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smithsonian contributions to museum conservation • number 7

The Age of Plastic: 

Ingenuity and Responsibility

Proceedings of the 2012 MCI Symposium

Edited by

Odile Madden, A. Elena Charola, Kim Cullen Cobb, 

Paula T. DePriest, and Robert J. Koestler
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smithsonian contributions to museum conservation • number 7

The Age of Plastic:

Ingenuity and Responsibility

Proceedings of the 2012 MCI Symposium

Edited by

Odile Madden, A. Elena Charola, Kim Cullen Cobb, 

Paula T. DePriest, and Robert J. Koestler

WASHINGTON D.C.

2017
ABSTRACT

Madden, Odile, A. Elena Charola, Kim Cullen Cobb, Paula T. DePriest, and Robert J. Koestler. The Age of Plastic: Ingenuity and Responsibility, Proceedings of the 2012 MCI Symposium. Smithsonian Contributions to Museum Conservation, 

number 7, viii + 181 pages, 139 figures, 5 tables, 2017. — This volume brings together papers presented at “The Age of 

Plastic: Ingenuity + Responsibility,” a Smithsonian symposium hosted by the Museum Conservation Institute on June 

7–8, 2012. The event was conceived as a cross-disciplinary exploration of plastic as technological material, cultural phenomenon, preservation challenge, and force on the environment. Writers, scientists, conservators, historians, filmmakers, 

designers, and policy makers offer researched and first-hand accounts from life in the Plastic Age. Papers are organized to 

highlight the importance and complexity of plastic material culture through juxtaposition of countervailing positive and 

negative viewpoints. The volume features observations on innovation in plastic with past and contemporary examples of 

furniture design, failed experiments with proteinaceous fibers before World War II, the transition of celluloid from ivory 

simulant to unique identity, the space program, and bioplastics in automobiles. Studies of the rise of food packaging further 

explore how plastic shapes and is shaped by our culture. Preservation challenges that new, often unstable plastic poses for 

the cultural heritage community are explored through case studies of novel conservation treatments, research into new 

deterioration phenomena, and knowledge transfer. The relationship between plastic and the environment is probed with 

perspectives on pollution, advantages of plastic to living zoological collections, and recycling. Intended primarily for the 

cultural heritage community but also relevant to other fields, this volume demonstrates the importance and challenges of 

documenting the remarkable ongoing evolution of plastic materials that now are integral to the artifact record as markers 

of achievement and records of the innovation process.

Cover images, from left to right: Detail of Bernat, Figure 6R; Moggridge, Figure 5; and detail of Biddle, Figure 1. 

Published by SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION SCHOLARLY PRESS

P.O. Box 37012, MRC 957

Washington, D.C. 20013-7012

https://scholarlypress.si.edu

Compilation copyright © 2017 Smithsonian Institution

“Balancing Ingenuity and Responsibility in the Age of Plastic,” “Designing Plasticity,” “Separating Good Plastic from Bad 

Plastic in Conservation Biology,” “Plastic and Food Culture,” “Conservation of Plastics at the Smithsonian American Art 

Museum,” “Engineered Self-Disassembly: A Plastic That Turns into Gravel,” and “Debris in the Marine Environment” are 

in the public domain. The rights to all other text and images in this publication, including cover and interior designs, are 

owned either by the Smithsonian Institution, by contributing authors, or by third parties. Fair use of materials is permitted 

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Madden, Odile (Odile Marguerite), editor. | Smithsonian Institution Scholarly Press, publisher. | MCI Symposium 

(2012 : Washington, D.C.)

Title: The Age of Plastic: ingenuity and responsibility : proceedings of the 2012 MCI Symposium / edited by Odile 

Madden [and four others].

Other titles: Proceedings of the 2012 MCI Symposium | Smithsonian contributions to museum conservation ; no. 7. 

1949–2359

Description: Washington, D.C. : Smithsonian Institution Scholarly Press, 2017. | Series: Smithsonian contributions to 

museum conservation, ISSN 1949-2359 ; number 7 | Includes bibliographical references and index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2017013949

Subjects: LCSH: Plastics—History—Congresses. | Plastics—Technological innovations—Congresses. | Plastics—

Environmental aspects—Congresses. | Plastics—Conservation—Congresses. | Plastics—Social aspects—Congresses.

Classification: LCC TP1116 .A34 2017 | DDC 668.4—dc23 | SUDOC SI 1.57:7 

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017013949

ISSN: 1949-2367 (online); 1949-2359 (print) 

Publication date (online): 25 August 2017

c The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence 

of Paper for Printed Library Materials Z39.48–1992. 
Contents

PREFACE by Odile Madden, A. Elena Charola, and Robert J. Koestler v

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS vii

Balancing Ingenuity and Responsibility in the Age of Plastic 1

Odile Madden

INNOVATION

Designing Plasticity 19

Bill Moggridge

“Astonish the World with . . . Your New Fiber Mixture”: Producing, 

Promoting, and Forgetting Man-Made Protein Fibers 35

Mary M. Brooks

Is It Real? Imitation and Originality in Plastics 51

Robert Friedel

TRANSFORMATION

Advanced Materials Used in Space Suit Construction 61

Bill Ayrey and Linda Hewes

Separating Good Plastic from Bad Plastic in Conservation Biology 77

Pierre Comizzoli

Plastic and Food Culture 85

Cory Bernat

Ford’s Driving Role in the Bio-Based Materials Age 99

Debbie Mielewski, Ellen Lee, Angela Harris, and Cynthia Flanigan

RESPONSIBILITY

Conservation of Plastics at the Smithsonian American Art Museum 109

Lucian H. Shockey Jr.
i v • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

Preserving Plastic: Challenges in the Conservation of Modern Art Objects 125

Thea van Oosten

Engineered Self-Disassembly: A Plastic That Turns into Gravel 141

Molly McGath and Odile Madden

Midway: A Message from the North Pacific Gyre 147

Jan Vozenilek

Debris in the Marine Environment 155

Nancy Wallace and Dianna Parker

Closing the Loop with Plastics 157

Mike Biddle

Falling in and out of Love: Our Troubled Affair with Plastic 165

Susan Freinkel

INDEX 173
Preface

The papers compiled in this volume are based on the symposium “The Age of 

Plastic: Ingenuity + Responsibility,” which was hosted by the Museum Conservation Institute (MCI) in June 2012. The symposium was conceived to document the important relationship between plastic materials and culture from a 

cross-disciplinary perspective. With previous material ages, the so-called Stone, Bronze, 

and Iron, robust scholarship links the historical, cultural, and technological developments to the material for which each era is named. In the Age of Plastic, the technological 

and cultural shifts are ongoing and have been so abrupt that they have yet to be studied 

through the same lens. Yet plastic has had sufficient impact that we will want to document it, and our knowledge will be richer if we begin the documentation now while it 

is happening. The papers compiled here can be considered a set of eyewitness accounts.

It is appropriate that this work happen at the Smithsonian, our national museum and 

arguably the world’s greatest repository of plastic artifacts, where we record history in 

objects, words, images, and sounds. As the Smithsonian’s center for specialized technical 

collection research and conservation, MCI develops our knowledge of materials and the 

history of technology using scientific techniques and analysis of our collections. Plastics 

present a challenge for preservation of cultural heritage because the artifacts and plastics 

used to preserve and manage collections can show material instability over the short, medium, and long term. As these instabilities reveal themselves, we are presented with new 

opportunities to observe and study deterioration phenomena with which we had little prior 

experience or had not seen before. One of the priority research areas being developed by 

the MCI is to understand plastics in order to improve their preservation and conservation. 

Many of the plastic objects that we have designated as historical artifacts were not 

intended to endure in perpetuity—none more so than the disposable plastic containers and 

cutlery with a functional lifetime of a single meal. Other objects are intended to withstand 

longer, often extreme use, such as the plastic components of astronaut suits and artificial 

hearts. And for artwork the desired life span is often indefinite. Once an object is accessioned into a museum collection, the time horizon is extended to centuries. Virtually all 

Smithsonian collections include plastic objects. Even our live-animal collections at the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. and at the Conservation Biology Institute in Front Royal, 

VA are impacted by the plastics used in their care. 

In this volume we take a broad view that includes not only preservation concerns but 

also perspectives on history, design, and environmental fate. With this approach, we can explore the history of polymers, the ingenious innovations, and the failures. We can examine 

how our culture has shaped the materials and objects we choose to create and, conversely, 
v i • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

how the advent of plastic materials has affected our culture. We 

can weigh how the proliferation of plastic, with its various material properties, affects our health and the environment. 

Finally, plastic must be shaped and is therefore inextricable 

from design. Some synergy of form and function is required for 

any plastic object to be useful, appealing, and collectable. At the 

same time, the properties of plastic determine the possibilities of 

expression. This give-and-take between material and designer is 

a fundamental concept of the Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum. At our 2012 symposium, we were delighted that 

the opening presentation was by the museum’s director, a visionary designer and pioneer in human-centered design, the late Bill 

Moggridge, to whom we dedicate this volume.

Odile Madden, Research Scientist, 

Museum Conservation Institute

A. Elena Charola, Research Scientist, 

Museum Conservation Institute

Robert J. Koestler, Director, 

Museum Conservation Institute
Acknowledgments

The organization of the Smithsonian volume and symposium “The Age of Plastic: Ingenuity + Responsibility” was made possible through the support and 

help of many. The event was funded generously by the Smithsonian Grand 

Challenges Consortia for World Cultures and Understanding the American 

Experience and the Museum Conservation Institute (MCI) and made possible by the 

kind help of Melanie Feather, Francine Lewis, Ann N’Gadi, and Beverly Smith (MCI); 

Charlotte Doney, Alexandra Fuller, Molly McGath, and Hannah Tubb (MCI interns and 

fellows); Tiarna Doherty and Mary Tait (Smithsonian American Art Museum); Eddie 

Mendoza (Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage); Karen Lawrence and James Staples 

(Smithsonian Facilities); and Marc Bretzfeldter, Sherry Coley, and Mike Tuttle (Office of 

the Chief Information Officer).

ABSTRACT. This introduction assumes the premise that we are in the midst of a new material age 

to explore how seemingly disparate perspectives on plastic from history, design, technology, uses, 

preservation, and effects on culture and the environment can be connected by considering plastic 

as a physical substance. This chapter examines 15 papers presented at a Smithsonian symposium 

held in 2012 (including one presented by the author that is excerpted here) and stitches them into a 

larger discussion of innovation, transformations brought about by plastic, and current struggles to 

preserve the iconic examples and simultaneously address hazards and disposal of the rest.

INTRODUCTION

Stone Age, Bronze Age, Iron Age, and now the Age of Plastic? The original three-age 

system was conceived by a Danish gentleman named Christian Jürgensen Thomsen, who 

in the early nineteenth century proposed that the history of human activity before Christianity could be categorized by the materials people exploited as tools and other implements (Thomsen, 1836; Ellesmere, 1848). If Thomsen were to browse any Smithsonian 

museum collection or even walk through the back hallways of the National Zoo, what 

material would define today? I contend that material is plastic. 

Thomsen developed his three-age system while studying the antiquities collection of 

what is now the National Museum of Denmark, noting that the artifacts progressed from 

found materials—like stones but also bones, horns, and pieces of wood—to copper alloys 

(e.g., bronze) and then to iron.1

 Over many years, he organized chronologies for these 

artifacts and established the three material ages that have become fundamental to our understanding of humanity: Stone, Bronze, Iron. Many other Ages of X, Y, or Z have been 

proposed since then, and describing periods in this way arguably has been overdone, but 

the three-age construct is useful to this volume because it is based on the idea that materials are transformed through processing into things people can use. This idea can be 

described more succinctly as materials plus technology: obsidian that has been flaked to 

shape an arrowhead, copper alloyed with tin and cast into a bronze axe, and iron forged 

to create a sword. By studying worked materials we can learn how people modified the 

world around them and how our capabilities have changed over time. We can examine 

what people have chosen to do with new materials and how priorities evolve in reaction 

to new technologies.

For example, in the Stone Age, which had begun by 2.6 million years ago, people essentially gathered existing materials that they could use as tools. A round-bottomed rock 

could be used for pounding, whereas another might be flaked or sharpened so it could 

cut or pierce animal hide. Choosing a good tool meant understanding what material 

Museum Conservation Institute, Smithsonian 

Institution, 4210 Silver Hill Road, Suitland, 

MD 20746, USA.

