Friday, July 06, 2007
The Deutsches Museum: Initial Impressions
Several people have asked me about my reasons for studying German this month in Munich. The simple and generic answer I usually provide involves the language requirements for my graduate school program. After all, no matter how many times they may claim in print that I need to confirm a "reading knowledge of two languages relevant to one's field of study," what they really mean is French and German. (This is the final nail in the coffin for my high school Spanish teachers, who swore that their subject would be useful to me in my future educational pursuits.) One will note, however, that they offer German language courses in cities other than Munich, even some in the United States. Why do I specifically need to be here?
The answer can be summarized in three simple words: The Deutsches Museum.
Established in 1903, the Deutsches Museum is the largest science and technology museum in the world. Although significant public science museums had been previously established in London, Paris, and elsewhere, the Deutsches Museum set the standard for the new form of hands-on, push-button style of science museum that dominated the early 20th century. This seemed to be especially true in the United States, where newly-founded science museums in Chicago, Philadelphia, and New York borrowed heavily from the Munich model. Thus, as an aspiring historian with an American science museums, I felt it necessary to visit the museum and its archives. And if I could combine that with an opportunity to hone my German language skills, so much the better.
After sending a brief letter in both German and English explaining my research interests, I received word from the museum's chief archivist that I could meet with him today. Now all I had to do was figure out how to get there. The museum is located on an island in the Isar River and normally, one could get there by taking a single streetcar straight down from the center of town to a stop conveniently labeled "Deutsches Museum." But as I learned the hard way after getting on to the trolley, there was track work going on along the route in questionfor the entire month of July. I would need to take an alternate route.
I ended up taking an underground commuter rail to the Isartor station, which seemed to be close to the museum. (Isartor, by the way, is the last of the three traditional gates into Munich's old city, which I alluded to in a previous post. ) I wandered out of the station and moseyed towards the river, figuring that a museum on an island would be easy to spot. Unfortunately, the island was large enough that there were plenty of other things to distract a prospective visitor, especially one with only a limited knowledge of local geography. Like, for example, this cool fountain.
Check out this closeup of what appears to be Poseidon! I think his presence is meant to symbolize the successful bridging of the Isar River.
Though a street sign claimed the museum was a mere 300 meters away, I apparently missed it during my walk. I crossed one bridge, meandered around a little bit, thought I saw the museum across the river...
But on closer investigation, although this building had a clock tower like the Deutsches Museum, it also had a golden cross at the top of it. Science museums don't generally invoke religious iconography in their architecture, so I figured it best to keep wandering. During the next half hour, I stumbled upon some very nice walking paths and slowly wound my way back towards the bridge I had crossed over originally. But despite finding a beer garden, a playground, and a few more churches, the museum continued to elude me. Until finally, just as I was about to give up hope and ask directions...I came upon a smaller bridge, accessible only from the opposite side of the river from the Isartor station. And there on the other side was the museum.
This was it. There could be no doubt. The archetypal science museum from which all others were derived. The observatory, the vertical sundial painted on the outer wall, the antennae on the roof...the tools and paraphernalia of the scientist were ingrained into the building's very architecture. This was further confirmed when I entered the central courtyard. Here are two pictures that show what I mean. First, this beautiful clock set within the courtyard's interior walls. Notice that in addition to the time of day, it also indicates the day of the week (and its associated Norse deity), the month (and its associated zodiac sign), and the phase of the moon (look above the Roman numeral XII...).
Then in the museum's main courtyard there was more to see. The white lines on the ground there indicate yet another sundial, horizontal this time. The golden ball on the left is the most visible section of a scale model of the solar system. Miniature planets, all correctly proportioned, are enclosed in a plastic case in the supporting pedestal.
While instinct prodded me to go inside the museum proper, I forced myself into the museum's library on the opposite side of the courtyard. I met with the museum's chief archivist, a quiet but genial fellow who had written the definitive German biography of the museum's founder, Oskar von Miller. Since his English was far better than my German, our conversations about my research took place using the former. He was more than willing to help, pulling out four separate folders filled with documents related to contact during the period I was considering between the Deutsches Museum and American scientific organizations. It would clearly be too much for me to sift through in just one visit, but it was an excellent starting point. Sadly, I was told that I could not use my digital camera in the archive, but photocopies were allowed for 0.15€/sheet. The good news, of course, is that I can take home something tangible to America, rather than having to retype everything. The downside is that these artifacts will not come cheap, though I'm hoping my department can help defray some of these expenses.
In any case, the archive (and the museum) closed at 5:00 in the afternoon. After snapping some more pictures, I wandered through the still-open museum gift shop and then crossed a bridge on the opposite side to begin my walk towards the Isartor station. Turning back, I finally caught a view of the museum's famous clock tower...the one I had mistaken a church for earlier in the afternoon. And it was then I discovered that there was more to this "clocktower" than just time-keeping:
That's right. It's not just a clock. It's a BAROMETER! Further proof of how the museum's form reflects its scientific and educational mission, and an affirmation of the amount of thought put into its architecture. If they put as much thought into the exhibits which fill this museum's halls as they did into its external trappings, I will definitely need to explore its halls thoroughly before I return to the United States.
BONUS PICTURE: An ever-vigilant Otto Von Bismarck guards the bridge between the Deutsches Museum and the mainland from even the mightiest of umbrella-toting invaders!
