ (Jokilehto 1999: 23). The
sculptor Cellini regarded such work as the province of inferior artists, but did in fact
undertake it himself, as he records chiselling off the earth and corrosion products
covering classical bronze statues (Cellini 1878; Sease 1996). These restorations sought
to repair the work and integrate the aesthetic values of the pieces. The sculptors did
not know the exact form of the original and often used a certain amount of artistic
license in reconstructing the piece, as evidenced by the various designs submitted to
the contest to restore The Laocoön.
Not all works of art were restored. From the very first some statues, such as the
Belvedere Torso of Hercules, were deliberately displayed in the broken state in which
they were found (Jokilehto 1999: 24). Artists and sculptors such as Canova, refused to
restore the figures carved by Phidias that Lord Elgin removed from the Parthenon,
claiming it would be sacrilege to touch them (Podany 1994). This duality of approach,
some objects restored, others preserved ‘as found’, continues to the present day.
The publication of Giorgio Vasari’s Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors,
and Architects in 1550, helped to establish the scholarly tradition of art history and
connoisseurship that has been considered a mark of education and refined taste in
Western European society ever since. This book also introduced the notion that the
works of dead artists should have more value than the work of living ones and es-
tablished the cult of the ‘old masters’. Despite an increasing veneration of ‘old art’
throughout the 18th century, restoration work could still be extensive, and artists of
the ability of van Dyck and Sir Joshua Reynolds undertook restoration work (Kirby
Talley 1998). The involvement of lesser artists in the process, and the high fees artists
often commanded for this work, led to controversy, as did matters of aesthetics. The
declaration by the art patron and tastemaker, Sir George Beaumont (1753–1827), that
‘a good picture like a good fiddle should be brown’ profoundly influenced taste to the
extent that works were deliberately varnished with mixtures that would discolour and
create a golden haze (Kirby Talley 1998). Artists like Hogarth, who lampooned it in
his print Time Smoking a Painting, contested this aesthetic but it has remained a
dominant one leading to cleaning controversies throughout the 19th Even in the late
20th century, the critique levelled at the conservation of the Sistine Ceiling echoed this
idea (Beck and Daley 1996; Case Study 5A).

The ‘Three-Legged Stool’