Correspondence: O. Madden, MCIweb@si.edu 

Manuscript received 19 August 2016; accepted 

13 February 2017.

Balancing Ingenuity and Responsibility 

in the Age of Plastic

Odile Madden
2 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

properties would be best suited for the job. The stone for pounding should have a rounded bottom but also be harder than the 

material being pounded. It should be strong and not fall apart in 

use. This concept of material properties seems obvious and intuitive, and some of it is, but conscious consideration of physical 

properties lies at the heart of understanding materials. This is as 

true for plastic as it is for stone. 

The Bronze Age, which began as early as the fourth millennium bce, differed in that the material did not already exist in the 

natural world. Copper and tin, or arsenic in the earliest bronzes, 

were extracted from their respective ores by smelting, and then 

the smelted copper metal was alloyed with a lesser amount of the 

other to make a new metal with new properties.2

 Bronze melts at 

a lower temperature than copper, is easier to cast, and solidifies 

into a harder metal with a different color. 

The Iron Age refers to a period beginning between around 

1200 and 600 bce, when bronze technology was supplanted 

by the smelting, purifying, and working of iron in much of the 

world. Like the Bronze Age, iron technology emerged regionally at different times. As with copper, the majority of our iron 

comes from ore and, in combination with other elements, has 

been processed into pig, wrought, and cast irons and a range of 

steels from which we construct bridges, roads, skyscrapers, and 

machinery. Transmutation of ores was a major accomplishment 

that at times seemed magical. To the untrained eye, the ores from 

which we extract metals are just rocks, and turning these into 

metal was not easily explained until a conceptual framework of 

redox chemistry was described in the eighteenth century (van der 

Merwe and Avery, 1986; Budd and Taylor, 1995; Blakely, 2006). 

Indeed, the Smithsonian Institution was conceived as “an establishment for the increase and diffusion of knowledge” by the 

eighteenth-century mineralogist and chemist James Smithson, 

whose broad curiosity about the material world included traveling the globe to collect and study mineral samples, in particular 

zinc ore, and describe the mining and manufacturing practices he 

encountered (Rhees, 1881; Ewing, 2007).

Plastic is similar to bronze and steel in that the final product 

tends to be very different from the starting materials.3

 The earliest plastics, often called semisynthetic (although they could just 

as easily be called seminatural), had naturally occurring polymers 

as a starting point. Rubber latex is a sticky sap exuded by certain 

trees that had little commercial potential until Charles Goodyear and Nathaniel Hayward stiffened it by adding sulfur bonds 

in around 1847.4

 Arguably, vulcanized rubber may have been 

recognizable as a tougher version of the natural substance, but 

other plastics did not resemble their starting products. Cellulose 

nitrate, a nineteenth-century invention that would come to be 

known by the popular brand name Celluloid, and its successors 

cellulose acetate and cellulose acetate butyrate are modifications 

of natural cellulose that can be dissolved or melted and reformed 

into blocks, sheets, tubes, threads, and coatings.5,6 The portfolio 

of plastic raw materials eventually expanded to include nonpolymeric chemicals obtained from coal processing and petroleum, 

which bore even less resemblance to the final product. In fact, 

polyethylene and polypropylene, the most common commodity 

plastics today, are often created from gases! Given that the transformation is so complete and occurs in chemical factories, away 

from view, it is not hard to see how plastic engineering could 

seem like alchemy. Nevertheless, it is not magical, and its discovery and development are one of the most important technological achievements of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. 

In a mere century and a half, advances in plastic technology 

have made possible equally significant advances in other fields, 

including aviation, medicine, and packaging, which in turn have 

transformed the way we move and interact with people and the 

world around us and our quality and span of life. Some of these 

transformations have been positive, whereas others—such as the 

impact on the natural environment—are cause for concern. These 

transformations, their scale, and the interplay between material 

innovation and culture are central themes of this volume.

A common refrain of most contributors to this volume is 

that we are surrounded by plastic. This fact probably was clear 

to today’s reader even before picking up this book. Perhaps 

less obvious is the idea that the sheer scale of the plastic in our 

lives and the associated cultural transformations are sufficiently 

important that we will want to document them. That process 

will be more successful if we record the information now while 

in the midst of plastic’s development and before many of the 

early steps have evolved away and the fine-grained detail has 

been forgotten. One shortcoming of previous material ages is 

that we started recording them too late, so we have had to rely 

on the haphazard archaeological record. To this end, in 2012 the 

Smithsonian’s Museum Conservation Institute (MCI) convened 

a group of historians, scientists, engineers, designers, journalists, 

artists, and conservators to consider plastic. Each was invited to 

present a paper at a public symposium, participate in panel discussions, and contribute a chapter to this volume. They brought 

perspectives based on professional and personal experience, and 

the result was a broadly based discussion of innovation, driven 

by counterbalancing principles of ingenuity and responsibility. 

Unlike many public discussions of plastic, the underlying 

motivation was not to brainstorm strategies to do away with 

the stuff but rather to understand and preserve it in a historical 

and material sense. Objects that are made of plastic or include 

plastic elements increasingly are being accessioned into museum 

collections as art and artifacts, and museums are tasked with 

interpreting their significance and stewarding them for the long 

term. This interpretation and stewardship is a mission of MCI, 

and the responsibility comes with significant challenges. First, it 

is likely that we are still in the midst of plastic’s early development, a time when the technology is evolving quickly and involves a lot of experimentation. (In comparison, the Stone Age 

lasted millions of years, and the various regional Bronze and Iron 

Ages lasted millennia or several centuries.) This means there is 

great variety to document and understand. Perhaps because it is 

quite a new phenomenon the population at large is only beginning to recognize its evolution as an important historical event. 

Some notable histories have been written (e.g., DuBois, 1972; 
number 7 • 3

Haynes, 1953; Friedel, 1983; Meikle, 1995; Mulder and Knot, 

2001; Freinkel, 2011; Mercelis, 2012), but scholarship in this 

area is still young and incomplete. We also are discovering that 

many plastic objects are inherently unstable over the time spans 

expected by museums. Some categories of objects become sticky, 

yellow, shrunken, distorted, or cracked and can exude vapors 

that damage things stored nearby. For conservators, tackling 

this problem begins with knowing what the artifact is made of, 

which can be determined analytically but also requires understanding which technologies were available when the object was 

made. Interpretation and stewardship of artifacts also requires 

understanding an object’s context and the qualities that should 

be preserved. For example, aesthetic qualities like form, color, 

and texture might be given priority for a decorative object. On 

the other hand, the value of an early example of Celluloid might 

be preserving original material. For these reasons, collecting the 

various stories of plastic is important from a historical standpoint and for museums as both interpreters and stewards. 

But what information should we capture? Given that the 

body of existing scholarship is less developed for plastic than 

other traditional artifact materials, it behooves an institution like 

the Smithsonian to gather these histories. The editors of this volume have taken the perspective that to understand plastic fully, 

we should extract from it as much information as we can and 

pursue the question broadly, in the spirit of ethnographer and 

archaeologist Augustus Henry Lane-Fox Pitt Rivers (1887), who 

believed that the best archaeology records everything. We have 

chosen to include vignettes from chemistry, materials science, 

craft, design, art, industrial processing methods, history, archaeology, anthropology, and ethnology. The result is an intersection 

of many disciplines, with the substance plastic at the hub. For 

the overall category of plastic, a multiplicity of perspectives and 

voices is required to get a sense of the whole.

Of course, some linear organization is required for a volume 

like this to be a compelling read. The volume is organized along 

three general themes. The first contributions describe facets of 

the discovery and innovation process as they relate to plastic 

technology. The second section highlights instances of adoption and transformation, where plastic spurred innovations that 

were not envisioned before and that have radically transformed 

the way we live. As part of the innovation and adoption processes, deficiencies are discovered, either in the material itself or 

related to social and environmental factors. Stories of material 

shortcomings and current notions of social responsibility toward 

plastic, namely preserving our heritage, protecting ecosystems, 

and dealing with our waste, are described in the third section. 

Many of the volume’s chapters are significant for more than one 

of these themes and were placed in the category we considered 

most relevant. However, many different connections between 

them remain, and the reader may prefer to read the chapters in 

a different order. When the interplay is most obvious, I have included my comment as an editorial note. 

By design, contributions to this volume include many voices 

and writing styles that are peculiar to each author’s discipline, 

but the language is not highly technical for the most part. However, embedded in each chapter are issues that depend on the 

physical nature of the plastic. In reading this volume, I encourage 

the reader to consider the following:

• the background and perspective of each author

• the ways in which new design possibilities have been 

born from discoveries in plastic processing

• why certain polymers have been innovated and why they 

were or were not successful

• how material stability affects long-term preservation and 

our health

• the ways in which our shifting cultural priorities influence the raw materials from which plastic is made

I believe the reader will find that the seemingly disparate 

contributions offered here can all be related by considering plastic as a physical substance, with unique structures and material 

properties.

WHAT IS PLASTIC?

Plastic is a category of materials with wide possibilities for 

composition, processing, and properties. However, the substance 

is a mystery to most of us. In 1957 Roland Barthes described 

his experience at an exposition of plastics where an inscrutable 

machine turned out green plastic trifles:

An ideally-shaped machine, tubulated and oblong . . . 

draws, out of a heap of greenish crystals, shiny and 

fluted dressing-room tidies. At one end, raw, telluric 

matter, at the other, the finished, human object; and between these two extremes, nothing; nothing but a transit, hardly watched over by an attendant in a cloth cap, 

half-god, half-robot. (Barthes, 1972:97)

Presumably, the machine is an injection molder, a standard 

and quite straightforward piece of plastic-forming machinery. At 

one end, a stock of plastic beads is held in a hopper. The machine draws in a quantity of the beads, melts them with heat, and 

forces the molten goo into a mold. As the mold cools, the plastic 

rehardens in its new shape, and the mold is opened to reveal a 

new hairbrush or a coat hanger. It is hardly magic. One goal of 

this volume is to demystify plastic, so a primer is offered here.

The greenish crystals Barthes describes are most likely plastic beads, also called nurdles or molding powder, which are a 

convenient form for measuring out plastic in bulk, transporting 

it to manufacturers, and achieving even melting (Figure 1). Each 

bead contains a custom mixture of compounds. At a minimum 

Barthes’s greenish crystals include a polymer and a green colorant, but other substances like plasticizers, heat stabilizers, and 

fillers could also be present.

A polymer is the defining component of a plastic. It is a 

long or netlike molecule made of thousands of repeating segments. The vast expanse of these connected, identical segments 
4 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

is what gives polymers strength, elasticity, and moldability not 

found in other materials. A polymer’s qualities, typically called 

properties, describe how it behaves and depend on the atoms 

present, how they are organized within a molecule, and the relationship between individual polymer molecules. These qualities 

are defined at the molecular scale and translate out to the bulk 

material. 

Polymers typically are based on the element carbon, although inorganic polymers based on silicon, germanium, tin, 

and other elements also exist.7

 The simplest polymer molecule 

and most common plastic in the world today is polyethylene, a 

long chain of carbon atoms (gray) with hydrogen atoms (white) 

along the sides (Figure 2). It is a very nonpolar molecule, which 

imparts properties like waxiness, a propensity to absorb oils and 

repel water, and a resistance to friction and adhesion. A single 

strand of polyethylene is quite flexible because hydrogen atoms 

are small and only slightly inhibit the bending and rotating 

movements of the carbon backbone. This polymer is the material of Tupperware, Hula Hoops, and Frisbees.

Swapping out some hydrogen atoms with chlorine atoms 

or phenyl groups makes polyvinyl chloride (PVC) and polystyrene, respectively (Figure 3). These side groups are bigger and 

more electronegative, which restricts the carbon chains’ freedom 

to bend and rotate and hence makes plastics that are more rigid 

than polyethylene (Lampman, 2003); PVC plumbing pipe and 

the transparent polystyrene cover of a CD jewel case are examples. The polymer chain can be more complex than a straight 

chain of carbon and can include other elements, ring structures, 

double and triple bonds, and branches that influence all sorts of 

properties, from melting temperature and solubility to flexibility, 

impact resistance, elastic strength, transparency, and electrical 

conductivity (Figures 4 and 5).

