I am a member of the Digital Research & Curator Team, newly formed at the British Library as a component of a broader programme and organisational unit of Digital Scholarship. One of our first endeavours has been to reflect on the meaning and nature of Digital Curation and our role in it. One of my team mates, Maureen Pennock, who has been playing a prominent role in this process, reminded me yesterday that it clearly means a wide variety of things to a wide variety of people. Perhaps that is natural, expected and good.
In the context of personal digital archives, I and others have been elaborating the concept of Enhanced Curation where curators not only collect the original archive but add value to it. Thus we produce high resolution and interactive panoramic images of the creative environments of writers and scientists: their studios, studies and laboratories. Similarly, oral history audio interviews can be integrated with the collection and cataloguing of a scientific archive. Writers can be encouraged to speak about individual notebooks, drafts and correspondence.
We are also exploring the use of digital video as a means of capturing the personal landscape along with the thoughts and memories of the individual. One of my favourite books at the moment is Digital Film-Making by Mike Figgis. Modest in size, it is wonderfully pragmatic, wise and perceptive.
Of course, as curators we are not really in the profession of film making. Where should we draw the line in our use of digital video? It seems to me that it is not our primary aim to produce fully fledged documentaries. Instead our intention ought to be to capture some of what would otherwise be lost; and let others use the resulting unedited material as they feel is useful, which of course will change over time. Thus we seek the contextual information that will not be represented in the original archive, or at least not represented in the same detail or form. The room where the writer sat at his or her computer, surrounded by papers and books, drawing out inspiration. The garden where the physicist whiled away the hours absentmindedly pondering on deep and not-so-deep things. The personal library that supported the activities of the campaigning politician or social reformer. The studio, instruments and equipment that provided the composing musician with the necessary tools and space.
In a way that is what curators and archivists have always done - as far as current technology and resources permitted. Yet sometimes I wonder if this objective is forgotten. Technology changes, making some activities unnecessary, and yet perhaps we carry on doing them (because these processes are of course tried and tested, and therefore 'necessary'). Figgis makes a similar point in the context of digital video.
Ever thought about why the movie studios of Hollywood are in southern California? It is, he says, because of the plentiful light. But digital video does not need as much light and – according to Mike Figgis – artistically it is not necessary to make everything well lit. Digital video does not need to look like film.
Similarly, he argues that many film makers have become addicted to camera movement: the camera in pursuit of the individual, the grand sweeping from high up outside the house, down and in to the dining room where the family is gathered. “My quarrel with camera movement is at the point where the intelligence that had gone into deciding why the camera should move changes to the demand that the camera has to move....” “For me, the function of camera movement is to assist the storytelling. That’s all it is. It cannot be there just to demonstrate itself.”
So maybe that is what we need to do as we review the notion of digital curation. Reflect on what is really necessary and what is not, what is necessary in the new digital era and what is not. When we catalogue and process personal digital objects, it must be to add value; to show the characteristics and relationships of digital objects that would not be discernible and discoverable from the objects themselves (with or without forensic techniques). One of the things that we shall be learning over the coming months and years is just what can be reliably gleaned from the object itself and what cannot.
Some things really don’t change. In two sections entitled “Pre-Planning” and “The Good Clerk”, Figgis emphasises the absolutely essential role of information management, of note taking, in pre-planning and in post-production, activities that are deeply engrained in all archivists and curators.
“For all its freedoms – its ease of movement, the lightness and cheapness of equipment, the availability of stock, all these wonderful factors that have liberated the film-making process – if there is not one person on set whose sole function is to help the editor by having a meticulously maintained book which is a log of everything that is being shot, then you will have chaos. And related to that log, every tape has to have a label on it, a colour code to say which camera it’s from. And you need a detailed shot-list. The imposition of this discipline on the camera operators is of fundamental importance”.
There are lots of other useful pieces of advice.
On envisaging the outcome: the writer suggests that film makers must learn to think not only about what they are doing with the camera in the present tense but also about what will emerge from it: “the image in the future tense”.
On the importance of the sound quality: “the sound of the voices and the music and the quality of the mix need to be of the highest possible level”, a sentiment that audio colleagues at the library have long expressed to me for it is very easy to think that you can neglect audio quality.
On the use of the close-up, especially with people: you must not hide behind the camera’s technical ability to zoom in. In short, “You can’t steal the shot with a long lens or a zoom”, citing no less an authority than Henri Cartier-Bresson (1908-2004).
The aspect of the book that I most like, however, is its appreciation of technology. Figgis is an artist, no doubt about it. Yet, he really respects the technology. He explores it, he tests it, he experiments with it, he loves it. And he doesn’t just respect the equipment conceptually, he means each individual piece of kit.
“If it breaks and you need to throw it away, fine. But while it’s functioning, it has to be treated with love and respect”.
“If that seriousness doesn’t exist, if there’s a disdainful or disrespectful attitude to the camera, then the result will not be as good. I would extend that philosophy all the way through the digital film-making process and for all the tools you use – the camera, the tape, the computer. These things are yours for the period of creation, and they have to be imbued with the correct significance and seriousness, as befits the film-making process. If they’re not, then it will show”.
This quote happens to bring me back to my conversation with Maureen yesterday, and the sentiment shared with many archivists: digital curation must be about the whole lifecycle.