By the late 17th century, the taste for classical Greece and Rome had taken hold in
Northern Europe and aristocratic young men were starting to make the Grand Tour
 The History of
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to visit Rome and the lands of the Mediterranean, a practice that peaked in the 18th
and early 19th centuries. Souvenirs of these travels included ancient statuary, cera-
mics, and coins as well as paintings. Over time, these objects began to coalesce (along
with other more locally excavated objects) into national collections that highlighted
both the national identities and learning of their host nations as well as their imperial
aspirations. To serve these goals, objects needed to look complete, impressive, and
well-maintained. By 1836, the British Museum was employing John Doubleday as a
craftsman to clean and repair objects in its collections. Subsequent appointments of
George Smith, Robert Sparrow, and W.H. Ready as craftsmen cleaners and repairers
of objects in the British Museum were part of a continuing tradition of employing
craftsmen-restorers to ensure that the collections were, as specified in the British
Museum Act of 1753, ‘preserved and maintained, not only for the Inspection and
Entertainment of the learned and the curious, but for the general Use and Benefit of
the Public’ (Watkins 1997: 223). Similar craftsmen-restorer appointments were made
at the Ashmolean Museum including G.A. Rowell and W.H. Young (Norman 2001;
Schmisseur 2016). However, the names of many such individuals working in similar
roles throughout Britain and the rest of the Europe remain unrecorded. The focus of
their work was purely aesthetic, to transform dirty degraded fragments to complete
objects which would engage the public: a continuity of the ‘aesthetic integration’ of the
Renaissance. This is best exemplified by Doubleday’s reassembly of the shattered
fragments of the Portland Vase, smashed by a vandal in 1845 (see Case study 2A),
which is a shining example of their skill. No recording, no analysis, no ethical dis-
cussion was requested of these skilful men by their appreciative museum directors.
This ‘age of craftsmen’ is perhaps best summed up by the description of one of the last
such individuals, Arthur Trotman. Appointed in 1936 as a ‘boy learner’ to assist in
objects restoration work at the Museum of London, Sir Mortimer Wheeler said of
Trotman ‘most of his brains were in his hands’ (Johnson 2001).
Throughout Europe, the enthusiasm for recovering archaeological remains, prompted
by the discoveries at Herculaneum and Pompeii, led many antiquarians to attempt to
clean and stabilise the fragile, decaying objects they recovered from the ground.
Doubleday was mentioned, by Sir Henry Layard, as being particularly skilful in
conserving the ivories from his Nineveh excavations. In Denmark, the collections of The
National Museum in Copenhagen, founded in 1807, were classified and catalo- gued
by C.J. Thomsen, who cleaned objects in the collection using vinegar and car-
borundum and paid others to wash clean the runestones in the collection (Brinch
Madsen 1987). Thomsen was an archaeologist who, working with colleagues such as
Christian Herbst, Japetus Stenstrup, and Christian Jorgansen, developed or utilised a
number of techniques for conserving freshly excavated finds, including leaving soft
freshly excavated prehistoric pots to stand and dry in order to harden and pre- serving
fragile finds from the Hvidegard grave at Lyngby by coating them with shellac
immediately after they were discovered. Thomsen also preserved waterlogged wood
by boiling the wood twice in a solution of alum and coating it, about a month later,
in purified linseed oil. This marked the start of the treatment of waterlogged
archaeological materials although it has often received little recognition since it was
published in Danish (Brinch Madsen 1987; Brinch Madsen et al. 2001). More widely
read as it was published in English was advice by Flinders Petrie published in 1888 on
‘the treatment of small finds’ in the Archaeological Journal, while Albert Voss,
the director of the Berlin Museums, published the German handbook Merkbuch
 The History of
Conservation 31
(Caldararo 1987; Seeley 1987). Throughout the 19th century, most advice and infor-
mation, both to and from antiquarians regarding cleaning and care of their artefacts,
comes in the form of discussions or private letters.
The difficult preservation problems posed by some archaeological objects and the
instability of many salt-ridden objects excavated in Southern Europe and the Near
East, once they were brought to Northern Europe, led to the involvement of chemists
in the study of decay mechanisms and the pairing of scientific lines of inquiry with the
crafts-based approaches of the past. The very delicate charred papyri uncovered in
1752 in the Villa of the Papyri at Herculaneum were some of the first finds to incite
scientific investigation. They were a source of interest for many scholars and there was
a desire to unroll them and access the contents. Work in the late 18th century by
Antonio Piaggio, a Genoese monk and sub-librarian at the Vatican, led to the
development of a technique for gradually unrolling and supporting these papyri scrolls
by gluing them onto a thin backing of parchment (Seeley 1987). This technique was
not always successful, but many of the less charred papyri were unrolled and trans-
lated. The British Prince Regent was fascinated by these discoveries and acquired
copies of the translations. After he became King George IV in 1818, he instructed the
President of the Royal Society, Sir Humphrey Davy, to study the remaining papyri.
Davy, who had previously analysed classical wall paintings and vases, undertook a
coherent body of research seeking to examine the condition of these papyri, looking
for the cause of their decay, prior to devising a solution to the problem (Davy 1821).
This is an approach that we would recognise as modern conservation research, a
tradition of investigating the material and determining its process of decay. It was
copied in 1826 by Sir Humphrey’s brother Dr John Davy in his investigation of the
corrosion on an ancient Greek copper alloy helmet (Davy 1826). Similar scientific
exploration of the relationship between a material’s composition, environment, and
decay was shown by Sir David Brewster in his work on iridescence on glass (Brewster
1861) and James Fowler in his extensive work on the corrosion of glass (Fowler 1880).
Throughout the mid-19th century, in addition to using craftsman-restorers, the British
Museum consulted notable British scientists such as Faraday, William Brande,
Professor Hoffmann, and Dr Frankland to advise on specific aspects of problems
related to the corrosion of metals and the problem of salts in stone (Watkins 1997).
Scientific investigation was not only limited to archaeological materials, in 1843
Michael Faraday undertook research on the decay of leather book bindings in the
vicinity of gas-lamp burners (Faraday 1843), the phenomena we now know as ‘red
rot’, which he demonstrated was caused by high levels of SO2 (Caldararo 1987). The
problem with gas burners continued to receive attention in later years (Woodward
1888) and marks an awareness about pollution and the environment that has con-
tinued to be important in conservation. Similarly, in 1888, two scientists, Dr W.J.
Russell and Captain Abney, were enlisted to conduct a study of the fading of wa-
tercolours. They conducted extensive experiments on 39 pure colours and 34 mixtures,
subjecting them to different light sources, wavelengths, intensities, exposure times, and
environmental conditions to investigate their permanence (Lambert 2014).
In the mid- to late-19th century, the fashion for Gothic architecture swept through
England, France, and other countries. Many churches were altered to remove original
features and later additions and to recreate imagined gothic interiors and exteriors. In
1877, seeking to prevent further ‘desecration’, William Morris and other luminaries of
the Arts and Crafts movement founded the Society for the Protection of Ancient
 The History of
Conservation 32
Buildings (SPAB). They aimed to stop further ‘restoration’ work and raise the value
and appreciation of the original historic fabric. In the first report of this body, Morris
wrote:

Restoration of ancient buildings … a strange and most fatal idea – which by its
very name implies that it is possible to strip from a building, this, that and the
other part of history, of its life that is, and then to stay the hand at some arbitrary
point and leave it still historical, still living and even as it once was … .
(Morris 1996: 319)

Support for SPAB from academics, architects and the public grew, and schemes to
renovate the tomb of Edward the Confessor in Westminster Abbey and the front of San
Marco in Venice were halted through SPAB pressure (Chamberlin 1979). The idea that
the original fabric of the object and its subsequent history were things that needed to be
considered and respected became an important concept that spread from the preser-
vation of buildings to all objects of the past. When paired with the existing tradition of
craftsmanship and the emerging scientific practices of technical investigation, it formed
part of what George Stout, the first president of the International Institute of
Conservation, described as the ‘three-legged stool’ of conservation (Stoner 2015).

