Geology of the Canadian Museum for Human Rights: Part 3

Geology of the Canadian Museum for Human Rights: Part 3

By Dr. Graham Young, past Curator of Palaeontology & Geology

A group of individuals wearing high-vis vests and hard hats near the exterior wall of a large stone building under construction.

2. Mongolian Basalt

Slabs of dark igneous stone, apparently basalt or diabase, can be seen covering some walls in the lower parts of the museum, but for a geological appreciation of volcanic rock the visitors must wait until they have passed upward into the huge Garden of Contemplation. This is the finest place I know of for viewing columnar-jointed igneous rocks, between Thunder Bay and the Rockies!

 

Image: Walls of Tyndall Stone (left) and dark igneous stone in the lower part of the museum.

Columnar jointing is a term used to describe the polygonal columns seen in many volcanic rocks. These developed as a result of stresses, when lava cools from a molten form. Famous columnar basalts can be seen in places like the Giant’s Causeway in Northern Ireland, and at many sites around the Bay of Fundy in eastern Canada (columnar-jointed bedrock in the Lake Nipigon area of Ontario has a similar appearance, though much of it may have actually formed from magma that was intruded between other rocks, rather than erupted onto the Earth’s surface).

View of a large rocky hillside next to a roadway.

Columnar-jointed igneous rock caps this hill in the Lake Nipigon area, Ontario.

View of a large rocky hillside next to a body of water with incoming mist.

Columnar-jointed basalt at Southwest Head, Grand Manan Island, New Brunswick.

View from several stories up, looking down towards a space with rock-lined water elements. The area is well lit by large wall to wall windows.

The stone that I saw being installed in the Garden of Contemplation consists of 617 metric tonnes of Mongolian basalt. 617 metric tonnes Ogunad, Mongolia – architect Antoine Predock had a particular vision about materials – large surfaces, not so much as features – outcome of what could be done only with computer-assisted design – based on hundreds of piles and caissons, presumably down to bedrock that underlies the river and lake deposits that make Winnipeg ground so unstable – ramps cross over a “canyon” of dark concrete – total of 18,000 square metres of Tyndall Stone – much of it exposed as rough surfaces  – these are stylolites (pressure solution features), which are the natural planes of weakness within the bedrock – I assume that the alabaster is slabbed bed-parallel to give it this appearance – glass, concrete, and steel are also geologically-derived materials, of course references Geomorphology 81 (2006) 155–165 Did the Ebro basin connect to the Mediterranean before the Messinian salinity crisis? Julien Babault a,⁎, Nicolas Loget b, Jean Van Den Driessche a, Sébastien Castelltort c, Stéphane Bonnet a, Philippe Davy

Geology of the Canadian Museum for Human Rights: Part 1

By Dr. Graham Young, past Curator of Palaeontology & Geology

A large irregularly shaped building that is almost shaped like an upward growing spiral building to a central tower. The left side is a light tan stone and the right side is predominantly windows.

The construction of the Canadian Museum for Human Rights (CMHR) in Winnipeg has been the subject of tremendous public interest and media coverage. As opening nears for this institution, our first national museum outside the Ottawa area, I have read discussions of the planned exhibits and galleries, conversations concerning the relationship between the museum and local communities, and assessments of the architecture of the spectacular building. I have not, however, seen anything on a topic that may be of great interest to this page’s visitors: is the Canadian Museum for Human Rights worth looking at for its geological features?

 

Image: Construction site at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights, June, 2013.

Having received a tour of the interior construction site in April, followed up more recently by careful examination of the building’s exterior, I have to respond to this question with a full-voiced “yes.” The CMHR does not contain as great a variety of building stones as some older buildings in downtown Winnipeg, but some of the materials are of types not readily seen in other structures, and the immense scale of the structure permits a geological experience that may be unparalleled elsewhere in this town.

The following descriptions are based largely on my brief observations of a building still very much under construction, along with what I could glean from the web and some information received from helpful staff at CMHR. Since a thorough examination is not possible at this stage, and since surfaces were still being installed when I saw them, it is entirely probable that I have missed or misinterpreted some of the geological materials. I am also, for the moment, ignoring the site geology and materials other than stone. At some point in the future I hope that we can write a detailed consideration of CMHR’s geology, comparable to our work on the Manitoba Legislative Building (a pdf can be found here).