Individual polymer strands stick together by covalent and 

ionic bonds, other attractive forces, and entanglements. In thermoplastic polymers the strand-like molecules hold to one another by entanglement and with relatively weak attractive forces 

like hydrogen bonding, dipole-dipole interactions, van der Waals 

forces, and sometimes ionic bonds. These attractions are not as 

strong as the covalent bonds that make up a polymer strand, but 

even the weakest of these becomes significant when it is repeated 

thousands of times across a polymer’s structure. These interchain 

attractions can often be overcome by heat or liquid solvents, 

which allow the polymer strands to slip past one another and 

the plastic to flow. Thermosetting polymers are different in that 

they cure into a network of covalent, and sometimes ionic, bonds 

rather than strands. Examples include polyurethane, like the 

Piero Gilardi polyurethane sculpture treated by Thea van Oosten 

(this volume), the Impranil substance she uses to reinforce the 

foam, and the Fred Eversley polyester resin sculpture treated by 

Hugh Shockey (this volume). Once cured, these thermosetting 

polymers can be softened somewhat with heat or swelled with 

solvents, but they will not flow again because the network of 

strong bonds between atoms prevents movement. Bonds also can 

be induced in existing thermoplastic polymers to create plastics 

FIGURE 3. Segment of an idealized PVC molecule with chlorine 

atoms shown in green. Image by Odile Madden.

FIGURE 2. Segment of an idealized polyethylene molecule. The 

entire molecule would be many thousands of carbon atoms long. 

Image by Odile Madden.

FIGURE 1. Cellulose acetate nurdles for injection molding. These 

colorless nurdles also contain the plasticizer diethyl phthalate. 

Photo by Odile Madden and Morgan Dundon, Smithsonian 

Institution, MCI.
number 7 • 5

that behave like a thermoset, are stronger and more rigid, and 

soften at higher temperatures.8

 This kind of bonding, often called 

cross-linking, can be forced in a factory or occurs spontaneously 

over time by oxidation. Examples include vulcanized rubber and 

cross-linked ultrahigh molecular weight polyethylene used in hip 

replacement surgery. 

For interchain attractions to create a cohesive plastic, polymer strands must be aligned enough to have many points of contact between them. The degree of organization and the type and 

number of contact points between strands influence the properties of the bulk plastic. The extremely long polymer strands in 

plastic tend toward disorder, and regions of tangles and nonspecific organization are described as amorphous. Amorphousness is yet another way to enhance a bulk polymer’s flexibility, 

solubility, and softening temperature, for example. At the other 

end of the spectrum, polymer chains that line up well can form 

highly organized crystalline regions that increase the temperature at which the plastic softens and make the plastic harder and 

less permeable to solvents. In reality, plastics contain amorphous 

and crystalline regions, and varying their relative proportions is 

yet another way in which polymer engineers can intervene to 

tailor a plastic’s properties. 

Crystallinity, strength, and high melting temperatures are 

not always desirable. In fact, we have as much need for plastics 

that are flexible, soft, or easy to melt or break. One way to induce 

these qualities is to reduce interstrand attractions by modifying 

the polymer side groups or by occupying the attraction sites with 

some intermediate compound. The modification of cellulose is an 

example of the former (Figure 5). Cellulose is a beautifully constructed molecule that organizes into a highly crystalline structure with strong hydrogen bonds between chains. It technically 

is a thermoplastic because the chains hold together with hydrogen bonds. However, we know from experience that cellulosic 

materials like paper, cotton, linen, and wood do not melt when 

heated or dissolve in water, alcohol, nail polish remover, or paint 

thinner. Meltable and dissolvable forms of cellulose are made by 

switching out the –OH side groups with other species. In methyl 

cellulose, soluble in water, some proportion of the hydroxyl side 

groups of the cellulose molecule is replaced with –OCH3

 (Figure 5). In cellulose nitrate, the substituting group is –ONO2

; 

the amount of substitution determines whether it can be used 

as a dissolved lacquer, celluloid film or object, or an explosive. 

In similar fashion, swapping out some proportion of –OH sites 

with acetyl groups gives cellulose acetate. Acetyl (–OCHOCH3

)

substitution of 2.0 to 2.5, meaning the average number of cellulose’s three –OH sites that are substituted with an acetyl group, 

can be dissolved readily in acetone (Cowie and Ranson, 1971). 

In each instance, introduction of some proportion of –OCH3

, 

–ONO2

, and –OCHOCH3 side groups transforms crystalline cellulose into a more amorphous, thermoplastic substance. From an 

FIGURE 5. Segment of cellulose molecule with the repeating unit shaded in gray and the substitutable –OH sites 

shaded in red. Image by Odile Madden.

FIGURE 4. Disposable soda bottles and polar fleece are made from polyethylene terephthalate (PET). Oxygen 

atoms are shown in red. Image by Odile Madden.
6 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

industrial standpoint, tailoring the solubility of the polymer to 

certain solvents for cost, protection of the processing equipment, 

safety, and environmental considerations is very important. 

Another option to reduce interstrand attraction is to add 

substances called plasticizers. Typical plasticizers are relatively 

small molecules that are mixed with the polymer during compounding and fit between the polymer chains.9

 These molecules 

reduce the number of secondary bonds that can form between 

polymer strands and simultaneously have enough attraction to 

the strands that the plastic coheres. The attractions between 

polymer and plasticizer and the remaining polymer-polymer attractions can be overcome by heating, adding a solvent, or even 

stretching the plastic such that the strands slide past one another. 

Plasticizers are added to facilitate manufacturing by lowering the 

flow temperature of the plastic and also to change the working properties of the finished product, such as making it more 

impact resistant, flexible, less brittle, and often weaker. Thus, 

enhancing one property might require a trade-off in another. A 

good example of these phenomena is PVC, which historically has 

been heavily plasticized with certain phthalates that transform 

the rigid PVC used as plumbing pipe into plastic as flexible as 

a shower curtain. Because plasticizer molecules are small and 

held in the plastic with relatively weak attractions, they sometimes migrate out of the plastic over time, resulting in shrinking, distortion, and embrittlement of the plastic and formation of 

sticky surface slicks. Migration becomes a public health concern 

when the plasticizer has some toxicity as in the case of some 

endocrine-disrupting phthalates. It also affects the future legacy 

of certain plastic artifacts that have been collected by museums 

but have begun degrading within decades of their manufacture. 

In this volume, these two perspectives on plasticizers are a focus 

of Susan Freinkel (this volume) and the contribution by McGath 

and Madden (this volume).

The discussion above highlights the many ways one can intervene in the process of creating a plastic and explains why such 

a staggering range of materials is possible. Polymer design and 

property-modifying additives all influence the finished object and 

how well it performs. The makers of early plastics did not have 

these polymer models to interpret rubber and celluloid. Experimentation was the norm, trying combinations of ingredients and 

processes by trial and error until some usable stuff emerged from 

the vat. Simultaneously, fabricators of plastic objects were figuring out how to process the various polymers and compounded 

plastics into usable forms: films, sheets, rods, fibers, paints and 

coatings, foams, and custom three-dimensional shapes. Increasingly, the fields of materials science and polymer engineering are 

advancing such that plastic structures can be modeled at the molecular level with a computer and then produced for specific applications. Computer modeling shortens the time needed to get 

new materials to market because the number of trial-and-error 

cycles is reduced. In theory, this shortened timeframe results in 

plastics evolving ever more quickly and should improve product 

quality. The plastics that are in fashion, being innovated, or becoming obsolete are a quickly shifting landscape.

INNOVATION BEYOND THE 

$10,000 BILLIARD BALL

How does innovation happen? It should be no surprise that 

a Smithsonian volume about plastic would look to the past. The 

first three chapters by Bill Moggridge, Mary Brooks, and Robert Friedel offer perspectives on plastic innovation that are, for 

the most part, retrospective. Innovation is a complex phenomenon that can be described in many ways. Often, innovation is 

recounted as an auspicious discovery or happy accident and is 

attributed to a particular individual, which has certainly been 

the case with plastic. The end result is a sort of creation myth 

that highlights the ultimate achievement at the expense of the 

process. It usually does not tell you much about innovation. In 

reality, innovation in materials is more complex and can have 

long developments and many participants, who may work together or separately, within a company or in competition, across 

national borders and long spans of time. Gradually, they advance 

the technology through a process of trials.

Take as an example the famous Celluloid billiard ball that 

John Wesley Hyatt created as a substitute for elephant ivory and 

is reputed to have won a $10,000 prize (Friedel, 1983; Figure 6). 

The ball is now in the collection of the Smithsonian’s National 

Museum of American History. Although it captures the imagination, the fabled billiard ball contest of 1868 does not convey the 

complexity of creating celluloid or a synthetic billiard ball. With 

such a large prize at stake, many people would have been working on solutions, and most of these would have been unsatisfactory or failed outright. Patent records show that John Wesley 

Hyatt himself tried multiple ideas. In 1865 he was awarded a 

patent for a billiard ball made from shellac, a plastic-like lacquer 

secreted by beetles (Hyatt, 1865).10 If that ball ever went into 

production, it does not seem to have been commercially successful. It is also rarely noted that John Hyatt did not work alone 

on the material that would be named Celluloid. His brother, 

Isaiah Smith Hyatt, was also named on the original patent and 

cofounded the Celluloid Manufacturing Company, but he died in 

1885 (Hyatt and Hyatt, 1869; Morris, 2012). 

Although the Hyatts’ Celluloid often is credited as the first

plastic, other plastic-like substances with similar properties had 

been molded not only from shellac but also from tree saps, animal 

blood, and horn for a few decades prior (DuBois, 1972; Pedersen, 

2004).11 The polymer cellulose nitrate—the primary component 

of Celluloid—was not new either. Nitric acid had been combined 

with cellulose to make explosive guncotton since the 1830s and 

plastic-like lacquers known as pyroxylin and collodion since 1846 

(Ménard and Florès Domonte, 1846; Pelouze, 1846; Schönbein, 

1846). Celluloid was innovative in that the cellulose nitrate polymer was mixed with camphor to form a solid, pliable mass. But 

the Hyatts’ Celluloid was not the earliest example of that material 

either. Englishman Alexander Parkes had patented his Parkesine 

a few months earlier (Parkes, 1865), and that venture was continued under the name Xylonite by Daniel Spill, a competitor of the 

Hyatts. Celluloid was the more successful commercial venture, 
number 7 • 7

and the trademark has been a common name for cellulose nitrate 

plastics and motion picture film ever since. The billiard ball story 

is historical shorthand for a more complex set of stories about invention that eventually led to the so-called first plastic, and these 

can be considered from the perspective of a famous lone inventor 

or as a gradual, competitive effort.

Retracing the innovation journey through milestones like 

the billiard ball is a natural and effective didactic tool, and it is a 

typical museum approach to teaching history. The first section of 

this volume opens with another such contribution by Bill Moggridge, designer and entrepreneur, who also was director of the 

Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum. Moggridge guides 

us through a multifaceted design lesson seen through the 60-

year evolution of the plastic chair. Chairs are particularly fertile 

ground for designers and a good challenge. Whereas art need not 

have a use or be understood, design presupposes that the design 

object has an intended purpose. A successful chair will invite a 

person to sit on it and support that person’s weight comfortably 

for a time. It might fall into a certain price window to make 

it commercially profitable, meet certain aesthetic requirements, 

or have other special features like stackability so many can be 

stashed away in a small space. As American industrial designer 

and social critic George Nelson (1953:9) wrote, “Every truly 

original idea—every innovation in design, every new application 

of materials, every technical invention for furniture—seems to 

find its most important expression in a chair.” Moggridge’s approach recalls influential chair histories by Nelson (1953) and 

Charlotte and Peter Fiell (1997) in highlighting examples that 

are or will surely become iconic. For Nelson, plastic was inevitable, but it was still a minor player in furniture when he wrote 

the book Chairs in 1953. Written 46 years later, the Fiells’s 1000 

Chairs includes many plastic examples, some of which overlap 

with Moggridge’s selections. However, the authors tend to approach the materials of which the chairs are made as incidental 

to the chairs’ context and aesthetics. Moggridge’s approach differs in that his focus is on the plastic technology, and the chairs 

are the examples. By spotlighting an everyday object that existed 

long before plastic and with which we are all intimately familiar 

he is able to isolate specific design innovations and relate each to 

an advance in plastic manufacturing that made that innovation 

FIGURE 6. John Wesley Hyatt’s Celluloid billiard ball, National Museum of American History, Smithsonian 

Institution. Photo by NMAH, Smithsonian Institution.
8 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

possible. From Bernard Rancillac laying up fiberglass by hand 

(Moggridge, this volume, fig. 6) to the charming robot that 

squirts out Dirk Vander Kooij’s Endless Flow collection (Moggridge, this volume, figs. 13–14), he treats the technologies by 

which plastic is worked as artists’ tools that can be explored and 

pushed to create design objects that are unique and yet mass produced. For Moggridge, the materials and craft elevate the result.