Yeah, that guy will think twice before crossing the Iron Chancellor!
Several people have asked me about my reasons for studying German this month in Munich. The simple and generic answer I usually provide involves the language requirements for my graduate school program. After all, no matter how many times they may claim in print that I need to confirm a "reading knowledge of two languages relevant to one's field of study," what they really mean is French and German. (This is the final nail in the coffin for my high school Spanish teachers, who swore that their subject would be useful to me in my future educational pursuits.) One will note, however, that they offer German language courses in cities other than Munich, even some in the United States. Why do I specifically need to be here?
The answer can be summarized in three simple words: The Deutsches Museum.
Established in 1903, the Deutsches Museum is the largest science and technology museum in the world. Although significant public science museums had been previously established in London, Paris, and elsewhere, the Deutsches Museum set the standard for the new form of hands-on, push-button style of science museum that dominated the early 20th century. This seemed to be especially true in the United States, where newly-founded science museums in Chicago, Philadelphia, and New York borrowed heavily from the Munich model. Thus, as an aspiring historian with an American science museums, I felt it necessary to visit the museum and its archives. And if I could combine that with an opportunity to hone my German language skills, so much the better.
After sending a brief letter in both German and English explaining my research interests, I received word from the museum's chief archivist that I could meet with him today. Now all I had to do was figure out how to get there. The museum is located on an island in the Isar River and normally, one could get there by taking a single streetcar straight down from the center of town to a stop conveniently labeled "Deutsches Museum." But as I learned the hard way after getting on to the trolley, there was track work going on along the route in questionfor the entire month of July. I would need to take an alternate route.
I ended up taking an underground commuter rail to the Isartor station, which seemed to be close to the museum. (Isartor, by the way, is the last of the three traditional gates into Munich's old city, which I alluded to in a previous post. ) I wandered out of the station and moseyed towards the river, figuring that a museum on an island would be easy to spot. Unfortunately, the island was large enough that there were plenty of other things to distract a prospective visitor, especially one with only a limited knowledge of local geography. Like, for example, this cool fountain.
Check out this closeup of what appears to be Poseidon! I think his presence is meant to symbolize the successful bridging of the Isar River.
Though a street sign claimed the museum was a mere 300 meters away, I apparently missed it during my walk. I crossed one bridge, meandered around a little bit, thought I saw the museum across the river...
But on closer investigation, although this building had a clock tower like the Deutsches Museum, it also had a golden cross at the top of it. Science museums don't generally invoke religious iconography in their architecture, so I figured it best to keep wandering. During the next half hour, I stumbled upon some very nice walking paths and slowly wound my way back towards the bridge I had crossed over originally. But despite finding a beer garden, a playground, and a few more churches, the museum continued to elude me. Until finally, just as I was about to give up hope and ask directions...I came upon a smaller bridge, accessible only from the opposite side of the river from the Isartor station. And there on the other side was the museum.
This was it. There could be no doubt. The archetypal science museum from which all others were derived. The observatory, the vertical sundial painted on the outer wall, the antennae on the roof...the tools and paraphernalia of the scientist were ingrained into the building's very architecture. This was further confirmed when I entered the central courtyard. Here are two pictures that show what I mean. First, this beautiful clock set within the courtyard's interior walls. Notice that in addition to the time of day, it also indicates the day of the week (and its associated Norse deity), the month (and its associated zodiac sign), and the phase of the moon (look above the Roman numeral XII...).
Then in the museum's main courtyard there was more to see. The white lines on the ground there indicate yet another sundial, horizontal this time. The golden ball on the left is the most visible section of a scale model of the solar system. Miniature planets, all correctly proportioned, are enclosed in a plastic case in the supporting pedestal.
While instinct prodded me to go inside the museum proper, I forced myself into the museum's library on the opposite side of the courtyard. I met with the museum's chief archivist, a quiet but genial fellow who had written the definitive German biography of the museum's founder, Oskar von Miller. Since his English was far better than my German, our conversations about my research took place using the former. He was more than willing to help, pulling out four separate folders filled with documents related to contact during the period I was considering between the Deutsches Museum and American scientific organizations. It would clearly be too much for me to sift through in just one visit, but it was an excellent starting point. Sadly, I was told that I could not use my digital camera in the archive, but photocopies were allowed for 0.15€/sheet. The good news, of course, is that I can take home something tangible to America, rather than having to retype everything. The downside is that these artifacts will not come cheap, though I'm hoping my department can help defray some of these expenses.
In any case, the archive (and the museum) closed at 5:00 in the afternoon. After snapping some more pictures, I wandered through the still-open museum gift shop and then crossed a bridge on the opposite side to begin my walk towards the Isartor station. Turning back, I finally caught a view of the museum's famous clock tower...the one I had mistaken a church for earlier in the afternoon. And it was then I discovered that there was more to this "clocktower" than just time-keeping:
That's right. It's not just a clock. It's a BAROMETER! Further proof of how the museum's form reflects its scientific and educational mission, and an affirmation of the amount of thought put into its architecture. If they put as much thought into the exhibits which fill this museum's halls as they did into its external trappings, I will definitely need to explore its halls thoroughly before I return to the United States.
BONUS PICTURE: An ever-vigilant Otto Von Bismarck guards the bridge between the Deutsches Museum and the mainland from even the mightiest of umbrella-toting invaders!
Yeah, that guy will think twice before crossing the Iron Chancellor!
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