A large irregularly shaped building that is almost shaped like an upward growing spiral building to a central tower. This side of the building is primarily windows. In front of the building are piles of gravel and stone, as the site is under construction.

Outside the museum, stone is being installed to integrate the building with the surrounding landscape.

Looking up at the angular side of a stone building topped with a metal and windowed tower.

On the building’s exterior, Tyndall Stone walls appear as a stack of irregular polygons.

To a Winnipegger walking outside the CMHR, the immense surfaces of Manitoba Tyndall Stone are both familiar and obvious. Since this stone is locally ubiquitous, I will instead begin with the more unusual materials in the museum’s interior. As you enter the building, some of the introductory areas seem dark and low, walled largely with ochre-coloured concrete along with feature walls of other materials. Passing upward into more open spaces, you have your first glance of the extensive ramp system that allows visitors to walk through the many museum areas.

Looking up at crisscrossing silverish coloured stone ramps.

Standing in a corner of a ramp that goes lower to the left and rises to the right. Individuals in high-vis vests and hard hats are further up on the right-side ramp.

Looking up at crisscrossing silverish coloured stone ramps.

1. Spanish Alabaster

The walking surfaces of the ramps are concrete, but the sides are Spanish alabaster, quarried in Zaragoza, Aragon, Spain. Alabaster is a translucent, lustrous stone, long used by humans because it is beautiful and easy to work with. The CMHR alabaster is cut quite thin, about 2 cm (or 3/4″), and with the natural light it glows magically when backlit.

Geologically, two major types of material are considered as “alabasters”: gypsum (hydrous sulfate of calcium) and calcite (calcium carbonate). Neither kind of alabaster is resistant to rain and moisture, so both are only suitable for indoor use. The CMHR alabaster is of the gypsum sort; it is quite a soft material, but the crystals are tiny and tightly bound together, permitting both the polish and the translucent quality. Pure alabaster is white, and the beautiful colours and patterns actually come from impurities such as clays.

Sunlight shining through the opaque side of an alabaster ramp.

Translucent alabaster on the side of a ramp.

A stone room with a ramp crossing the centre. The room is under construction with carious tools and equipment on the main floor.

These views of ramps show the beautiful variation in tone and colour of alabaster.

The incomplete end of a large alabaster ramp with a barricade at the end as it is still under construction.

The Aragonese alabaster was quarried from near-horizontal beds in the Ebro Basin of northeastern Spain. It formed during the Oligocene and Miocene epochs (roughly 34 to 5 million years ago). During this interval, the Ebro Basin was endorheic (i.e., it had internal drainage and was not connected to the sea). As a result the water often became very saline (briny), and salts were precipitated out to form bedded chemical rock, most notably the gypsum that makes up this alabaster. The Aragonese alabaster is quarried by Alabaster New Concept.

Manitoba also has considerable gypsum deposits in our Jurassic sedimentary rocks. These can be seen at places such as Gypsumville and Amaranth, but as far as I know there is none of alabaster grade.

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Part 2 of this geological tour will follow soon, with an explanation of the dark stone that can be seen in the spectacular Garden of Contemplation and other places in the museum’s interior.

Winnipeg Tribune Head is Found

A large terra cotta face, with a hand beside it in the lower left corner for scale.

Some time ago, after the donation of a “gargoyle” that once graced the former Winnipeg Tribune Building, we put out a call to the public to see if any more of these strange terra cotta statues would show up (see my blog of March 30, 2012). Fourteen are known to have existed, and The Manitoba Museum had two. We did get some calls, with two leads to something I had not expected: giant grotesque heads that adorned the exterior of the building at the top of the first storey – (the gargoyles were soaring at 6 storeys). I checked out the original architectural plans at the Archives of Manitoba, and it turns out there were fourteen of these heads as well!

It’s believed that this head might represent a newspaper boy.

 

Image: Terra cotta “grotesque” from the Winnipeg Tribune Building, 1913.

