I was recently introduced to a concept that has fascinated me for the last week or so: the ecomuseum. In today’s lexicon, the name conjures up images of so-called “tree huggers” perusing exhibits documenting man’s declension into a way of life solely sustained by the abundance of non-renewable resources. And, indeed some people have interpreted the term that way; while their version is more friendly, I prefer the former.
The term has a much richer history than the current trends toward “green living” and “sustainability”. Originally a French term – ecomusée – the ecomuseum can be understood in this way as the ecology of culture. In this way the development and life of a culture is understood a much larger scale. Basically, it is a landscape or path in which the journey serves as the cultural narrative for that place. A living history if you will. The ecosystem aspect of it comes from the interaction of an area’s landscape, natural resources, history, culture, and economy that form a narrative of a region. Together these aspects form a synergy, where the whole is greater than the sum of the parts.
Having a deep interest in historic preservation, I was more familiar with this term cultural landscape; the more accepted name here in the States. Yet, cultural landscapes don’t get the same kind of attention in the United States that well-preserved buildings do. While there are plenty of “living history” experiences still around in the United States, I think they miss the real beauty that is captured by many ecomuseums throughout the world.
From canadianlookin on flickr
Take the Crowsnest Pass in Alberta, Canada. An area mined heavily in the 19th and 20th centuries, this region has a heritage centered around a legacy of extract ice industries. In 1903, the town was almost completely destroyed by a massive landslide later named the Frank Slide. Much of the town was excavated, but the landscape was radically changed by the 600 ft high rock that dammed a local river and destroyed a large tract of the railroad and mining infrastructure.
Today, the area remains a testament to the tradition of mining in Crowsnest Pass, with the region’s settlements intact and preserved after mining activity resumed following the landslide. The road by which you can view the region is actually built upon the pile of rock which devastated the community at the turn of the century. In this way, Crowsnest Pass stands as a living example of an economic heritage and the interaction (and domination) of man over nature… and vice versa.
I think that that kind of living narrative and is underutilized framework for understanding the history of an area. Places like Williamsburg are reconstructions or fabrications of a cultural narrative.
Maybe the American landscape has been too degraded for many of these kinds of narratives to remain intact. The Peter Blakes of the world would think so.
Update: I found this great image that really helps define what an ecomuseum is supposed to represent. It was created by the two french men who coined the term ‘ecomusee’ in the first place.
