A day unpacking the art of collection management: from big ideas to hands-on practice (Li Yingchong, China, ITP 2025)

Written by Li Yingchong, Section Chief of Educational Research and Development, The Palace Museum (China, ITP 2025)

The morning sun filtered through the British Museum’s historic windows, casting light on a room buzzing with curiosity. We’d gathered to peel back the layers of what collection management really means – not just a vague term, but a living, breathing practice that keeps history, art, and culture safe, accessible, and alive. What followed wasn’t just a lecture; it was a journey through six distinct worlds, each revealing a piece of the puzzle.

The big picture: what is collection management, anyway?

Our day started with a crash course in the ‘why’ and ‘how’ of it all. Collection management, we learned, is the invisible backbone of museums. It’s not just moving objects – it’s caring for them, from the tiniest coin to a five-ton sarcophagus lid. It’s about galleries, storage, loans, and even pest control.

It’s a team sport with different kinds of experts all working in harmony. “We do everything that touches the collection,” Evan York explained. “If it involves an object – cleaning it, moving it, displaying it, even keeping bugs away – it’s on us.” That phrase stuck: everything that touches the collection. It felt like a promise, and a huge responsibility.

Diving in: six stations, six stories

Then, we split into small groups, each heading to a station designed to turn abstract ideas into concrete experiences. Here’s where the day came alive.

1. Condition reporting: documenting every scratch

We learned to read an object like a book. A condition report isn’t just a form – it’s a time capsule. “This is our insurance,” the manager said. “If it travels, we compare post-trip photos to these. No surprises.”

Evan explained they document objects through photographs taken from multiple angles, tailored to each item’s unique features. This becomes critical when artifacts go abroad as loans. Upon their return, every inch is inspected with meticulous care – even the tiniest scratch or subtle shift in color is noted. If there’s noticeable change or worsening damage, they consult conservators to determine the best course of action.

We examined photos of a statue, noting a tiny chip on its nose. Detail matters – because history lives in the details.

2. Heavy objects: moving giants with care

Next stop: the heavy objects team. They showed us photos of a 5-ton sarcophagus lid being shipped to Australia – hoisted by gantries, wrapped in steel frameworks, and secured with slings rated for 3 tons each. “It’s not just about strength,” one handler said. “It’s about trust. We check, recheck, and talk constantly.”

They passed around a sling, its woven fibers surprisingly flexible for something that could lift a car. We learned: moving big things is equal parts engineering and teamwork. One wrong move, and history could crack.

3. Integrated pest management (IPM): bugs, dust, and defense

Next, we delved into the secret war against pests. “Dust isn’t just dirty – it’s a buffet for beetles,” IPM manager explained, holding up a vial of carpet beetle larvae (tiny, fuzzy, and surprisingly destructive).

We saw floor grills caked with debris – “moth hotels,” they joked – and learned how deep cleaning (once a year, but soon more) keeps infestations at bay. They showed us fake dead seagulls (yes, really) used to scare off real ones from the roof. Pest control, it turns out, is part science, part creativity.

4. Packing: wrapping history safely

At the packing station, foam samples covered the table: soft polyurethane (great for light objects, but breaks down in 3 years), dense polyethylene (sturdy, lasts forever), and Stratocell (for filling gaps). We peeked inside a wooden crate, where a replica artifact nested in a custom foam cutout, wrapped in acid-free tissue.

“International travel is the hardest,” the packer said. “You’re not just protecting against bumps – you’re fighting humidity, temperature swings, even oxygen for metal objects”, and he continued ”No lost treasures on our watch”.

5. Pinning: tiny tools, big precision

Here, we got hands-on. Insect pins – thin, sharp, and surprisingly strong – were our tools. We practiced pinning a small replica artifact to a board covered in forex, a material that gives just enough to let pins sink in without breaking a sweat.

“Bend the pin after it’s in,” we were told. “Otherwise, it snaps.” My first attempt wobbled; the second, with a gentle bend under the ‘elbow’ of the replica, held. Pinning, I realized, is like sculpture – each pin a silent support, invisible but essential.

6. Mounting: holding beauty up

Finally, we explored mounting – custom metal and acrylic structures that cradle objects for display. A brass mount for a small figurine curved like a handshake, supporting without squeezing. “Designers want things to ‘float,’” one maker said, showing a sketch. “We make that magic safe.”