Moggridge then moves in for a close-up of his early experiences as an industrial designer working in plastic to create “everyday things” for people to use. Through personal stories, he 

recounts a designer’s experience exploring and struggling with 

new types of plastic and design tools. For example, there are 

anecdotes about shaping sticky structural foams and fabricating 

heat-resistant plastic parts that had to be painted in the colors he 

wanted because suitable body-colored plastics did not yet exist. 

His description of “the” CAD draws us right back to the 1970s 

when Computer Aided Design was still very new and foreign. 

The result is an eyewitness account from the Plastic Age that 

captures the flavor of exploring new technology, and what predominates is a delight in the possibilities, both past and future.

Not all possibilities succeed, of course. There are many failures along the way. In the second chapter, Mary Brooks (this 

volume), historian and conservator of textiles, recounts a failed 

and largely forgotten category of “azlon” textile fibers innovated 

from agricultural proteins. Naturally occurring polymers were 

the earliest source of man-made plastics and a large share of 

plastic feedstocks through World War II, but the majority came 

from rubber latex and cellulose rather than proteins. Brooks 

demonstrates that it was not that proteins were overlooked for 

plastics but rather that efforts to develop them flopped repeatedly.12 She traces two trajectories of failure in silk- and wool-like 

azlon textiles through World Wars I and II and weaves together 

the physical properties of regenerated protein fibers with complex motivators like market demand, wartime shortages, and 

national pride. Whereas Moggridge delights in the possibilities 

of new materials, Brooks introduces the concept of ersatz, a German word for a substitute material that tends to connote inferiority (Shurtleff and Aoyagi, 2014). Attitudes toward these ersatz 

textiles teetered between pride in innovation and disappointment. In times of war, a substitute could be a welcome solution 

to shortages of food and clothing, but once the scarcity was resolved, juxtaposition with the authentic original highlighted the 

ersatz’s inferiority. Brooks shows how this tension could strongly 

affect the market success or failure of a new plastic. Azlon fiber 

did not catch on then because it was an inferior product. 

This concept of plastic as a substitute winds through several contributions to this volume and is a central question of historian Robert Friedel’s “Is It Real? Imitation and Originality in 

Plastics” (this volume). In 1983 Friedel published the influential 

Pioneer Plastic: The Making and Selling of Celluloid, in which he 

discussed why celluloid so often imitated other materials, particularly elephant ivory. In the nineteenth century, biological materials like wood, elephant ivory, other teeth and bones, tortoiseshell, 

hoof, and horn were used for many objects that we make from 

plastic today. The natural dimensions of these substances, which 

limited the size and shape of objects that could be produced from 

them, and perceived impending shortages motivated innovation 

of substitutes (Friedel, 1983). Cellulose nitrate plastics like Parkesine, Xylonite, and Celluloid ultimately met these needs and in 

a sense democratized precious ivory and tortoiseshell objects by 

making convincing, affordable synthetic imitations. 

Friedel (1983) also showed how these precious natural antecedents facilitated celluloid’s adoption. By imitating ivory, makers 

of celluloid were teaching implicitly how the new material ought to 

be used, namely, for the same purposes as ivory. There is an interesting play on the perception of substitute materials here. On one 

hand, Mary Brooks shows how plastics could be the poor, ersatz 

cousin that was not quite as authentic or good as the original. But 

on the other hand, some plastics like celluloid made quite acceptable substitutes that became popular as lower-budget alternatives. 

Through imitation, celluloid also was made more culturally acceptable by association with a known and reputable substance. Friedel described that the prestige of ivory was familiar 

and that the uses of ivory were familiar. Thus, the chameleonlike nature of celluloid, a substance that excelled at imitating 

other substances, helped its adoption. He does not go quite so 

far as to describe familiarity of the material as a key to its success. The fact is that celluloid and plastics in general share many 

material properties with ivory, tortoiseshell, horn, coral, amber, 

mother of pearl, and the like because they are all based on polymers, some made by nature and some made by people. Their 

hardness, impact resistance or brittleness, hand feel, carvability, 

and luster when polished can be very similar, especially when 

contrasted with glass, ceramics, stone, and metals. By emphasizing the connection to ivory and tortoiseshell, manufacturers of 

celluloid were also communicating the material properties of the 

new, unfamiliar substance. 

In this volume, some 30 years later, Friedel draws our attention to a period when celluloid showed subtle signs of emerging 

from an ivory substitute to a material with its own possibilities 

of form and a distinct economic niche. Celluloid novelties in the 

Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History look like 

ivory at first glance, but Friedel invites us to go beyond their color 

and texture and see that they are more than ivory simulants. These 

objects slip the dimensional and financial constraints of ivory because celluloid is moldable, whereas elephant tusks are not. Yet 

these celluloid objects continued to be made with the color and 

texture of ivory. Friedel argues that the ivory look was used to elevate the status of celluloid, which was inexpensive and being used 

for mass-produced novelty items. I also would argue that the socalled first plastic, a new and foreign substance, needed to simulate 

other materials with which people were more familiar and had experience. The ivory-like appearance persisted as part of celluloid’s 

identity until it became familiar and was freed to find an aesthetic 

of its own.13 I base this proposition on ideas proposed by philosopher and early experimental psychologist James Mark Baldwin 

(1861–1934), who put forth that imitation and gradual adaptation are fundamental truths of human development and society. 
number 7 • 9

In its nature society is conservative. Its form results 

from long racial processes of gradual adaptation and 

compromise. It represents a complex state of equilibrium, a balance of opposing and concurring interests. 

So every new idea, every project of reform or change, 

has to fight for its acceptance, to struggle for existence, 

to show itself adapted to social belief and use. Not 

all alike are available for social generalization. Those 

which do show themselves available must not be too 

antagonistic to the established, or too remote from it. 

They must be, as it were, children of the present, made 

of the same material and recognizing the same realities, 

physical and social, as the thought already adopted and 

sanctioned in society.

It is, in fact, the slight variations which are more 

usually fruitful. Seed-thoughts, epoch-making discoveries, are slow in making themselves felt. If they are 

too abrupt, too radical in the demands they make for 

change, they rest dead and fruitless, perhaps always—

certainly until some moderate thinker restates them in 

form more assimilable to the social store. (Baldwin, 

1911:153–155)

In short, when confronted with something new, it is natural 

to try to make sense of it through comparisons to things you already know. Baldwin observed that early childhood development 

proceeds by trials of imitation; we copy behaviors we observe 

around us, categorize things we sense, and file them away in our 

minds. For example, the category of birds includes many variations on a bird, but they are all birds and in a sense copies. As 

humans, we continue our very existence through a process we 

call reproduction and transmit our culture through tradition. Imitation also is key to the innovation process, whereby changing 

only a few facets at a time maintains continuity to the past and 

helps the new aspects to be accepted. Friedel touched on this idea 

of incremental innovation in Pioneer Plastic, but here he fleshes 

out the idea and describes it with artifacts.13 Making objects that 

would not have been made out of ivory or tortoiseshell look like 

those materials allowed manufacturers to produce objects “in an 

indisputably acceptable form” (Friedel, 1983:61). 

Many chapters in this volume play with the idea of imitation and substitution, from Brooks’ faux silks and wools to 

Jan Vozenilek’s heartbreaking account of the Laysan albatross 

for whom plastic imitates food (Vozenilek, this volume). The 

imitation that is so widely practiced in plastic can even verge 

on parody. Bill Moggridge describes the Louis Ghost Chair as 

Philippe Starck always wanting to make a joke. The play on the 

historic wooden Louis XV and XVI chair styles of the late eighteenth century, but rendered in plastic by Starck, actively recalls 

the past. However, by making the chair transparent and naming 

it “ghost,” Starck situates it firmly as a memory, all the while 

doing nothing to hide its materiality and instead celebrating a 

new possibility of plastic. Self-awareness of plastic’s inauthenticity is so deeply engrained in us that when Moggridge shares 

that he has a collection of plastic food, meaning the small food 

sculptures used to advertise the menus of Japanese eateries, it is 

funny. These are beautifully rendered plastic sculptures that he 

valued for their craftsmanship and probably their irony. Implicit 

are plays on plastic and food, synthetic versus natural, and the 

freshly prepared versus the industrially packaged.

TRANSFORMATIVE PLASTICS 

OPEN NEW HORIZONS

There came a point in the development of plastic when expectations flipped; plastic began to open up new vistas. These 

new vistas are the focus of the volume’s second section. The most 

incredible feat, and of special importance to the Smithsonian, is 

the evolution of human flight and space exploration. Here Bill 

Ayrey and Linda Hewes (this volume) recount the creation of 

space suits for the NASA Apollo and Space Shuttle programs 

(Figure 7). On May 25, 1961, President John F. Kennedy announced his goal “of landing a man on the moon and returning 

him safely to the earth” before the decade’s end (Kennedy, 1961). 

Given the new space program’s tight timeframe and modest budget, known plastics were chosen and tasked for new, demanding 

applications. These included nylon, polyester, PVC, and neoprene to name a few. A space suit would not have been possible 

without plastic, for what were the alternative materials?

Ayrey and Hewes’s firsthand accounts of designing successful space suits are rich with details that are valuable as historical knowledge and for the suits’ long-term preservation. Again, 

there is the sense of an incremental process of product development whereby improvement came about through repeated 

discovery of inadequacies. For these authors, the focus is not 

the extraordinary finished space suit—the marvel of which is 

self-evident—but rather the long, even plodding development 

process, as if we are asked to focus not on the birth of sun god 

Apollo but rather on his mom Leto’s grueling 9-day labor (Figure 

7). They convey beautifully that to innovate is to persevere.

The advent of synthetic polymers has also contributed to 

astounding medical breakthroughs. With plastic we have extended our life quality and expectancy worldwide and can literally outlive our bodies. A stand-out example in the Smithsonian’s 

National Museum of American History is the Liotta-Cooley artificial heart, the first artificial heart implanted in a human being 

(Figure 8). It kept patient Haskell Karp alive in 1969 for sixtyfour hours until a human heart became available for transplant. 

The heart incorporates textiles of Dacron, a polyester textile 

fiber created by DuPont, and Silastic, a silicone elastomer from 

Dow Corning (Cooley, 1969). In fact, many temporary and permanent plastic prosthetics now sustain us after our physical bodies fail. This trend is likely to grow with 3-D printing technology. 

Blood bags and other disposable intravenous equipment 

are another consequence of plastic. Early blood transfusion attempts in the seventeenth century were direct from one living 

being to another through goose quills or tubes of silver or brass 
1 0 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

(Tucker, 2012). This sounds nightmarish today because we have 

better options. By World War II, the ability to store blood for a 

period of time had been developed but was limited by the available materials: glass bottles and rubber tubing (Elliott, 1936; Elliott and Nesset, 1940). Glass is heavy and breaks easily, which 

made the blood supply insecure. It also is rigid and cannot be 

squeezed, so blood flowed to the patient by gravity with the 

bottle lifted high. This was particularly problematic in battle as 

the person holding the bottle could become a target for enemy 

fire. Plastic eventually revolutionized blood transfusion and intravenous medicine. Plasticized PVC was made into blood bags 

in 1950 as an alternative to glass bottles and has since replaced 

rubber tubing as well (Walter and Murphy, 1952; Walter, 1955, 

1984). The risk of contamination is reduced as is the incidence 

of air bubbles. The bags can be squeezed and so do not need to 

be held up high in a combat situation. According to the American Red Cross (2017), nearly 21 million blood components are 

transfused in the United States each year! And yet there are challenges. Fluids, nutrients, medicines, and blood are administered 

intravenously to patients through plastic bags, tubing, syringes, 

cannulae, and catheters, and there is valid concern that components of the plastic, including phthalate plasticizers, can migrate 

into the solution and be delivered into the patient (Center for 

Devices and Radiological Health, 2001; Calafat et al., 2004; 

Koch et al., 2006). But with so many lives saved by intravenous 

treatments, we are unlikely to give up that technology. As Pierre 

Comizzoli (this volume) describes, veterinary and reproductive 

medicine have been transformed by plastic supplies that are 

more convenient, less expensive, and safer than glass. Comizzoli, a gamete biologist and veterinarian, gives us a peek at the 

requirements of curating and preserving endangered animal 

species. He shows that plastic is vital to his work and draws a 

distinction with the plastic pollution that threatens those same 

animals and their habitats. In so doing he draws attention to a 

paradox of plastic and what it means to use mass production 

and disposability responsibly.15

In the following chapter, Cory Bernat describes another important transformation made possible by plastic, namely the rise 

of plastic food packaging after World War II. Bernat describes 

the war as a time when assembly-line manufacturing flourished 

and food production was industrialized. At the war’s close in 

1945 resources began to flow from public uses to private ones, 

and consumer goods including plastics proliferated (Meikle, 

1995). This adoption has led to indisputably beneficial transformations. Food wrapped in plastic can be preserved longer, 

protected from contamination, and distributed widely in regular 

measured quantities. Much of the world no longer needs to live 

near the cow or the farm to eat safely. Yet despite its great promise, the proliferation of packaging has downsides. Drawing on 

her dual expertise in history and graphic design, Bernat describes 

the evolution of food packaging through visual and written marketing messages that reprogrammed wartime frugality into a culture of postwar “consumers” who could afford to use cups once 

and throw them away. She then ties the rise of these single-use 

FIGURE 7. Pressure suit worn by Neil Armstrong on the Apollo 

11 mission. Transferred from NASA to the National Air and Space 

Museum. Photo by Mark Avino, NASM, Smithsonian Institution.
number 7 • 1 1

convenience items to the explosion of plastic that pollutes our 

land and waterways today. 

