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<\/a>In <\/span>s<\/span>ummer <\/span>of <\/span>2025, I was fortunate and delighted to <\/span>assist<\/span> as a graduate intern in the conservation lab at the American Antiquarian Society. <\/span>My experiences at AAS piqued my interest in serving a research collection, and I <\/span>am eager to apply<\/span> the techniques I learne<\/span>d and refined <\/span>with the <\/span>insight and support<\/span> of <\/span>Chief Conservator <\/span>Babette <\/span>Gehnrich<\/span> to <\/span>future paper conservation treatments.<\/span> After the internship concluded, I graduated with an MA in Fine Arts Conservation (Works on Paper) from Northumbria University<\/span><\/span>,<\/span><\/span><\/span> and <\/span>have joined<\/span> the Newberry Library <\/span>in <\/span>Chicago<\/span> as the Samuel H. Kress Fellow in Paper Conservation. While I completed a range of treatments at AAS over the course of eight weeks, <\/span>this blog <\/span>post will focus<\/span> on <\/span>one <\/span>large, multi-object project.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n One of the exciting, complex projects I worked on during my time at AAS was the conservation of the first newspapers printed in New Haven, Connecticut, published from 1755 to 1767 [1]. Conserving issues of The Connecticut Gazette <\/em>was fascinating for several reasons. As someone who lived on the Connecticut shoreline, not far from New Haven (where The Connecticut Gazette <\/em>was printed), conserving gave me a new perspective on early American paper and printing in towns I was familiar with. The project also presented a challenge in conservation decision-making. The newspapers arrived at AAS over the course of centuries, largely from different institutions and private collectors. Therefore, they were in variable condition and had undergone a range of previous conservation interventions. I organized the treatments from low to high priority, considering the complexity and time required to fully perform the work and the vulnerability of each newspaper. While some steps were clear, like the need to rehouse the newspapers (placing each issue in conservation-grade folders), other decisions would require research and careful consideration.<\/p>\n I took the time to view each issue \u00a0in transmitted light. Transmitted light reveals how the density of the paper changes, suggesting technical information about the history of the paper and revealing prior repairs or signs of structural deterioration. Watermarks, which papermakers created by weaving wire into metal papermaking molds, were visible in some of the sheets. Ranging from simple initials to intricate crests, watermarks attest to how papermills operated in the eighteenth century. On the one hand were the large English, Dutch, and French mills producing paper for export: fine sheets, with a light color, few inclusions, and an appealing delicacy and rattle. On the other hand, and my favorites, were the clearly local and colonial papers: those that had flecks of colored rag threads, tawny coloration, and heft that allowed the letterpress to sink the words into the fibres, lending them a particular dimensionality and relief.<\/p>\n Each newspaper was printed on different papers and in different formats. Beyond the content, the papers themselves tell a history of trade routes, agreements, and ingenuity in early Connecticut. By any means necessary, the newspaper would be printed, even if that paper came from a different mill each time. In fact, the printer placed an ad looking to acquire white rags and old sailcloth, likely to supply a local papermill with materials for rag paper pulp. This was a matter of practical necessity to have a ready supply of printing substrates and, as has been argued, a point of civic pride for early American communities [2].<\/p>\n I recorded the dimensions and created tracings of the watermarks. By comparing these with watermark guides, I hoped to identify where some of these papers were produced. Many were absent from the historical record. But a network of small papermakers clearly operated in the northeastern region of what would become the United States, supplementing a market otherwise dominated by European imports.<\/p>\n Above is a watermark, seen in transmitted light, from the 5 May 1759 issue of The<\/em> Connecticut Gazette<\/em> (left). After digitally tracing this image in Photoshop, the initials \u201cIH\u201d are clearly discernible (right). This appears to match the watermark of Hans Jacob Hagey, a Swiss papermaker, who established a paper mill in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, just a few years earlier in 1752 [3].<\/p>\n Moving beyond the paper itself, I began to consider prior treatment interventions on the newspapers. Was the damage due to well-intentioned earlier repairs, or the natural aging process of materials? Would the already-present damage result in present or future harm? Pressure-sensitive tapes, or PSTs, were common, ranging from relatively benign glassine tape to a few mysterious, aged PSTs. I found one in an issue published on September 18, 1756, a previous mend for a paper that had split long ago along old folds into quarters. PSTs can degrade with age and cause significant damage to paper, so paper conservators prefer to remove them when possible.<\/p>\n There are a few routes to consider with each stage of the PST removal process. In this instance, a microspatula readily separated the plastic carrier from the adhesive layer. However, a thick accretion of adhesive remained on the surface of the fibers. It would not be possible to remove this adhesive safely \u2014 the use of some other method or material like heat or solvents could damage the surface of the paper. Despite an attempt to use gentle heat to soften and remove the adhesive, this method proved unsuccessful.<\/p>\n I then considered solvents. After using ethanol, I observed an interesting behavior: the adhesive bloomed, changing from clear to white, and lifted slightly out of the paper\u2019s surface. I discovered that I required a two-part approach: first, blooming the adhesive with ethanol to increase its porosity; second, solubilizing and removing the adhesive with another solvent, toluene. This approach proved much more successful: it was not only the materials, but their order of use that mattered.<\/p>\n The newspaper could then be washed and alkalized. This process removes discoloration from the object and reduces acidity while providing an alkaline reserve for the paper, prolonging its lifespan. I brushed gelatin, which papermakers historically used as a sizing agent to give paper slight water-resistance, a smoother writing and printing surface, and good rattle, onto both sides to resize the paper. I rejoined the quarters with reversible Japanese paper and wheat starch paste mends. The January 12, 1767, issue was missing part of the support (the paper that the text is printed upon) near the spine. This loss was obscured by PSTs, and the extent of the damage was not revealed until the glassine PSTs were removed with water during washing and alkalization. I made a sympathetic but strong mend using conservation-appropriate wheat starch paste and two layers of Japanese paper, feathered at the edge to ease attachment to the object as an infill. Fortunately, the loss was in the margin of the newspaper, and no text was missing. The newspaper could now be safely opened and read. I used a similar approach for many of the other issues.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/a><\/a> <\/a><\/p>\n<\/a>Another watermark of \u2018Liberty & Prudence\u2019 and its tracing from a manuscript (unrelated to The<\/em> Connecticut Gazette<\/em>), written in Worcester in February 1776 [4]. This watermark\u2019s mill or papermaker has not been identified.<\/p>\n<\/a>A Pro Patria<\/em> watermark, one of the watermarks typical of British papers. This watermark was found in a 1777 letter (unrelated to The<\/em> Connecticut Gazette<\/em>) sent from Nathaniel Greene, who was then writing from Long Island, New York [5].<\/p>\n<\/a><\/a><\/a><\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/a>