Conservation Emerges: 1888–1950

Perhaps the first instance of conservation as the discipline we know today, can be seen in
the appointment of Friedrich Rathgen as the Director of the newly formed Chemical
laboratory at the Royal Museums of Berlin in 1888. Rathgen, a young chemist was tasked
with solving the problems of ancient Egyptian artefacts excavated in the 1830s by the
German archaeologist Lepsius and transported to the Royal Museum in Berlin. They
were showing signs of significant decay. Rathgen created a laboratory and developed
many of the earliest conservation treatments, such as the desalination of stone, the baking
of unfired clay tablets to preserve their inscriptions, and the use of synthetic polymers for
adhesion and for coating artefacts. Rathgen collaborated with and built on the work of
others. In 1889, Adolf Finkener developed electrolytic reduction to treat corroding
bronze objects, while in 1892 Axel Krefting developed electrochemical reduction for
cleaning corroding antiquities. Rathgen used and developed these methods and utilised
the work of Marcellin Berthelot who, in regular papers to the French Academy of
Sciences, had identified the role of chloride ions in causing high rates of decay in copper
alloy objects. Crucially, Rathgen carefully diagnosed the nature of the decay of the ar-
tefacts and kept records monitoring progress. Thus, he was able to start building up a
record of successful techniques, which could then be repeated. In 1898, Rathgen pro-
duced one of the first textbooks on conservation Die Konservierung von Altumsfunden
(The Conservation of Antiquities), which was translated into English in 1905 (Gilberg
1987). In 1915, he revised, enlarged, and republished it adding materials about the
conservation of ethnographic, folk art, and museum objects. The German loss of power
and influence after World War I meant that few read Rathgen’s later work, and the work
of British and American authors on conservation became better known (Gilberg 1987).
Rathgen’s appointment was followed, albeit slowly, by the formation of similar labs
elsewhere. In 1890, Georg Rosenberg was appointed to the National Museum in
Copenhagen. Trained as a sculptor, he taught himself the science he needed and
 The History of
Conservation 33
established conservation laboratories and procedures in the Danish National Museum.
He was also an early advocate of preventive conservation measures (Rosenberg 1917,
1933). After the discovery of severe mould, corrosion and soluble- salt damage
affecting the British Museum’s collections stored in the damp conditions of the London
Underground system during World War I, Dr Alexander Scott of the British
Government’s Department of Science and Industrial Research was seconded to the
British Museum to provide greater scientific input for the preservation of the
collections (Plenderleith 1998). He published a number of reports in the 1920s under
the general title The Cleaning and Restoration of Museum Exhibits and established
laboratory facilities in the British Museum. The lab ran on a shoestring but was a
vibrant place that was regularly visited by archaeologists such as Leonard Wooley,
Howard Carter, Alfred Lucas, who brought samples and compared techniques for
preserving artefacts (Plenderleith 1998). Lucas, a chemist who directed the conser-
vation of the finds from Tutankhamen’s tomb, subsequently wrote an influential book
Antiques: Their Restoration and Preservation in 1924, based on his work on the objects
from the tomb, followed in 1926 by Ancient Egyptian Materials and Industries, an
examination of the technological approaches used to make Egyptian artefacts (Gilberg
1997). The excitement about Tutankhamun’s tomb did much to promote the field of
conservation; the public were interested in all things related to the find and Lucas gave
numerous interviews about his work and his efforts to save the boy king’s treasure,
which reached audiences around the world and helped to catalyse the formation of
other laboratories (Williams 2021). Many of these newly formed departments focused
not just on the conservation of objects but also of paintings and other materials.
In 1928, Edward Waldo Forbes, the director of the Fogg Art Museum at Harvard,
established a new Research Department, which was soon renamed the Department of
Conservation and Technical Research. Forbes was interested in what would now be
termed Technical Art History and taught a course on ‘Methods and Processes of
Paintings’ at Harvard. In 1925, he invited Alan Burroughs, an early champion of the
use of x-radiography in the analysis of paintings, to work at the Fogg (Hindin 2014:
8). In 1927, with the opening of a new building to house the Fogg collection, Forbes
hired the artist George Stout, who had trained with a paintings restorer. In 1928,
chemist Rutherford John Gettens joined the team. In 1932, the Fogg began publishing
Technical Studies in the Field of the Fine Arts. It was the first journal dedicated to
conservation and played an important role in sharing methodologies within the nas-
cent field. Additionally, the Fogg conservation team undertook the training of many
aspiring conservators and both staff and students went on to found additional con-
servation programs at museums throughout America (Bewer 2010; Hindin 2014) and
to be influential of the formation of the field.
In 1930, the International Museums Office, a part of the League of Nations’
International Institute of Intellectual Cooperation, convened an international con-
ference in Rome on the ‘Study of Scientific Methods Applied to the Examination and
Conservation of Works of Art’. Nearly 125 delegates from at least 20 nations attended
(Coremans 1969; Hindin 2014). Although the proceedings were not published in their
entirety, Plenderleith and Stout published important articles based on their attendance
in the Museums Journal (Plenderleith 1932) and the Fogg Art Museum Notes (Stout
1931) and additional papers were published in Mouseion (1931).
The 1930s saw the establishment of many conservation laboratories. In 1930 the
Museum of Fine Arts in Boston founded a lab. In 1931, the British Museum
 The History of
Conservation 34
laboratory was permanently established as the British Museum’s Research Laboratory
(Johnson 1993; Oddy 1997). It continued to be involved in training individuals,
generating publications, and giving advice to numerous archaeologists and
museums, shaping conservation in Britain for the rest of the century. In the same
year, the Louvre, the Walters Art Museum, and the fledgling Colonial Williamsburg
Foundation (Williams 2000) established conservation departments. In 1932, the
Gabinetto di Restauro was established in Florence. 1934 saw the es- tablishment
of conservation at the Courtauld and the Brooklyn Museum of Art (under Sheldon
Keck, a former Fogg tutee). Other labs established or formalised in the 1930s
include those at the National Gallery of Art in London (under
F.I.G. Rawlins) and at the Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire in Brussels (under
Paul Coremans).
The build up to war and the Second World War itself limited the establishment of
new laboratories and impacted international exchange; however, communication