A great deal of angst exists in our society about plastic, waste, 

the environment, and pollution, but the root of that angst can be 

difficult to articulate. We worry about the scale of plastic manufacturing and the fate of natural resources that are not renewable 

or are being used at rates that outpace their renewal. Discarded 

plastics put pressure on landfills, pollute our land and waterways, 

and pose hazards to people, flora, fauna, and ecosystems. Being 

wasteful, with disposable single-use plastic items for example, is 

philosophically distressing in many cultures. This discomfort is 

spurring action that is transforming the types of plastics available 

to us and the ways in which we interact with them. 

One reaction has been to revitalize research into bioplastics, the current term for plastics that are made wholly or partly 

from agricultural inputs, like soybean oil and wheat straw, rather 

than petroleum and natural gas. Debbie Mielewski (this volume) 

leads the plastics technology research program at Ford Motor 

FIGURE 8. Liotta-Cooley artificial heart. National Museum of American History. Division of 

Medicine and Science, NMAH, Smithsonian Institution.
1 2 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

Company, where she develops new bioplastic materials for use 

in their automobiles. Like Bill Moggridge, Bill Ayrey, and Linda 

Hewes, she and her team offer a fine-grained, firsthand account 

of their research experience, which includes creation of a commercially successful seating foam from soybeans that finally transcends the ersatz soy products chronicled by Mary Brooks (this 

volume). Mielewski too is a designer, but in chemical engineering, and has focused her career on resource management and 

sustainability rather than design aesthetics. Her perspective is an 

interesting blend of environmentalism, chemistry, and the large 

corporate paradigm. 

Mielewski’s team showcases the development of a few of 

their most successful products, including fairly technical, behindthe-scenes accounts of soy-based polyurethane foam, wheat 

straw–reinforced polypropylene (WSPP), and polylactic acid. 

Although the polymers are different, this must be how creators 

of Brooks’ azlon fibers would have worked, except Mielewski’s 

foam and WSPP have been commercial successes. The products 

they make must meet stringent requirements. Because the materials will end up in an automobile, they must perform well in terms 

of safety and over an extreme range of temperatures from below 

freezing to more than 100°F. Their foams must be resilient to the 

sitting and bouncing of many riders over many years. Her team’s 

innovations must be cost-effective, competitive with traditional 

alternatives, and scalable to the size of Ford’s fleet. 

Mielewski and her team’s work in bioplastic highlights some 

important distinctions in today’s bioplastic debate. As discussed 

earlier in this introduction and in the chapters by Brooks and 

Friedel, plastics derived from plants are not new but rather were 

fundamental to the birth of plastic. Ford Motor Company’s history with plant-based plastics stretches back to the 1920s when 

Henry Ford became interested in chemurgy, a synergy of agriculture and chemical processing to create profitable industrial products (Shurtleff and Aoyagi, 2004). For two decades he invested 

in research into the possibilities of soy in paints, plastic panels, 

and textile fibers that he incorporated into automobiles and food 

products like soymilk and textured vegetable protein. This research faded away after World War II as petroleum extraction 

and distribution expanded across the United States. The postwar 

shift to fossil fuels has been so complete that plastics and petroleum are now seen to go hand in hand, and the early history with 

plant-based feedstocks has been largely forgotten. Mielewski 

and her team have revived this kind of research at Ford Motor 

Company with different motivation. From a corporate perspective, diversifying the portfolio of raw materials to include more 

domestic agricultural products stands to reduce Ford Motor 

Company’s vulnerability to petroleum price volatility and dependence on foreign oil. Although they do not state it explicitly, the 

authors also imply a personal desire to move plastic manufacturing toward more environmentally sustainable and less wasteful models. For example, straw is essentially a waste product 

of wheat cultivation that they have used as reinforcement for 

some plastic parts. In fact, Mielewski’s earnest research seems to 

have been a novelty at Ford until fairly recently, when the global 

sustainability movement became mainstream. Perhaps for these 

reasons, Mielewski and her team consider their research to be 

postplastic and the beginning of a new technological paradigm.

RESPONSIBILITY: PLASTIC WE VALUE 

AND PLASTIC WE DON’T

By the culture of improvement I mean the ascendancy 

of values and beliefs permeating all levels of society 

that “things could be done better.” Friedel (2010:2)

With ingenuity comes responsibility. New ideas, things, and 

technologies can be exciting at the outset, and the flaws, deficiencies, and disappointments become apparent only with time and 

experience. Robert Friedel posited that innovation happens by 

a culture of improvement, whereby the next new thing is some 

kind of improvement of the status quo. This certainly has been 

the case with synthetic polymers, and the third section of this 

volume looks at some of the current concerns. 

When natural rubber was first exploited in Europe and the 

United States, it was both marvelous and vexing. It could erase 

pencil marks and make coats waterproof, but it was sticky in 

warm weather and rock hard in the cold and was prone to foulsmelling rot. Then it was discovered that heating the rubber with 

a mixture of white lead and sulfur transformed the latex into 

a highly elastic, stable substance that was “‘cured’ of its problems” (Loadman, 1998). Two centuries later it remains one of 

the world’s most important industrial and commercial polymers. 

Figuring out how to stabilize rubber took a decade or so, 

but in hindsight the solution was straightforward. Correcting 

other plastic deficiencies has required more complex solutions, 

even when the problem was a glaring public safety risk. 

We learn from a Connecticut paper that while a little 

girl in Norwich was combing her hair the other day 

with a celluloid band comb, near an open gas-jet, she 

accidentally brought her head too near the flame and 

the comb took fire. The frightened child had presence 

of mind enough to throw it from her head, and escaped 

with her hair considerably singed. The comb burned 

on the floor until it was entirely consumed. (Baltimore 

Underwriter, 1880:198)

Cellulose nitrate combs were even more hazardous to manufacture. Errant sparks from a buffing machine, celluloid dust 

collected on hot steam pipes, and carelessly discarded cigarettes 

all started factory fires that gutted buildings, destroyed tons of 

inventory, and killed and disfigured people working inside (Bureau of Surveys of New York Board of Fire Underwriters, 1909; 

Figure 9).

Cellulose nitrate motion picture film was another notorious hazard. Around the world, movie theaters were scenes of 

conflagration, mass injuries, and deaths by burning, stampede, 

and jumping from buildings. Months before the fire at Robert 
number 7 • 1 3

Morrison’s Brooklyn comb factory, a celluloid film reel caught 

fire in Acapulco, and more than 200 persons burned to death 

in the wooden theater (Hopkinsville Kentuckian, 1909; Insurance Press, 1909). Cellulose nitrate film’s flammability was so 

notorious that it has become an enduring movie plot device 

used by Alfred Hitchcock (Sabotage, 1936), Giuseppe Tornatore 

(Cinema Paradiso, 1988), and Quentin Tarantino (Inglourious 

Basterds, 2009). 

The public health hazards posed by celluloid were clear as 

soon as it came to market, but its dangers and solutions were still 

being debated into the 1920s (e.g., Jenkins, 1918; Cook, 1919; 

Richardson, 1919). What should one do with a plastic that can 

explode into flames when heated, supplies its own oxygen, and 

therefore cannot be smothered, even under water? The obvious 

answer would be to ban cellulose nitrate outright, which did not 

happen, or substitute it with a noninflammable polymer, which 

did not happen until the early 1950s (Cricks, 1949). A cellulose acetate substitute called Cellit was introduced by Bayer in 

the first years of the twentieth century, but production of this 

product and its subsequent competitors ramped up slowly (Stannett, 1950; Coleman, 1975). In the United States, the available 

stock of noninflammable motion picture film was directed to the 

portable projector market, whereas commercial movie houses 

relied on engineering and regulatory controls (Victor, 1918; 

Cook, 1919). For example, the British Cinematograph Act of 

1909 and subsequent regulations enacted licensing requirements 

for projection houses, mandated the use of enclosed, fireproofed 

projection rooms with self-closing doors, and forbade smoking 

in the projection room (Hart, 1949; Williams, 1997). Movie projectors were redesigned to expose minimal lengths of film at a 

time, and the “projectionist” became a recognized professional 

with standards set by professional societies (Society of Motion 

Picture Engineers, 1916). The projectionist’s vigilance was further ensured by the installation of a toilet and wash basin in the 

projection room so that no film would be left unattended (Richardson, 1919). Regulations also extended beyond the theater. 

For instance, municipal regulatory agencies and insurance companies set strict construction and storage standards for facilities 

that housed any form of nitrocellulose (Insurance Engineering, 

1912). In Britain it was forbidden to transport celluloid film by 

rail unless enclosed in sturdy galvanized iron cases (Hart, 1949). 

The problem of inflammable cellulose nitrate was ultimately 

solved with these and many other administrative, engineering, 

and regulatory controls, along with hiked insurance rates, development of fire-retardant additives, and, finally, a shift in polymer 

from cellulose nitrate to cellulose triacetate by the early 1950s. 

It was more than 70 years from the little girl with the burning 

comb to a permanent resolution of the cellulose nitrate problem. 

Today’s plastic problems are different. We no longer accept 

plastics that burn down buildings or singe children, but we do 

have serious issues with which to contend. 

The first issue we examine is the preservation of cultural 

heritage. Plastics have been so successful—socially, technologically, and artistically—that they are now important historically 

as well. Plastic artifacts and artworks are being collected by museums in increasing numbers. These objects have a wide range of 

intended service life. For example, each space suit for the Apollo 

mission was intended for a single flight. A McDonald’s polystyrene foam clamshell box was intended to last long enough to 

keep a hamburger warm until it was eaten (see Bernat, this volume, fig. 13). When an object enters a museum collection, its 

intended purpose and service life changes. It will not travel to the 

moon again or hold any more food. Its new purpose is to represent itself in perpetuity. What representing entails varies, but 

typically, the object should look like itself and remain chemically 

and physically stable, and for objects that have moving parts or 

have a time-based element like physical motion or video, it might 

be desirable to keep that function intact.

However, museums are discovering that many plastic objects show signs of chemical degradation quite quickly relative 

to other more traditional artifact materials like stone, glass, or 

wood. They shrink, discolor, distort, crack, and become sticky. 

FIGURE 9. On November 8, 1909, at least 10 people died when 

Robert Morrison & Son’s Fiberloid comb factory caught fire in 

Brooklyn, New York. Underwriters speculated that two young 

men were sneaking a cigarette while nailing shut a crate of celluloid 

merchandise or maybe their hammer sparked when it struck a nail. 

Photo: Brooklyn Daily Eagle, 1909:1.
1 4 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

Some become brittle or weak and no longer support their own 

weight. Our experience with plastic is relatively short, and longterm degradation is something we are learning to understand. 

Conservators must prolong the survival of these objects and 

deal with routine damages that occur in storage, handling, and 

exhibition. Scientists working in this area are actively trying to 

decipher the chemical processes that underlie deterioration and 

to come up with solutions to entropy. Three chapters illustrate 

some of this problem. 

Hugh Shockey is an objects conservator who has encountered many sculptures made of plastic or that include plastic elements. He describes some of the issues that face a conservator 

of modern and contemporary art and three novel conservation 

treatments of objects in the collection of the Smithsonian American Art Museum. 