I also mentioned in my previous blog that I was trying to identify the original artist. Well, I found out that all the grotesques were made at the American Terra Cotta and Ceramic Company factory near Chicago, Illinois. The artist may have been Kristian E. Schneider, a Norwegian immigrant who worked with American Terra Cotta from about 1906 to 1930. He was their lead sculptor and modeller and had early in his career worked very closely with Louis Sullivan, the famous architect of the “Chicago School”. Sullivan was instrumental in the development of the steel beam skyscraper, and his work also influenced the architect of the Winnipeg Tribune Building, John D.Atchison, who commissioned the grotesques. It seems that for a brief time at least, Winnipeg really was a Chicago of the North.

Dr. Roland Sawatzky

Dr. Roland Sawatzky

Curator of History

Roland Sawatzky joined The Manitoba Museum in 2011. He received his B.A. in Anthropology from the University of Winnipeg, M.A. in Anthropology from the University of South Carolina, and Ph.D. in Archaeology…
Meet Dr. Roland Sawatzky

The Scientific Method: A Reality Check

If you have ever heard someone say “I have a theory about that” they don’t. They’re most likely confusing the word “theory” with “completely unsupported, untested hypothesis”. All kidding aside, the words “theory” and “hypothesis” mean something very specific to a scientist, and the former is actually a much stronger statement than the latter. Since most people are not scientists but sometimes need to judge the value of someone’s statements, it can be useful to have at least a rudimentary understanding of how the scientific process works.

The journey to creating a theory is a long and arduous one and, in fact, one that most scientists will only ever contribute peripherally to. But every journey starts with a first step so that is where we will begin. In addition to the scientific jargon, I have taken the liberty of translating it into everyday vernacu… umm, language (it’s hard to stop using big words when you’ve spent 22 years in school).

A cluster of small white flowers with yellow centres, which a bumble bee on the top.

Step 1

Select a topic for study.
Translation: Read so many scientific journals that your eyeballs dry up and your head explodes.

Step 2

Contemplate.
Translation: Think really hard about what you’ve read. Unfortunately thinking looks a lot like slacking off. So keep a file open on your computer and sit in front of it while you’re thinking in case someone walks by. That way it looks like you’re working. Which you are of course, it just doesn’t look like it!

Step 3

State your hypothesis and the opposite of it, which will be the null hypothesis.
Translation: Make an educated guess regarding what will happen.  Or not.

 

Image: Watching bumblebees made me wonder why they visited certain flowers more than others.

A patch of ground with tufty, wild growing grass. On the far side are some folding chairs and a bush with reddish tinged leaves.

Step 4

Design an experiment to test your hypotheses.
Translation: Create a beautifully designed experiment that will win you awards and accolades from your peers!  Fantasize about winning a Nobel prize.

Step 5

Conduct the experiment and collect data.
Translation: Discover that nature really doesn’t like beautifully designed experiments and will vindictively do everything it can (late frosts, hail, floods etc.) to screw with your research so that you have to change everything on the fly just to get some publishable results!

 

Image: A research plot in Spruce Woods Provincial Park, MB.

A hand reaches into frame holding a tuft next to a small cluster of purple flowers.

Step 6

Analyze the data.
Translation: Create so many spreadsheets and conduct so many statistical tests that you can no longer find anything on your computer.

Step 7

Determine which hypothesis was correct and why.
Translation: Shout “eureka” if your hypothesis is correct or “oh nuts”, when it isn’t. If you said “oh nuts” double check your data and analytical techniques just in case you made a mistake. Discover that you didn’t make a mistake. Say “oh nuts!” again. Conduct another literature search to try to figure out why the null hypothesis was correct instead of the hypothesis.

 

Image: I conducted a hand pollination experiment on a rare plant.

Step 8

Write a paper for a peer reviewed journal.
Translation: Spend several months preparing a paper and ensuring that the formatting meets the requirements of the most prestigious journal in your field. Submit. Receive rejection letter. Reformat your paper for a less prestigious journal and submit. Receive scathing peer reviews of your paper. Swear. Reluctantly make suggested changes to the paper while grumbling about it to anyone that will listen. Even more reluctantly conclude that the reviewers’ changes do indeed greatly improve your paper. Submit final version. Send a reprint to your mother.

