Claire Wilcox

“The Keeper's hair was twisted into a bun and she wore glasses and flat shoes. When she walked through the galleries she stepped quickly, swinging a bunch of keys. Sometimes lost visitors intercepted her, asking where the tapestries or the patchwork quilts were, or for the way out. She was helpful, earnestly agreeing that the museum was a maze.

The Keeper taught us how to be public servants. We copied her mannerisms, were prompt, reliable, respectful. Our in-trays held erudite journals and we welcome complicated enquiries. We expressed tentative interest in obscure aspects of the collection. Once, early on, I said I liked the eighteenth century. It's a good century, she said kindly.

The Keeper believed in tacit experiencing and we learnt without realizing it. She asked me to unpick a lace collar that had been stitched into a faded backboard. I used a scalpel to slice through the threads, and when the lace was released, a shadow collar had been imprinted onto the blue velvet like a daguerreotype. This was a lesson in light damage.

That Christmas, we had a staff lunch. I was surprised when she ordered chips, had somehow thought that Keepers did not need such comestibles, that the ether of objects was sustenance enough. I imagined being like her one day, swinging the keys of knowledge. But back then, I was just a shadow curator.”
― Claire Wilcox, Patch Work: A Life Amongst Clothes