Thea van Oosten is a conservation scientist emeritus at the 

Netherlands Cultural Heritage Agency and a recognized expert 

in the stability of historic plastics. She is particularly well known 

for her work with polyurethane foam and here offers her account of treating a colorful and pliable foam sculpture by Italian artist Piero Gilardi. In this instance the object has become 

brittle and structurally unsound, and she intervenes by applying 

another polymer to strengthen the foam and restore flexibility. 

The third paper in this group is offered by materials scientists Molly McGath and Odile Madden, working at the Museum 

Conservation Institute on a collection of model airplanes from 

the National Air and Space Museum. We describe a catastrophic 

form of deterioration in objects made of cellulose acetate, which 

became popular during World War II through the early 1960s, 

when it was largely supplanted by other polymers like ABS. This 

deterioration has no known cure, but we present the case study 

as a potential model for dealing with waste plastics we would 

like to recycle.

Although the museum community grapples with plastics 

that break down, the general public has formed a contradictory 

impression that plastic never goes away. Most often, this opinion 

is heard in relation to the plastic pollution that clogs our landfills 

and litters our cities, landscapes, and waterways. Although we 

are still learning how long individual pieces of plastic will last 

under a range of conditions, it is clear that plastic is an increasing 

proportion of our waste stream and that the garbage often ends 

up in places where we do not want it to be. 

The related problems of waste management and plastic pollution are a recurrent theme in this volume, but three contributions in this section address them expressly. The section opens 

with a photographer’s personal memoir of documenting the 

plight of Laysan albatrosses on Midway Island. These majestic and charismatic birds have been popularized in recent years 

for their ingestion of plastic garbage floating on the ocean. Jan 

Vozenilek gives a moving account of his time spent on Midway 

as part of a documentary film crew. By painting a picture of suffering, he shows that even the remotest islands are not immune 

to our consume-and-discard culture and irresponsible attitude 

toward garbage. Given that we live on a watery sphere with a 

growing population and such large-scale pollution, there can be 

no more “away.”

Vozenilek’s account is deeply personal, and his suggested 

solutions are geared toward individual behavior. Solutions also 

must be sought at a much larger scale. The U.S. government response to marine pollution, the official policy term for which is 

marine debris, is described by Nancy Wallace and Dianna Parker 

(this volume), the director and communications specialist of 

the Marine Debris Group of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. They offer a macroperspective in more 

formal and dispassionate terms. Pollution is a phenomenon as 

old as civilization itself, and our solid pollution today includes 

the colorful plastic we see in the albatrosses and other materials 

like concrete and metal (Markham, 1994). Wallace and Parker 

contextualize the plastic problem in the larger scheme of marine 

debris and show how the federal government is addressing the 

problem. Wallace and Parker and Jan Vozenilek are at two ends 

of a spectrum, but they tell similar stories. Like flaming celluloid, the solutions to our pollution crisis are likely to involve 

cultural solutions at the individual, community, national, and 

global levels.

End-of-life belief systems for plastic are not so different from our scheme for humans: we inter it in a designated 

place, burn it, let it go back to nature, or reincarnate it. Debbie Mielewski’s team offered bioplastic as a sustainable solution 

to our natural resource woes. However, their chapter does not 

touch on what should happen to the plastic after its time in a 

car.16 In the third paper of this series Mike Biddle, founder and 

CEO of MBA Polymers, draws our attention to the commercial 

challenges of reincarnating discarded plastic through recycling. 

Biddle (this volume) takes the perspective that existing plastic is 

a valuable resource that can be mined to create tomorrow’s plastics. He points out that plastic is more valuable than steel on a 

weight-to-weight basis, but we recycle 90% of our steel, copper, 

and aluminum and less than 10% of our plastic waste. By offering a reliable supply of recycled polypropylene, polyethylene, 

polystyrene, and other plastic nurdles for injection molding and 

extrusion, valuable plastic waste can be diverted from landfills 

or incineration, and we can save energy and CO2

 we would otherwise expend to create virgin plastics. The obstacle he faces is 

not technological but rather cultural. To mine our discarded 

electronics, refrigerators, and other refuse on an industrial scale, 

those resources must be aggregated, and this requires the will 

and cooperation of governments, communities, and individuals 

alike. It is telling that his company’s headquarters and research 

facility are in California, where the company was started, but the 

production facilities are located in England, Austria, and China 

rather than the United States.

We chose to end this volume with an essay by Susan Freinkel, author of Plastic: A Toxic Love Story. For her, the toxic 

in the title has dual meaning. There are the toxic chemicals that 

can leach out of plastic into the environment or directly into 

our bodies, and there is our unhealthy relationship with plastic. 

Her metaphor of a love story going awry is apt for our current 
number 7 • 1 5

situation. We are at a crossroads where we must learn to understand plastic not as an evil villain but rather as an evolving substance made by people. The papers in this volume show that the 

innovation trajectory of plastic is complex, with some progress 

dependent on iterative material discoveries and other less obvious elements rooted deep in our human nature. Nevertheless, 

Freinkel (this volume) draws our attention to aspects of plastic objects that are quite within our control: we create plastic, 

choose how to use it, and choose how we value it. Currently, we 

expect plastic things to perform well and be durable, but we designate too many of them as cheap and disposable. Much of the 

innovation in plastics today focuses on solving this problem with 

technological solutions. Yet our relationship to plastic is tricky, 

and detangling it will also require changes in our behavior and 

attitudes—cultural changes. We know from Cory Bernat that our 

transition to disposable convenience was not that long ago, and 

hence, it is not inevitable. Freinkel describes that we can choose 

to follow our higher selves and prioritize achievement and betterment of our condition—and many noble examples are examined 

in this volume—or we can choose to use this magical substance 

carelessly to the detriment of ourselves and the planet on which 

we live. If we accept the premise that we are in the midst of a 

plastic age, its central challenge is to balance our drive to innovate and transform with our responsibility for the repercussions.

NOTES

1. Interestingly, bones, horns, and wood are examples of naturally occurring 

polymeric materials. Plastics are synthetic polymeric materials.

2. It is widely accepted that the arsenic in early arsenical bronzes was a contaminant in the copper ore. It is debated whether arsenic was intentionally 

added in some cases (Lechtman, 1996; Thornton et al., 2009). Regardless, 

the resultant metal is derived from ore.

3. Plastic also is similar to bronze in that multiple substances are often blended 

to tailor properties of the material to specific applications.

4. The vulcanization of rubber by American chemist Charles Goodyear and 

businessman Nathaniel Hayward in around 1847 is one of the earliest examples of a category of plastics called elastomers. As is so often the case in 

recorded history, this was not a new discovery. Mesoamerican cultures are 

believed to have vulcanized natural rubber latex with the sulfur-rich juice of 

Ipomoea alba, a species of morning glory, more than 3,000 years ago. Goodyear and Hayward’s work is associated with the beginning of plastics because 

it was coincident with the burgeoning Industrial Revolution, the beginnings 

of organic chemistry, and commercial production of synthetic polymeric materials in the Western world. Thus, rubber vulcanization was one event in a 

flow of innovation that would come to be called plastic.

5. Cellulose is a major structural component of plants and is worked into materials that include cotton and linen threads, basketry, tapa cloth, papyrus, and 

wooden objects. It is the world’s most abundant natural polymer. 

6. Throughout this volume, celluloid is used to describe moldable cellulose nitrate plastics, whereas the proper name Celluloid describes Hyatt’s specific 

brand and their company, the Celluloid Manufacturing Company.

7. Of these, carbon and silicon polymers are made into plastics. Common silicon examples include caulk that seals our bathtubs and showers, flexible silicone cooking tools, and Silly Putty.

8. Controlled cross-linking can be desirable in manufacturing, but spontaneous cross-linking over the long term is also a common cause of insolubility, 

shrinkage, and embrittlement in historic plastics.

9. Compounding is the process of formulating a plastic by mixing polymer(s) 

and additives in a molten state. In industry the end result is usually nurdles, 

beads, or molding powder. Thus, raw plastic is often a mixture of more than 

one compound that has already gone through a round of factory processing. 

Mielewski et al. (this volume) give an excellent example of the complexities 

of compounding in their description of formulating wheat straw–reinforced 

polypropylene.

10. The patent process is another means by which inventions are recognized and 

attributed to specific individuals. A patent officially documents the invention 

being patented but does not typically describe the innovation process.

11. Examples include vulcanite, gutta-percha, and bois durci.

12. One notable exception is casein, a moldable milk-based plastic that was developed in Europe beginning in 1897 and today is known best by the brand 

Galalith. It was a popular material for buttons, knickknacks, and costume 

jewelry, but even it had poor moisture resistance.

13. Susan Freinkel, in the closing chapter of this volume, describes that the 

change in aesthetic came in 1907 with a new phenol formaldehyde plastic 

known best by the brand name Bakelite.

14. Discussed in Friedel (1983:60–61). 

15. In the symposium, the order of oral presentations was different, and Comizzoli’s was juxtaposed with Jan Vozenilek’s account of albatrosses on Midway 

Island. Reading the written versions together highlights that contradiction 

even more strongly than Comizzoli’s account alone.

16. Bioplastic and biodegradability are often used interchangeably, but they have 

different meanings. Bioplastics describes the raw materials of which a plastic 

is made. The feedstock material may have been alive recently and would have 

returned to the earth by nature’s own recycling scheme if it had not become a 

plastic. Biological beginnings do not necessarily mean that the resultant plastics are more likely to break down in a speedy or benign way. Biodegradable 

refers to the likelihood that a plastic will be degraded by living organisms but 

does not presuppose that a biodegradable plastic was made from a biological 

source.

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I called my talk “Designing Plasticity” because, as a designer, plastics are a wonderful thing to use and manipulate. When I graduated from college with an industrial 

design education, I thought that my whole career would be trying to create everyday things, made in metals and plastics, for people to use. Now we find that design 

can be applied in a much broader way, but I certainly did not think at that time that I 

would end up at the Cooper Hewitt, National Design Museum, and be working with the 

Smithsonian.

Roland Barthes described plastic in Mythologies in 1957 as “the first magical 

substance which consents to be prosaic” (Barthes, 1972:98). The prosaic part of it is 

something I really like as a designer thinking of everyday things. I thought it would be 

interesting to take a single product category and look at a few examples as a first thing.

PLASTIC DESIGN AS SEEN THROUGH THE CHAIR

The film Objectified by Gary Hustwit (2009) is about industrial design. In the initial 

sequence he shows the manufacture of a modern plastic chair:1

When you see an object, you make so many assumptions about that object, in 

seconds. What it does. How well it’s going to do it. How heavy it is. How much 

you think it should cost. The object testifies to the people that conceived it, 

thought about it, developed it, manufactured it, ranging from issues of form to 

material, to its architecture, to how it connects to you, how you touch it, how 

you hold it. Every object, intentional or not, speaks to who put it there.

The narrator, Jony Ive, is the senior vice president of design at Apple, so he is responsible for all of the Apple design in the last 15 to 20 years, although not going back as far 

as the Apple II, which was designed by Jerry Manock. Jony Ive has just been knighted, actually. I think next time I see him I’m going to have to decide whether to call him “Jony” 

or to call him “Sir Jony.” That’s a rather embarrassing decision. 

The Air Chair being made in that scene comes from a company Magis in Italy and 

was designed by Jasper Morrison (Figure 1). It is gas-injected polypropylene, so it has 

the ability to have a thick wall because it has gas squirted on the inside, whereas most 

injection-molded plastics require a constant wall thickness. That’s why you see all those 

shapes with edges, whereas this has that rather enjoyable solidity. It is an innovative 

material.

Let’s go back a bit to the Cooper Hewitt collections from 1948. Charles Eames, of 

course, was the most dramatic of innovators in terms of materials, and he and Ray and 

their team at the design office experimented with new materials, yielding this chair in 

“fiberglass” glass reinforced plastic (GRP; Figure 2). That was a very innovative thing in 

Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum, 

2 East 91st Street, New York, New York 10128, 

USA.

* Deceased. Transcribed and edited by Odile 

Madden, Kim Cullen Cobb, and A. Elena 

Charola. Correspondence: O. Madden, 

MCIweb@si.edu

Manuscript received 19 August 2016; accepted 

13 February 2017.

Designing Plasticity

Bill Moggridge*
2 0 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

1948 and an interesting design. We have an original one in our 

collection, but you can still buy them today in the same form, 

although some of the details are a little different, from many 

design outlets.

A little bit later, we find George Nelson, also for Herman 

Miller, designing also in GRP this rather beautiful swan chair, 

Swag Leg (Figure 3). The shape of the legs and the curved form 

of the plastic material give it a very interesting individual quality.