between departments and conservators continued. Important exchanges about safe-
guarding art in times of conflict took place in both Britain and the United States
(Brooks 2000; Lambert 2014; Hindin 2014) and Stout’s work with the Monuments,
Fine Arts and Archives Section or ‘Monuments Men’ brought him to Europe and
permitted meetings with Rawlins, Plenderleith, and Coremans. Importantly, the notion
of an association of conservators dedicated to training, establishing standards of
practice and information sharing began to be discussed. The idea gained strength
during the trial of Hans Van Meegeren, when many specialists including Plenderleith,
Rawlins and Coremans were called to testify and during the Weaver Commission
where experts including Stout and Coremans were brought to London to resolve issues
of cleaning at the National Gallery (Brooks 2000). In 1950, the International Institute
for Conservation, the field’s first professional body, was formed. In 1952, IIC began to
produce the journal Studies in Conservation, which remains an important publication
within the conservation field. The organisation grew and spawned regional groups,
some of which have since broken off to establish national conservation bodies such as
the American Institute for Conservation and the United Kingdom Institute for
Conservation (UKIC), which later merged with other UK conservation organisations
to form ICON in 2005.
In 1959, UNESCO founded ICCROM (International Centre for the Study of the
Preservation and Restoration of Cultural Property) in Rome, which in turn supported
ICOM (International Committee of Museums) in an attempt to develop international
standards in the care of cultural property and provide a forum for interchange of ideas
on best practise in all aspects of curating cultural heritage. In 1965, International
Council on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS) ‘a professional association that works
for the conservation and protection of cultural heritage places around the world’ was
founded, following the conference which established the Venice Charter (1964). Along
with IIC, these organisations have advised national governments and international
agencies, provided intellectual leadership for the subject, spurred on the development
of training programs, and fostered international communication between conserva-
tors, architects, archaeologists, curators, and others. They also help establish stan-
dards and extend best practice, which is achieved through publications, guidelines,
charters, and encouraging the development of professional associations that have codes
of ethics and practice.
 The History of
Conservation 35
Conservation Evolves: 1950–Present
Since the end of World War II, conservation has continued to evolve within a broader
sphere of developments in the heritage sector and wider social change, which continue
to shape the field. The damage caused by the Second World War, the urgent need for
housing, and the increasing popularity of automobiles led to the redevelopment of
many urban areas throughout Britain and Europe. Public concern about the loss of
historic buildings and landscapes led to the formation of heritage advocacy groups
and legislative change. In Britain this included the founding of the Victorian Society
(established in 1958 to advocate for Victorian buildings) and the passage of the Town
and Country Planning Act of 1968. The need to provide housing, infrastructure, and
food for a rapidly increasing global population, which has grown from circa 2.5 billion
in 1950 to 7.8 billion in 2020,4 has resulted in threats to heritage in every country.
Economic factors, including post-war debt in European countries and financial
booms in new global markets, meant that significant amounts of art moved from
private ownership to public ownership. In England, for example, death taxes rose to
65% in the aftermath of the war and many landowning families found that they either
had to sell possessions or give them to the government to pay off these taxes. By 1955,
one country house was being demolished every five days while their contents were
often sold to American buyers for export to the United States. In the 21st century, the
economic power of many of the Gulf Oil states and of Asian economies has seen the
migration of art to these areas. As art has become increasingly mobile, it has led not
only to greater international collaboration between experts (curators and conserva-
tors) but also eventually to blockbuster travelling exhibitions, which has prompted
conservators to develop new tools for documenting works of art and for keeping them
safe as they travelled and were exhibited in new venues. As technological advance-
ments altered traditional jobs and household chores, the public had more travel and
leisure time, and heritage became increasingly important to locales as a way of attracting
tourists and their money. Conservation was no longer located only in national museums
and heritage bodies; a wider range of organisations, municipalities, local governments,
and private foundations began to employ conservators and there was also increasing
scope for conservators to go into private practice and to contract their services to
smaller organisations (or private owners) who needed help but could not afford to
retain a conservator full time.
By the late 1980s, it was increasingly apparent that there were large quantities of
heritage and only finite resources (both fiscal and human) to take care of it. Increasing
emphasis was placed on the development of preventive conservation approaches. The
recognition that some environmental factors (light, humidity, pollutants, and pests, for
example) cause damage and that certain actions can mitigate this damage has been
present from the earliest days of collecting (Caple 2011; Staniforth 2013; Lambert 2014).
However, it was not until 1978 and the publication of The Museum Environment by Gary
Thompson that preventive conservation began to emerge from the shadow of inter-
ventive conservation. Work at the Canadian Conservation Institute structured ap-
proaches to the agents of deterioration within a risk management framework further
emphasising the tactical role that preventive conservation can play in the care of large
collections (Costain 1994; Michalski 1994). The rapid introduction of new analytical
techniques and materials, particularly since the 1990s, has also altered the face of
conservation, leading to the reevaluation of old techniques and the need to develop new
 The History of
Conservation 36
ones as well as adding complexity to the training of conservators. There is a broader
knowledge base for the practitioner to master. The global recession between 2007 and
2009 and the financial repercussions of the COVID-19 pandemic have both impacted the
heritage sector, including layoffs and in some cases the permanent closure of heritage
venues (ICOM 2021). While we cannot know the full impact of the pandemic on the field
yet, it has already changed working patterns and opened digital possibilities such as the
virtual couriering of museum loans and virtual conference attendance. Many of these
themes are ones that we will return to throughout this book.