 

Although I was intentionally being silly, the fact of the matter is that a research project never goes off without a hitch.   Science is certainly one thing: a learning experience.

Dr. Diana Bizecki Robson

Dr. Diana Bizecki Robson

Curator of Botany

Dr. Bizecki Robson obtained a Master’s Degree in Plant Ecology at the University of Saskatchewan studying rare plants of the mixed grass prairies. After working as an environmental consultant and sessional lecturer…
Meet Dr. Bizecki Robson

Open Air Museums in Poland

I was recently asked to attend a conference and weekend festival in Poland regarding historic landscapes in the Vistula River valley. One of the newer public interests in the area happens to be Mennonite history: Mennonites arrived in Poland in the mid-16th century from the Netherlands region and established thriving communities that existed until 1945, when they fled the Soviet advances at the end of World War II.

A large building with a thatched roof. The second storey extends from the centre of the lower storey creating a sheltered overhang.

One of my research interests is Mennonite domestic architecture. I was taken to a house built in 1770 in the village of Chrystkowo (formerly Christefelde) . Two things surprised me: how similar the arrangement of rooms was to Mennonite housebarns I had seen in Manitoba (all built after 1874); and how gigantic these homes could be! Although I had studied Mennonite architecture in Poland on paper, there’s nothing like seeing it in person. After all, that’s why museums are so great – they allow us to see the real objects of history, whose very existence takes us to another level of experience.

 

Image: 1770 Chrystkowo housebarn.

Dr. Roland Sawatzky

Dr. Roland Sawatzky

Curator of History

Roland Sawatzky joined The Manitoba Museum in 2011. He received his B.A. in Anthropology from the University of Winnipeg, M.A. in Anthropology from the University of South Carolina, and Ph.D. in Archaeology…
Meet Dr. Roland Sawatzky

The Value of Professional Conferences

By Kathy Nanowin, past Manager of Conservation

 

I went to the annual conference of the Canadian Association for Conservation (CAC) this year, as I try to do every year. It is held in late spring in a different location in Canada, alternating between different regions of the country. It is not a large conference, with attendance ranging from 70 or so in the smaller cities, to about 150 or even 200 in larger cities such as Toronto. This is because there are not a huge number of conservators in Canada; we are quite a small profession.

Why do professional associations, or any group for that matter, hold conferences? Aren’t they just an excuse to travel somewhere exotic on the corporate or government dime, and drink wine?

The exterior of a large red historic house with white trim.

Historic house in Saint John, New Brunswick, where I attended a conference.

Interior room in a historic house with people seated around tables laid around the room.

The conference banquet was also in a historic building, the Union Club.

Well, no. Conservators have been compared to doctors; the way we care for objects has many similarities to the way doctors care for people. We “operate” (perform treatments) on objects to repair damage that has been done. We also spend a lot of time advising on preventive measures that will keep objects “healthy”; as in human health, prevention is the most important consideration, to prevent or mitigate damage or deterioration. There are also, as in medicine, many scientists working with practitioners (the conservators) to identify needed areas of research, to add to the body of knowledge in our areas of work. New information is always being discovered, as in medicine. That is why we have professional journals, and why we hold conferences.

I’ve been to many conferences over the years I’ve been a conservator. I find that I always learn something, and I always come back to work rejuvenated, with my enthusiasm for my job renewed. Working in cultural heritage in Canada can make one feel fairly isolated. I don’t have that much contact with the general public; I work in a medium-size museum, so I have a lot of museum colleagues, but not that many fellow conservators to talk to. There just aren’t that many of us.

Going to a different Canadian city every year, getting to see different museums, with their great collections, but also challenging situations, is wonderful. However, the best thing about going to professional conferences, for me, is the face to face contact with people. I can read someone’s article in a journal, but to talk to them in person just can’t be replaced. I learn about new conservation treatments, the latest research, shared problems, and the overall mood of the profession. I catch the giant enthusiasm of new graduates.

I personally am able to pay to attend CAC conferences out of my pocket, but I also try to support the attendance of another conservator from the Museum out of departmental budgets, with grant assistance, whenever possible. This is because I firmly believe in the value of professional development, and especially the value of professional conferences.