The Danish designer Verner Panton designed one of the first 

stackable injection-molded chairs for Herman Miller in 1960 

(Figure 4). It is stackable by having its shape repeatable. The 

form allows comfortable seating with a little elasticity, so when 

you sit, you bend back a little bit, but at the same time it has that 

stacking quality.

Joe Colombo designed another stacking chair in injectionmolded ABS in 1965 (Figure 5). The legs look rounded because 

there are additional parts added to the bottom. The bottom of 

each leg is a separate molding that is plugged into the chair, such 

that only a hair line join is visible. You get a sense that the chair 

is a very complete form.

The Elephant Chair is an experimental form from Bernard 

Rancillac (Figure 6). I think it is a one-piece and probably a hand 

laid-up polyester.2

 Called the elephant chair, quite obviously why, 

it has that rather fascinating shape.

Pastil by Eero Aarnio is also one from our collections (Figure 7). This is a two-part molded GRP. You can see again that 

split line around the center, which allows it to be this sort of very 

single, pastil-shaped object, but it is made of the two parts to 

complete the underside.

Of course, you can separate your plastics into little bits, so 

the beanbag was an interesting invention in the 1960s and became very popular, in fact, when I was at college. This was one 

FIGURE 2. RAR Rocking Chair, ca. 1948–1950; designed by 

Charles Eames (American, 1907–1978); USA; molded fiberglassreinforced polyester, bent metal rods, wood, rubber; H × W × D: 

69.5 × 62 × 66 cm (27 3/8 × 24 7/16 × 26 in.); gift of Barry Friedman and Patricia Pastor; 1986-99-46, Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian 

Design Museum.

FIGURE 1. Jasper Morrison Ltd product: Air Chair, 1999. Produced by: Magis. Photo: Walter Gumiero.
number 7 • 2 1

of the original leather and polystyrene pellets version of it where 

the polystyrene pellets inside allow it to move around, and as 

you sit they firm up (Figure 8). They use a lot of things of that 

nature now in hospitals, when you’re going for a CAT scan or 

something. They’ll put a bed underneath and allow the weight of 

your body to hold your neck, head, or whatever is being scanned 

in a constant position during the process. This was designed by 

a lot of collaborators: Pietro Gatti, Cesare Paolini, and Franco 

Teodoro.

The Herman Miller Work Chair by Don Chadwick and 

Bill Stumpf was a great breakthrough in terms of work seating, 

and the pellicle really made the difference (Figure 9). Previously, 

work seating had adjustments for up and down, leaning back, 

and all those things, but they had always been a bit sticky because there was a solid back and seat. The idea of this pellicle, 

which is a woven synthetic fiber with elastomers, allows you to 

have a transparent-to-air seat and back that makes it much less 

sticky when you are sitting on it. You can sit and be warm and 

not find that the sweat accumulates, which is very enjoyable. The 

chair has been incredibly successful, and still a lot of them are 

being sold.

Philippe Starck always wants to make a joke, and this joke 

was about Louis XIV, I suppose (Figure 10).3

 The idea of this 

injection-molded chair is that the transparency makes it become 

ghostlike. You hardly notice the chair as it picks up the environment around it. This is a single-molded injection molding in 

polycarbonate, but the thickness of the walls is constant here, so 

the edges define the form. Being broader at the front than at the 

back, it also allows vertical stacking.

Patrick Jouin is an interesting designer who designed the 

show Set in Style: The Jewelry of Van Cleef & Arpels that we 

had at the museum in 2011. He experimented with single pieces 

of epoxy, which are laid over the top of each other (Figure 11). It 

looks like a printed chair, but it’s not actually. Strips of epoxy are 

FIGURE 3. Swag Leg Chair, 1958; designed by George Nelson 

(American, 1907–1986); USA; molded fiberglass, swaged tubular 

steel, rubber composite; H × W × D: 78 × 71.5 × 67 cm (30 11/16 

× 28 1/8 × 26 3/8 in.); gift of Barry Friedman and Patricia Pastor; 

1986-99-45, Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum.

FIGURE 4. Panton Stacking Side Chair, designed 1960, manufactured 1972; designed by Verner Panton (Danish, 1926–1998); 

United States; injection molded luran s thermoplastic; H × W × D: 

82.5 × 49.5 × 55 cm (32 1/2 × 19 1/2 × 21 5/8 in.); gift of Robert 

Blaich; 1977-1-1, Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum.
2 2 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

FIGURE 6. Elephant Chair, 1967; designed by Bernard Rancillac; 

France; molded polyester, bent metal; overall: 109 × 143 × 156.6 

cm (42 15/16 in. × 56 5/16 in. × 5 ft. 1 5/8 in.); museum purchase 

from Decorative Arts Association Acquisition Fund; 1991-47-6-a,b, 

Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum.

FIGURE 5. 4860 Side Chair, 1967; designed by Joe Colombo (Italian, 1930–1971); Italy; injection-molded ABS plastic, rubber; H × W × D: 

72 × 43.3 × 43 cm (28 3/8 × 17 1/16 × 16 15/16 in.); 1986-115-1, Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum.
number 7 • 2 3

FIGURE 9. Aeron Office Chair, 1992; codesigner: William Stumpf 

(American, 1936–2006); USA; die-cast aluminum, molded glassreinforced polyester, hytrel polymer, polyester, lycra; H × W × D: 

91.3 × 75.5 × 57 cm (35 15/16 × 29 3/4 × 22 7/16 in.); gift of 

the employee-owners of Herman Miller, Inc.; 1997-73-1, Cooper 

Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum.

FIGURE 8. Sacco Chair, 1968; codesigner: Piero Gatti (Italian, 

b. 1940); Italy; leather, polystyrene pellets; 103.0 × 85.0 × 94.0 cm 

(40 9/16 × 33 7/16 × 37 in. ); gift of International Contract Furnishings, Inc.; 1981-59-1, Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum.

FIGURE 7. Pastilli Rocking Chair, 1968; designed by Eero Aarnio 

(Finnish, b. 1932); Finland; molded fiberglass-reinforced polyester; 

H × diam.: 52 × 92 cm (20 1/2 × 36 1/4 in.); gift of The Lake St. 

Louis Historical Society; 2001-31-2, Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian 

Design Museum.
2 4 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

FIGURE 10. Louis Ghost from Kartell by Philippe Starck, 2002. Image courtesy of Kartell.

FIGURE 11. Solid C2 Chair, 2009; designed by Patrick Jouin 

(French, b. 1967); Belgium; stereolithography-formed epoxy resin; 

H × W × D: 76.8 × 40 × 54 cm (30 1/4 × 15 3/4 × 21 1/4 in.); 

museum purchase from the Members’ Acquisitions Fund of Cooper 

Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum; 2009-8-1.
number 7 • 2 5

laid together and welded together, which forms this very natural 

look and gives it a unique quality, but in fact it’s made very much 

by hand.

Yves Béhar, who runs the design company fuseproject and 

designs for Herman Miller, had an opportunity to research an alternative to the pellicle. He found that using an injection-molded 

polyurethane, which has flexibility and a rubbery quality, he 

could just hang a single molding across the back of an armature, which avoids having a big frame around it like the Herman Miller Aeron chair, and get the same sort of comfort and 

feel that the pellicle had (Figure 12). The Sayl Chair is available 

now and seems to be doing very well because it is made quite 

economically. 

We see a lot of ideas of printing now. In the same way that 

in the 1980s desktop publishing allowed everybody to make nice 

graphics for their picnic or whatever it was, now we have everybody with their little robots able to print nice objects at home. 

Dutch designer Dirk Vander Kooij has managed to raise the scale 

of the printing so that you could actually print a chair (Figure 

13a,b). An article by Suzanne LaBarre of Co.Design, the online 

version of Fast Company, includes a video that shows the chair 

is made of plastics recycled from the inside of fridges that are 

printed by a robot (LaBarre, 2010, 2012; Vander Kooij, 2012a; 

Figure 13c).

On this idea of responsibility versus ingenuity, this is a 

clearly ingenious design, in my opinion. Is it responsible? You 

maybe think that it is more responsible because it uses the recycled interiors of fridges. On the other hand, you could have made 

the Air Chair out of recycled material, but you could not have 

made this beautiful yellow version of it because you would lose 

the purity of color.4

 The choice here was to use an unrecycled 

material in order to get that pure color. So, I think this idea of 

responsibility related to sustainability is always a more complex 

choice than first is obvious. The more of it the better, clearly, but 

at the same time one wants to think about the value proposition 

of both recycling and not recycling.

PERSONAL STORIES

I want to tell a few personal stories because I think it’s interesting to go back and think about how plastics have affected one 

in a direct way. As a designer, I was always fascinated by them. 

They give the freedom to do design in a way that wasn’t there 

until the plastics industries emerged and made the opportunity to 

create lots of forms that have functionality and value. Here I am 

in my first studio in 1969 (Figure 14). Yes, that’s the same guy, 

the one on the right there. Not the same color of beard, I have to 

admit. One of the first design competitions I won using plastics 

was a television design competition from Rank Bush Murphy, 

which was the big TV producer in Britain at that time (Rowlands, 1972; Figure 15). Of course, most TVs at that time were 

in wooden cabinets, so the idea was to try and do something a 

little bit more revolutionary that would use the tactile qualities 

of self-skinned polyurethane (PU) foam, which is squashy and 

forms a skin on the outside that would give it a surface quality. 

We also designed a mechanism so that you could lean it back at 

different angles by pushing on the front.

Because I won the competition we were given the budget to 

develop a full-size prototype. The instrumentation in the center, 

which was made with conventional ABS-type materials, looks 

very crisp, but the self-skinned part is a little bit uneven and has 

a little bit of a wobble down the edges. It is very difficult to make 

models out of flexible foam. It is much easier to cut things that 

are rigid than it is to cut things that are flexible. For this foam, 

you use an electric carving knife and then a very, very fast sanding disc. I managed to get it fairly even but not perfect. Also, 

there’s something rather disgusting about the model because it 

was made with an existing piece of foam with a sprayed on covering rather than the actual self-skinning of PU that would have 

been used in production. The prototype had a slightly soapy 

quality so when you pushed it was a little icky. So apologies for 

lack of model-making ability.

The first product that I designed completely myself that 

went into full production was a toaster for the UK company 

FIGURE 12. Sayl Chair designed by Yves Béhar for Herman Miller, 

2011. Image courtesy of fuseproject.
2 6 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

FIGURE 14. Bill Moggridge (foreground) in studio, 1969. Image courtesy of IDEO and the Moggridge estate.

FIGURE 13. (a) Endless Chair by Dirk Vander Kooij, 2011. (b) Detail of robot printing an Endless Chair by Dirk Vander Kooij, 2011. 

(c) Robot printing an Endless Chair. Images courtesy of Studio Dirk 

Vander Kooij.

(a)

(b)

(c)
number 7 • 2 7

belonging to Hoover (Figure 16). Interestingly, the front and 

back end moldings are made of phenolic, a thermosetting resin, 

rather than a thermoplastic because of the temperature of the 

heating elements inside. Phenolic, of course, is black, so in order 

to make a white version as well as a black version they painted 

the phenolic. Although it was good paint that didn’t chip off easily, it seemed ironic to me that you had to have a black plastic 

that was painted white in order to get that effect. Today, you 

could get high-temperature injection-molded material, probably 

a melamine, without any problem.

This space heater was the first design that I created that was 

put on the front cover of a design magazine, so it was a kind 

of triumph (Figure 17). The idea is it sucks the air in from the 

sides, then compresses, heats, and pushes the air out into the 

room. I was trying to express that in the form of the design, 

which is probably why it got the notoriety. I was disappointed 

that Hoover never produced it. The combining of materials was 

interesting. The top is a piece of sheet metal, and the front is an 

aluminum extrusion. Both those two components are painted. 

Then the sides are injection-molded phenolic, again painted. The 

whole thing is put together to look like a single form but is actually made of multiple materials. I think this is pretty normal for 

good design. If it is going to work properly, one has to be so 

FIGURE 17. Prototype for Domestic Space Heater (England), 1973; 

designed by Bill Moggridge (English, 1943–2012); sheet metal, extruded aluminum, compression molded phenolic plastic, wood; 

H × W × D: 15.2 × 38.1 × 27.9 cm (6 × 15 × 11 in.); gift of Bill Moggridge; 2010-22-2, Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum.