The Emergence of Formal Conservation Training

One of the questions that motivated the formation of IIC was how to train new
conservators and share knowledge. Up until the 1950s, much of the training carried
out was informal or on the job training. In Britain, the Institute of Archaeology had
opened in 1937 and it offered some coursework in conservation as part of its degree
program, but a dedicated conservation training course was not offered until much
later. In 1944, the Instituto Centrale per il Restauro began training paintings conser-
vators in Rome. It was not until 1961 that the first graduate-level program in con-
servation opened; the program at the Institute of Fine Arts at New York University
was led by Sheldon Keck and brought many former members of the Fogg team,
including Gettens and Stout, back together as instructors and advisors (Smyth 1989).
Until this point conservation remained a discipline that most practitioners learned
through apprenticeships and although knowledge was increasingly shared through
publications, the transmission of practical knowledge was largely informal and still
had elements of secrecy associated with it.
On November 4, 1966, an event occurred that stunned the world and changed the face
of the field. After a week of heavy rain, the Arno burst its banks, flooding into Florence
and bringing with it approximately 600,000 tons of mud, rubble, and sewage. An esti-
mated 3–4 million books and manuscripts and 14,000 movable works of art were
damaged. Art students, restorers, scientists, and budding conservators from around the
world flocked to the city to help with salvage efforts. The opportunity to share ideas and
methodologies proved very powerful. New treatments such as phased conservation and
mass-deacidification were trialled and implemented. The entire city became ‘an enor-
mous restoration lab combining expertise, methods, and techniques from around the
world’ (Pintus 2009: 13). Discussions followed about how to continue such engagements
and ensure that treatments were passed down. Formal education was seen as playing a
role. This event contributed to the establishment of a number of training programs
including Cooperstown (now SUNY-Buffalo-1970), the Royal Danish Academy of Fine
Arts (1973), Winterthur/Delaware (1974), and Queens (1974). Simultaneously, the
growth in archaeological and expansion within the University system led to the founding
of courses specialising in archaeological conservation at Cardiff (1974) and Durham
(1976) and the creation of archaeological science programs at other UK universities.
Since the 1970s, conservation programs have continued to open around the world and
there are now a diverse number of programs being offered at both the Bachelors and
Masters levels in countries from China to South Africa.
Formalising the training that conservators receive as well as the creation of ethical
codes of practice and the growing exploration of a discrete theoretical framework,
which goes beyond the ‘hows’ of treatment and begins to consider its ‘whys’, have
 The History of
Conservation 37
been important steps in the professionalism of the field. The creation of a series of
textbooks in the early 2000s, including the initial volume of this book Conservation
Skills, Judgement and Decision-Making (Caple 2000), as well at Liz Pye’s Caring for the
Past (2001), Miriam Clavir’s Preserving What Is Valued (2002), and Salvador Muñoz
Viñas’ Contemporary Theory of Conservation (2005) spoke to this and were initial
attempts at critically examining the field and the ways in which conservators work.
They joined and have been augmented by many specialised publications that focus on
individual materials.5 However, as the knowledge base needed to practice competently
has increased – Joyce Hill Stoner (2015) has commented that what was once a ‘three-
legged stool’ is now a ‘twelve-legged settee’ – and conservation has increasingly moved
out of museum environments and into the commercial/contract realm, conservators
have struggled for visibility and recognition (Henderson 2001; Jones and Holden
2008). Although their contributions differ from many of their allied professions (such
as archaeometry, technical art history and collections management), these differences
are not always clearly visible to the public or to funding bodies who may be com-
missioning work, and concern is frequently voiced about this in professional circles.
Responses to this have included engagement in professional outreach (Williams 2013)
as well as the development of national accreditation and/or certification schemes,
which seek formal demonstration of competence in key skills and on-going proof that
these skills are being developed and maintained. Additionally, the growing number of
conservators seeking PhDs signals the field’s evolution away from its technical/crafts-
based origins towards a more mature and well-rounded discipline.

