Weaving it All Together: Recapping the Textile Cataloging Project

April 1, 2026

My name is Linnea, and for the past seven months I have been working on a grant-funded project at Hennepin History Museum. The goal of this project was to catalog a portion of the museum's textile collection while rehousing objects and preparing materials for greater public access. I began this project in February of 2025, documenting three hundred textile objects over four phases: cataloging, photography, research, and interpretation. Over the course of these phases, I moved from documenting physical objects to uncovering the stories behind them, and through this, reshaped my personal relationship with the place I call home.  

The first phase was cataloging; this involved recording an object's material composition, its measurements, condition, and overall appearance. Accurate cataloging ensures that objects are not only physically preserved, but also retrievable and usable for future research, exhibitions, and public engagement. I  assigned each object a unique number. While this can vary from museum to museum, the format Hennepin History Museum uses consists of a four-digit year and date the object is being cataloged, followed by a unique number three-digit number, usually starting at 1. For this special project, all the objects maintained the date the project started on February 11 to easily track progress. For example: 2025.0211.055 denotes the fifty-fifth object I cataloged, which was a beautiful piano scarf that belonged to Henry and Frieda Neils, Henry Neils being president of the Flour City Ornamental Iron Company. Sometimes an item would have multiple pieces that went with it, such as a pair of pajamas and a robe, in which case I would assign each item a letter from 'a' to 'z'; such as 2025.0211.209a-c.

Next, I photographed each item against a neutral grey background to make the object the focal point, aid in color accuracy, and allow details to stand out better. This proved to be one of my first challenges as I had never done photography involving light boxes and umbrellas, which serve to diffuse and control light in photography. I had also never used a camera more expensive than a basic digital, so handling a more professional model was daunting; but as with  many things in life, practice makes perfect. After photographing the object, I edited the resulting photographs to correct any lighting or contrast issues, then cropped them to better focus on the object. Finally, I paired the photographs with their respective catalog forms. Over time, what initially felt intimidating became one of the most satisfying parts of the process, as I learned how thoughtful lighting and careful handling could highlight details that might otherwise go unnoticed. 

The second phase of my project was to research each object in the museum's accession records.  Some records were easy enough to locate: the catalog number was clearly recorded on the object and corresponded to a file containing donor information and contextual details such as who the object belonged to, who made it, or what it was used for. In other cases, the number was illegible, missing, or did not correspond to any existing file. In these instances, I consulted Hennepin History magazine to find a record of its accession or, at the least, narrow my search using clues such as a donor's last name recorded alongside the object. Once I completed these steps, I entered the information into the museum's digital collections database- Hennepin History Museum utilizes CollectiveAccess, an open-source cataloging software that allows the museum to make its collections accessible to the public.  

The final task of my project was writing thirty object lessons. The objective of this task was to write a short article highlighting the history of an item, especially in relation to Hennepin County history. I got to choose which objects to write about. I decided to pick areas of research I found most engaging. Writing these object lessons was intellectually demanding and occasionally challenging as a combination of contextual research and good old fashioned writers block stalled my progress. I also tend to see the trees for the forest, so choosing what details to specifically focus on in favor of the narrative added some difficulty. Despite these challenges, this proved to be the most rewarding experience of the project. I love learning new things; though I admit I had to push myself out of my comfort zone on topics I'm not well-versed in. It was also fun combing through old newspapers and seeing what was being reported on a random day in the past. 

One object lesson that illustrated both the joys and challenges of research was a 1970s era dress, belt and matching jacket set from Dayton's Oval Room, which was in its day a high-end fashion department known for showcasing emerging fashion. I initially set out to use the ensemble to explore the role the Oval Room played in Twin Cities' fashion history. While researching Dayton's for a different article on its Super Youth Quake event, a teen-oriented retail campaign, I found a 1964 Minneapolis Star article announcing that the store would be integrating its displays by introducing three Black mannequins and a Black live model for the Oval Room. Although this struck me as an important moment in local retail history, I was unable to find any additional information about the model and eventually set the article aside to focus on another object lesson. When I later returned to the topic of the Oval Room, a book I consulted fortuitously included her name: Bani Yelverton. Discovering her identity was both exciting and illuminating, as it allowed disparate pieces of local information to come together and underscored how easily significant stories can remain hidden without sustained research. 

Although I grew up in the Twin Cities, local history felt distant to me for much of my life, blending into the background of the city rather than standing out as something to be examined. Working on this project allowed me to engage with history through physical objects, transforming them from something abstract or invisible into something tangible and full of meaning. An example is a red chair mounted on the wall in what was, at the time, Camp Snoopy at the Mall of America. I remember seeing it at the Mall many times in my childhood, but I never knew why it was there. Through my research I learned that it marks the longest home run of Minnesota Twins hitter Harmon Killebrew's career at Metropolitan Stadium – the former site upon which the Mall of American was built. Moments like this underscored for me how institutions like the Hennepin History Museum help the public uncover the stories embedded in everyday spaces, making local history accessible, meaningful, and present.

There was also something stirring about cataloging the objects themselves. About sixty percent of the collection that I worked with were articles of clothing, spanning from the 1800s to the mid-2000s; while some items had seemingly never been worn, there were others where stains or evidence of repair brought the humanity surrounding them to the forefront of my mind. These were items used by someone; part of an individual's daily life. This feeling also extended to the roughly fifty-six bed coverings; especially 2025.0211.054 and 2025.0211.249. While the majority were handmade, these two items were particularly striking. The former was a knit coverlet and, as an avid knitter, I could see areas where the maker had made mistakes: the tension was off, and they had purled in a spot when they should have knit. I wondered why they had let these mistakes slide; did they not notice? Were they purposeful? Had the maker simply been unbothered by their existence? The latter was a crazy quilt embroidered with poems about pets, mottos, and political sayings; fragmented hints about the life of both the maker and recipient. 

In total, I catalogued 301 textile objects and wrote thirty object lessons, substantially improving both the organization and accessibility of the museum's textile collection. Through this project, objects that had been temporarily stored in either loosely packed, or overstuffed boxes on the floor are now properly rehoused in acid-free boxes with acid-free tissue support, clearly labeled and safely shelved for long-term preservation. Each object is fully cataloged, linked to its accession records, and entered into the museum's collections database, making the collection easier for staff to preserve and retrieve for display, and available for the public to explore online. These changes not only improved efficiency and reduced the risk of damage but also strengthened the museum's ability to care for and interpret its collections moving forward. Together, the physical improvements to the collection and the interpretive work of the object lessons have transformed these textiles from stored artifacts into accessible, meaningful pieces of Hennepin County history. 

Author Bio:  

Linnea Dahlquist holds two B. A's, one in Cultural Anthropology with a minor in art history from Minnesota State University Moorhead and the other focusing on History, Archaeology, and Cultural Studies and Comparative Literature from the University of Minnesota. In addition, they received a certificate in Museum Studies from the University of Washington. They often go down rabbit holes on a variety of topics but are especially drawn to anything relating to visual arts, crafts, folklore and mythology, music, identity expression, performing arts, and food. In their spare time they enjoy crafting and hanging out with their cat. 

This project was made possible in part by the people of Minnesota through a grant funded by an appropriation to the Minnesota Historical Society from the Minnesota Arts and Cultural Heritage Fund. Any views, findings, opinions, conclusions or recommendations expressed in this publication are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent those of the State of Minnesota, the Minnesota Historical Society, or the Minnesota Historic Resources Advisory Committee.