Afternoon: storage rooms – where history hibernates

Lunch came and went, but the day’s lessons were far from over. We ventured into three storage rooms, each a world unto itself – proof that collection management adapts, chameleon-like, to the objects it guards.

First, the Egyptian collection storage: the moment we stepped in, a towering shelf stretching from floor to ceiling took our breath away – there, lying across its length, were numerous mummies, a sight truly stunning. Next to it, the covered storage cabinets held delightful surprises. When Evan opened one, we found a neat arrangement of staggered compartments and trays; each artifact rested in a slot perfectly sized to its height, looking orderly and lovely. Evan also showed us an ancient crocodile mummy from Egypt. Remarkably, they’d even taken it to a hospital for an X-ray scan! The images revealed small crocodiles inside its body, along with the last meal fed to it before death.

Next, the coins and metal storage: a masterclass in precision. Walls lined with cabinets held trays brimming with tiny coins – dozens per tray, each meticulously counted and photographed both before and after being issued to researchers. “One missing coin could leave a gap in a scholar’s research,” the curator noted.

Among these treasures, we spotted ancient Chinese knife coins dating back to the 6th to 3rd centuries BCE – small, slender, and steeped in history. Their diminutive size posed a unique challenge: marking them directly would risk obscuring delicate features, so each coin rested up on a small tag. These tags held critical details: accession dates, registration numbers, and other key information, ensuring every coin’s story stayed tethered to its physical form. The tiniest objects, we realised, demanded the strictest vigilance.

Last, the Greek and Roman storage: a trove of sculptures and sculptural fragments. This was my first time stepping into a basement storage room at the British Museum, and the walk down was surprisingly pleasant, with fresh air flowing as we went.

Inside, a long vaulted corridor stretched before us, flanked by arrays of sculptures standing tall on both sides. Guided by the storage manager, we explored seven rooms off this passage. Some housed Greek marble artifacts – figures, vessels, and even charming cat sculptures, each with its own story. Another room served as a workshop for fragment matching, where experts pored over broken pieces, trying to fit them back together like an ancient jigsaw puzzle. There was also a small, specialized space for 2D photography, set up to capture detailed images of smaller objects with precision.

Every corner felt like a dialogue between past and present – artifacts waiting to be studied, fragments yearning to be reunited, and tools ready to preserve their stories. What struck me most? Each storage room hummed with its own logic, forged entirely by the objects it held. Mummies, with their bulk and fragility, demanded sturdy, reinforced shelving to bear their weight safely. Tiny coins, easily misplaced or damaged, required tight security – locked cabinets, meticulous counting logs, and tags that shouldered the burden of identification since marking the coins themselveswas unthinkable. Heavy marble statues, meanwhile, needed clear, unobtrusive registration numbers and custom-built niches, their dimensions tailored to cradle each sculpture’s unique form. The managers didn’t just ‘store’ things – they spoke the language of each artifact.

The takeaway: hold history gently and think vividly

By day’s end, my legs and back ached from hours of walking and bending, but my mind felt electric – full, alive, buzzing with the day’s lessons. If I had to pinpoint the biggest takeaway, it might just lie in that small, deliberate act of pinning.

Earlier, during the morning’s hands-on session, I’d picked up a tiny replica fox. Lying flat on the table, it felt lifeless – just a small, inanimate object. “Is there a way to make it stand?” I asked the instructor, half-hopeful, half-worried I was being silly. She didn’t laugh. Instead, she leaned in, eyes crinkling with enthusiasm. “It’s kind of challenge, but let’s try,” she said.

She showed me how to position three thin insect pins: —one behind to prop its body, two beneath to cradle its paws – and stepped back. I adjusted, tested, adjusted again. There it was: the fox, standing. Its tiny paws seemed to press lightly against the table, as if pausing mid-step. When the instructor tapped the table to test its stability, it didn’t wobble. “Good,” she said. “That’s all you need here – no earthquakes to worry about.”

In that moment, it wasn’t just about a replica staying upright. It was about care: knowing how much support to give, how little to intrude, how to let an object be more than itself. That, I thought, was the heart of it all.

Collection management, I realised, is how we hold history gently and think vividly.