2A Case Study: The Portland Vase (Smith 1992; Williams 1989)

This Roman glass vase, composed of white cameo-cut glass depicting a

classical scene on a deep blue background, was probably created in the first
century AD or BC. Clearly of the finest craftsmanship, it had always been a
prized object and was disinterred in 1582 from a marble sarcophagus located
beneath a huge burial mound south of Rome, believed to be that of Emperor
Alexander Severus (222–235 AD). The vase passed through the hands of
several owners before the Dowager Duchess of Portland acquired it in 1783. In
1810, The 4th Duke of Portland loaned the vase to the British Museum for
display and safe keeping. In 1845, William Lloyd, a young man described as
being ‘in a state of nervous excitement after a week of drinking’ used a heavy
object to smash the museum case and shatter the Portland vase into hundreds
of fragments. He could provide no reason for his vandalism and was sentenced
to pay £3.00 or serve two months hard labour for the destruction of the museum
case. He could not be prosecuted for the destruction of the vase as the Wilful
Damage Act only applied to objects up to a value of £5.00. Subsequently, in
response to this crime, Parliament passed The Protection of Works of Art and
Scientific and Library Collections Act.
In 1845, the craftsman-restorer at the British Museum, John Doubleday, reassembled
the vase, although 37 of the fragments could not be fitted into the restoration. The vase
was displayed in this form until 1948 when, following its purchase by the British Museum,
another restoration was conducted. The vase was ‘taken down’ and reassembled by the
 The History of
Conservation 38
museum’s chief restorer, J.H.W. Axtell but 34 fragments still could not be incorporated
into the restored vase. By 1988, the adhesive used in Axtell’s reassembly had begun to
turn yellowish-brown in colour. Tapping the glass produced a dull knock, rather than a
ringing sound, which indicated the presence of unadhered cracks in the restored vase,
and areas of the 1945 gap filling had visibly shrunk. Therefore, Nigel Williams and
Sandra Smith, senior conservators in the Glass and Ceramics section of the British
Museum Conservation Department, undertook the re-conservation of this vessel.
There were no records from the 1845 and 1948 restorations of the vase, only
a watercolour by T. Hasmer Sheperd immortalising the smashed fragments and
the occasional image of the conserved vessel. The adhesive used in the 1948
restoration was unknown and when retired staff members were consulted, each
gave a different answer. The gap fills were made of pigmented wax. Following
the creation of temporary inner and outer moulds of blotting paper, the inner
one stiffened with a thin wash of plaster of Paris, the vase was left in an
atmosphere of water vapour and methylene chloride (1,1,1-trichloromethane)
for three days, which softened the adhesive and allowed the glass fragments to
be removed one by one. The fact that the adhesive was so degraded that it
softened in the atmosphere, composed largely of water vapour, vindicated the
judgement that re-conservation was needed due to the weakened state of the
object. After mechanically removing the remaining adhesive from the edges of
the sherds and cleaning the dirt and dust from the surface, through gentle
washing in a solution of non-ionic detergent, 189 separate sherds were ready
for reassembly. In reassembling the sherds, it was essential to choose a stable
adhesive that would not discolour and would hold the vessel together
effectively for many decades. It was also necessary to hold the glass fragments
together in their exact registration so that there were no steps or gaps between
the fragments. After testing, it was found that the most effective way to achieve
these criteria was to use two adhesives: one, a slow curing (seven days) epoxy
resin (Hxtal NYL) as the principal adhesive, the second a quick-setting UV
cured acrylic resin applied in small patches just to hold the glass sherds
together in the correct position while the epoxy resin gradually set. This
necessitated the use of a strong UV source to ensure the acrylic set quickly.
It proved difficult to line up the pieces of glass accurately while wearing
protective gloves and goggles, essential when using the UV source ( Smith
1992). The reassembly continued well up to the level of the shoulder; however,
above this level around the neck of the vessel the sherds did not always fit
together well. Closer examination revealed that, in a previous restoration, the
pieces had been abraded with a file to make them fit, resulting in gaps between
some of the sherds ( Smith 1992). To achieve the correct shape of the vase,
these missing areas were subsequently gap-filled. All but seventeen minuscule
fragments were incorporated in the new reconstruction of the vase ( Williams
1989). They all came from heavily damaged areas, where glass was missing
due to the damage caused by the original breaking of the vase in 1845. The
missing areas of glass were filled with epoxy resin tinted to resemble the glass.
In creating the gap-fills, although the original shape of the blue background was
clear, the details of the white cameo-cut figures were less certain. However,
 The History of
Conservation 39
plaster casts and drawings of the vase made in the 16th century provided the
information required to enable an exact copy of the original lines and
decoration of the figures to be created. The whole vessel was subsequently
given a coat of microcrystalline wax to restore the sheen to the surface of the
glass ( Smith 1992; Williams 1989) ( Figure 2.1).
The decision to dismantle and reassemble the vessel was dictated by the
fragility of the 1948 restoration and the clear risk to the vase’s continued
integrity. It was also apparent that building on developments in the restoration
of glass and ceramic vessels, considerable improvement in the visual appear-
ance of the object could be achieved using more stable modern materials. The
conservators prioritised the need for good adhesion between the glass
fragments over other considerations such as reversibility, and thus an
irreversible epoxy resin adhesive was chosen. The gap fills and surface coating
of wax restored its visual integrity (aesthetic quality) an important quality for its
role as a display object. The 1988 conservation campaign revealed the
deficiencies of the earlier restorers, both in terms of the lack of records and
in terms of damaging the object. These practices were not unusual for the time,
but they do demonstrate how conservation standards have evolved.

Figure 2.1 The Portland Vase, after conservation. ©Trustees of the British Museum.
 The History of
Conservation 40
2B Case Study: The Sutton Hoo Helmet (Maryon 1947; Williams
1992)
The Sutton Hoo helmet, discovered in the rich Saxon boat burial at Sutton Hoo in East
Anglia, consisted of nearly 500 pieces of mineralised iron and gilded-bronze when found.
Excavated hurriedly in 1939 on the eve of World War II (Bruce-Mitford 1978; Evans
1986) and stored throughout the war, subsequent analysis of the contents of the grave
suggests that it belonged to Raedwald, the Anglo-Saxon king of East Anglia, who died
around AD 625. Herbert Maryon initially undertook the conservation and reconstruction
of the helmet in 1946 at the British Museum Research Laboratory (Maryon 1947). His
initial reconstruction was subsequently taken down and reconstructed in 1968–1969 by
Nigel Williams and the staff of the British Museum (Williams 1992).
X-radiographic examination and physical cleaning of the helmet fragments,
together with some elemental analysis, revealed that the helmet was composed
of iron plates decorated with thin tinned-bronze foils that were stamped with a
series of complex figurative and decorative designs. Decorative gilded-bronze
castings inlaid with silver wires, niello, and garnets formed a nosepiece with
moustache and mouth, eyebrows, and crest terminals. The thin tinned and
stamped bronze foils were affixed to the exterior of the iron plates using fluted
bronze strips, which overlay the foils and were riveted to the helmet. The
corrosion processes had fused the iron and thin bronze foils and strips
together, forming a brown mineralised crust.
There were no photos or other records documenting the original positions of
the pieces during excavation, thus the only guide was to try to piece together
the helmet from the corroded iron pieces using actual joins between the pieces,
the patterns of the decorative foils and the lines of fluted strip visible on the
surface of many of the pieces. Comparison with the decorative and stylistic
features of a series of similar helmets from Vendel culture graves in Sweden
suggested the helmet was composed of a skullcap to which a face mask, neck
guard, and ear flaps were attached.
Maryon’s original restoration, which did not incorporate every piece, was
heavily based on what little had been published about the Vendel helmets by
1946. After months of piecing together mineralised helmet fragments, he
mounted them onto a preformed head made from plaster of Paris. Wire mesh
and plaster backing were used for the earflaps. Any remaining gaps between
the helmet fragments were filled with more plaster, which was coloured with
brown umber to match the corroded iron. The principal lines of the fluted strip
and decorative plates were incised into the plaster to give the viewer a clear
impression of the helmet as a whole ( Figure 2.2).
Subsequently, as additional information about Saxon and Vendel helmets
became available, new excavations at the site revealed additional pieces of the
helmet, and certain practical limitations to the reconstructed form became
apparent, a new restoration was required. It was only because there was a first
restoration that could be constructively criticised, that there was the impetus
and greater knowledge needed for a second restoration.
 The History of
Conservation 41
It is unclear to what extent Maryon was conscious of using reversible
materials when he made his first reconstruction. Removing heavily corroded
iron pieces from a plaster backing is not a simple task; however, due to the
difference in density between the corroded iron and plaster, the original
reconstruction could be X-rayed, and the original helmet fragments and
restorative plaster distinguished. Then the brittle nature of the plaster made
it possible to remove the plaster from around the corroded iron leaving the
pieces of the original helmet largely intact. Thus, the first reconstruction proved
to be physically reversible, although it did require considerable effort.

Figure 2.2 Sutton Hoo Helmet: the original 1946 reconstruction. ©Trustees of the
British Museum.
 The History of
Conservation 42
The limited cleaning that the mineralised iron fragments received prior to the first
restoration ensured that much evidence remained. There were variations in
thickness and corrosion patterns on the inside of the helmet that may have related
to internal leather padding and traces of gilding on the bronze strips near the
helmet’s crest. This information, together with a clearer understanding of the nature
and arrangement of the tinned-bronze plaques on the helmet exterior, allowed the
second restoration to place many more fragments in their original locations. After the
position of as many of the fragments as possible had been determined, they were
adhered together, and the missing areas infilled with a jute textile stiffened with
adhesive, which was heat softened to form the curved shape of the missing areas
and covered with pigmented plaster of Paris to recreate the full visual appearance of
the helmet. This second restoration was larger than the original and gave greater
protection to the head in the form of more effective earflaps and less room for sword
thrusts at the neck and eyeholes. A clear pattern was established for the punched
decorated bronze plaques and the location of all the cast dragon’s-head terminals,
including one which had not been incorporated in the original reconstruction, were
found. This second restoration is widely accepted as more accurate than the first
( Figure 2.3). The Tower of London armouries created a replica of the helmet that is
currently displayed beside the original enabling museum visitors to appreciate how
the helmet originally appeared ( Figure 6.3).
Maryon’s work, like the efforts of Renaissance sculptors as they approached
classical statuary, was hindered by a lack of information as to how the helmet
should look. However, in assessing Maryon’s approach, it is important to
remember that the iron fragments by themselves would have provided little
interest to visitors or possibly even to scholars (after all museum stores are full
of fragments of corroded iron). His efforts resulted in a recognisable object that
could be appreciated and critiqued, and which could contribute to scholarly
dialogue. The images and information generated both during his restoration
and the later work by Williams indicate how new conservation interventions can
add to historic ones. The restored helmet has been illustrated in almost every
book on the Anglo-Saxon period produced since World War II and it is one of
the British Museum’s most iconic objects.
 The History of
Conservation 43

Figure 2.3 Sutton Hoo Helmet: the 1968/9 reconstruction. ©Trustees of the British Museum.

Notes
1 Conservation in Western Europe and North America tradition developed out of a desire for
evidence, (a provable truth – creating not ‘a past’ but ‘the past’) a tradition stretching back to
the Age of Enlightenment. However, other cultures do not necessarily place the same value on
material evidence and may value other aspects more highly, such as tradition, intangible
attributes or the form and decoration of the object. Replacing decayed parts to preserve the
form or materials of the object or repainting the motifs on an object’s surface may serve as
desirable means of preserving both the tradition of making an object and its intangible at-
tributes. These activities can also be understood as falling within the wider sphere of con-
servation.
2 What follows is a brief history of object conservation with some examples of sculpture and
painting conservation to illustrate similarities or divergences. Each subdiscipline of conser-
vation has its own history of repair, restoration, and evolution.
3 Surviving Palaeolithic art occurs as small carved and incised designs on bone/ivory or stone,
such as the lion man sculpture from Stadel Cave in Germany, or as art on the walls of caves,
such as Altamira (Cook 2013). This may be the result of differential preservation processes
where only robust materials from caves survives or because of the peripatetic nature of the
hunter gatherer community who needed to carry everything that they needed for life with
them.
 The History of
Conservation 44

4 World population by year taken from www.worldometer.info/world-population/worl- population-by-year/,

accessed May 28, 2022.
5 See for example architecture ( Jokilheto 1999), textiles ( Brooks and Eastop 2011), paintings ( Conti 2007; Sitwell
and Staniforth 1998), furniture ( Rivers and Umney 2003; Wilmering 2004), glass and ceramics ( Buys and
Oakley 1993; Koob 2006), and wall paintings ( Mora et al. 1984).