FIGURE 16. Toaster designed by Bill Moggridge for Hoover UK, 

1970. Photograph courtesy of IDEO and the Moggridge estate.

FIGURE 15. Soft TV designed by Bill Moggridge for Rank Bush 

Murphy, 1969. Image courtesy of IDEO and the Moggridge estate.
2 8 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

aware of the possibilities of materials and to always think of and 

work with them. 

The first computer I designed that went into full production 

was a large data entry workstation that people would sit at and 

enter information on the keyboard (Figure 18). A display down 

in a hole in front of you was a reflection trap, and you also could 

use the surface without the display for different tasks. This was 

made in big structural foam moldings, rigid structural foam in 

polyurethane. The whole top is one molding, and then the whole 

of the chassis is a second molding, with sheet metal at the back. 

It was very much made up of large plastic components.

This marine radiotelephone is a relatively small structural 

foam design (Figure 19). The front panel is designed in typical 

injection-molded ABS, but the two-part surrounding body component is a molded, self-skinned structural foam that is smaller 

and more dense than that used for the desk and ABS rather than 

polyurethane. Another secret of design is to always find out what 

it’s really like for the people who use these things. In order to discover how fishing boats would use these marine radiotelephones, 

we went to Hull, which is a fishing town up north in Britain, got 

on the boats, and went out into the North Sea with them. We 

found out what it was really like to have to try and use these 

things in cramped cabins full of instrumentation for their fish 

finders and all that stuff. If you can think of materials and people 

in prototyping, those are key to understanding design.

FIGURE 18. Data Entry Workstation, designed by Bill Moggridge 

for ITT, Spain, 1974. Bill Moggridge, Designing Interactions, photograph, page 9, © 2006 Massachusetts Institute of Technology, by 

permission of The MIT Press.

FIGURE 19. Marine radiotelephone designed by Bill Moggridge for SRT Sweden, 1977. Photograph courtesy of IDEO and 

the Moggridge estate.
number 7 • 2 9

When I started the second office in Silicon Valley, I designed 

an office telephone of molded ABS using computer-aided design (CAD). We were just trying to learn how to use CAD systems, which were very expensive in the early 1980s. A unit cost 

about $150,000, so instead of buying one, initially, we went to 

a service. An operator would do the operation, and you’d sit 

next to that person and say, “Please, put a line here and a radius 

there,” et cetera. It was a very bad user interface. I was rather 

delighted one day when I was going around the collections in 

Newark with Odile Madden. We were winding the handles in the 

compact storage and peering and seeing the rows of things, and I 

found this telephone was in our collection (Figure 20). 

And so was this word processor! It was the first I knew 

about it, and I felt very lucky. We developed the word processing 

system from Minolta in collaboration with a company in Boston 

(Figure 21). We had taken training in using these difficult CAD 

systems and were doing it ourselves without the skill of the operator. It was a nightmare! We were working 12 hours a day, and 

these guys from Minolta were looking over our shoulders to see 

how we did the CAD, and we weren’t very competent at it. It was 

just very, very difficult, although we did get it done in the end. 

ON INGENUITY AND RESPONSIBILITY

With all things plastic the idea of ingenuity plus responsibility is a complicated issue. Examples that I feel are on the 

ingenuity side include Adaptive Eyecare for self-prescription of 

eyeglasses, from a British inventor (Figure 22). There is a plastic 

frame, and in each of the circular lenses are two pieces of Mylar, 

FIGURE 20. Telenova Station Set Desktop Telephone, 1982; designed by Bill Moggridge and ID Two; USA; plastic housing; overall: 6.2 × 28 × 

21.2 cm (2 7/16 × 11 × 8 3/8 in.); gift of Arango Design Foundation; 1994-31-126-a/c, Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum.

FIGURE 21. Word processor designed by Bill Moggridge for Minolta, 1984. Photograph courtesy of IDEO and the Moggridge estate.
3 0 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

front and back. Two cylinders of gel with dials are attached to 

the arms. To fix your eyesight, you close one eye and then wind 

the dial on the other one until it expands the lens and you can 

see. If you go too far, just wind it back a bit. Then close the other 

eye, and do the same. You don’t need any opticians. You can 

do it in Africa. You can do it wherever, and you can do it very 

inexpensively without the infrastructure that we have here in the 

West. Of course, the system deals with magnification and not 

aberration, but as such it is pretty magical and very ingenious.

A colleague of mine at IDEO designed a game controller 

for Logitech that looks like carbon fiber but is really made of 

ABS (Figure 23). These printed techniques where you can float 

any form onto a complex surface is a false kind of ingenuity. In 

fact, most of the cars that you drive in have some sort of texture, 

often wood, on the dashboard that use these printed techniques. 

Only very expensive cars like Bentleys and Ferraris use real wood 

nowadays. There is a long history of simulation in plastics of real 

materials. Sometimes they come out as nicer. Sometimes they 

FIGURE 22. Adaptive Eyecare, invented by Oxford physics professor Joshua 

Silver. Left: the glasses in use; above: the system used to change the focus of the 

lenses. Images courtesy of The Centre for Vision in the Developing World.

FIGURE 23. Game controller designed at IDEO for Logitech, 1996. Image courtesy of IDEO.
number 7 • 3 1

come out as just awful copies. Sometimes they are as good as this 

carbon fiber texture, and you really can’t tell the difference. I am 

fascinated by that. Personally, I have a collection of Japanese plastic food, which is a way of representing food in plastic. They are 

lovely for their really excellent calligraphy. Cast in very accurate 

shapes, the shape and color and details are put back with brushes 

in a very beautiful way. My wife also has a collection of Lucite 

purses from the 1950s, so between us we are kind of crazy about 

the old plastics, which are mostly simulating something else. 

The first iMacs were ingenious by the use of transparency 

and one of Jony Ive’s first designs that struck a big chord with 

the public (Figure 24). The first typewriter to be obviously portable and obviously accessible using a plastic molded, colorful 

surround is another excellent example of ingenuity, designed by 

Ettore Sottsass and Perry King in 1969 (Figure 25).

Now when it comes to responsibility, I don’t think it is 

very responsible the way we use so many plastic water bottles 

for drinking. I would far rather have something traditional and 

simple like a glass, thank you. It also would be perhaps more responsible if we could think of materials that wear in rather than 

wearing out. I mean, there is nothing like an old boot, is there? 

The leather quality is absolutely wonderful, and the more you’ve 

well worn it, the more you’ve kicked it about, the better it seems 

to look. There are a few plastics that ding nicely, often with textures, things that don’t mind when they get knocked about, that 

get nicer, and you get more fond of them. That’s a wonderful 

thing to do if you can.

Ecovative’s Mushroom® Materials is an example of replacing 

wicked materials with wonderful materials (Figure 26).5

 It is the 

equivalent of expanded polystyrene that is used in construction 

FIGURE 24. iMac Computer with Keyboard and Mouse, 1999; designed by Apple Industrial Design Team and Jonathan Ive; China; molded 

plastic, rubber, glass, metal, electronic components; H × W × D (a: computer/monitor): 38 × 38.5 × 42.5 cm (14 15/16 × 15 3/16 × 16 3/4 in.) 

H × W × D (b: keyboard): 4 × 39.2 × 14 cm (1 9/16 × 15 7/16 × 5 1/2 in.) H × diam. (c: mouse): 42.5 × 8 cm (16 3/4 × 3 1/8 in.); gift of Apple 

Computer; 2000-63-1-a/c, Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum.
3 2 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

for two purposes: fire protection and insulation. Mushroom®

Materials have exactly the same properties in both those characteristics, but it is actually made of mycelium. Mycelium grows, 

and when it gets to the right density you kill it and use it like 

expanded polystyrene. Pretty nice. 

Another thing to think about a lot if we are going to be 

responsible is how we recycle and how we handle our materials 

once we have used them. I came across an example in Belmont, 

which is a suburb of San Francisco close to Silicon Valley where 

they seem to have a really good way of getting effective recycling. 

An informational piece gets delivered to every household with 

instruction about how to position three containers with different 

contents outside when they are getting ready for pickup. A sign 

on the top of each container tells you what goes inside. Lovely 

trucks with a little robot on the side come along and pick them 

up in three sweeps, one for each of the containers. The robot 

lifts the container up, pops it over the top, and empties it. It’s 

done with a nice piece of robotics, and the driver never has to 

leave the cab. Then they give you more information about how 

to deal with it as you move forward. I think that’s an interesting 

example of trying to deal with the information needed to get 

people to really recycle rather than just paying lip service to it, in 

a way that is supported by a system of infrastructure. 

Secretary Clough put together a strategic group that he 

was kind enough to invite me to participate in, about a year 

and a half ago, for looking at a strategic plan for sustainability 

at Smithsonian.6

 Our team found that you could really think of 

sustainability in three different sections. There is the knowledge 

we can create, and the Museum Conservation Institute could be 

a great place to do that. Then the way we communicate and get 

the knowledge out there. And then there are actions that we take 

ourselves to be more sustainable as an institute. 

FIGURE 25. Valentine Typewriter and Case, ca. 1969; designed by Ettore Sottsass and Perry A. King; Italy; molded ABS plastic, metal, rubber; 

H × W × D (a): 10.3 × 33 × 34 cm (4 1/16 in. × 13 in. × 13 3/8 in.) H × W × D (a, b: with case): 11.5 × 34.5 × 35.5 cm (4 1/2 in. × 13 9/16 in. 

× 14 in.); gift of Barry Friedman and Patricia Pastor; 1986-99-40-a,b, Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum.
number 7 • 3 3

NOTES

1. The film score plays as an automated gas-assisted injection molding apparatus sucks up polypropylene nurdles and melts them unseen. The machinery 

slides in to push the melt into the mold. The mold then opens, revealing a 

complete white plastic chair that is picked up with suction cups by a robotic 

arm and placed at the end of a row of identical chairs. Jonathan Ive narrates 

in voice-over.

2. The chair seat probably is polyester reinforced with fiberglass, which is one 

form of glass-reinforced plastic (GRP). Polyester, fiberglass, and GRP are 

commonly used terms that describe the same material.

3. In fact, the style of the Louis Ghost Chair is more reminiscent of the Louis 

XV and Louis XVI styles.

4. The color palette of recycled plastics has expanded in the time since this 

presentation was first conceived. In 2012 Dirk Vander Kooij claimed that his 

pigment manufacturer has found a way to make bright colors, such as yellow. 

This expanded palette is evidenced in the designer’s printed products since 

then (Vander Kooij, 2012b).

5. In his original presentation, Bill Moggridge called this mycelium-based biomaterial by an earlier product name, “Greensulate,” that has since been 

changed to Mushroom® Materials. http://www.ecovativedesign.com/ (accessed March 15, 2016).

6. G. Wayne Clough was the twelfth Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution 

and served from 2008 to 2014.

REFERENCES

Barthes, R. 1972. Mythologies. Translated by Annette Lavers. New York: Hill and 

Wang.

Hustwit, G., director. 2009. Objectified. http://www.hustwit.com/category/objectified/ 

(accessed February 6, 2017). 

LaBarre, S. 2010. Giant Robot Prints Chairs from Ground-up Refrigerators. Co

.Design, December 1. http://www.fastcodesign.com/1662793/giant-robot

-prints-chairs-from-ground-up-refrigerators-video (accessed March 12, 2016). 

LaBarre, S. 2012. Robot Now Printing Mini-chairs and Tables from Melted Refrigerators. Co.Design, February 6. http://www.fastcodesign.com/1668971

/robot-now-printing-mini-cgaurs-ad-tables-from-melted-refrigerators (accessed March 12, 2016).

Rowlands, D. 1972. Variations on a Screen. Design Journal, 282:46–49. 

Vander Kooij, D. 2012a. Reboot. YouTube video, 2:06. Posted by Droog, May 23. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JsC1Ozh5g5s (accessed February 6, 2017). 

Vander Kooij, D. 2012b. News–New Colors for the Endless Collection. News report on the designer’s website (accessed March 15, 2016; page discontinued).

FIGURE 26. Ecovative’s Mushroom® Packaging made from mycelium and agricultural materials. Image courtesy of Ecovative.

ABSTRACT. This paper explores the background and development of a largely forgotten group of 

regenerated protein fibers made from vegetable and animal proteins such as corn, peanuts, soybeans, 

milk, and egg white in Europe, America, and Japan. Two generations of these fibers are identified. 

The first group, produced around the turn of the nineteenth century, was trying to emulate silk. The 

second, intended to emulate wool, was produced under wartime political and economic pressures 

during and after World War II and only had a brief commercial life. Their complex but short-lived 

trajectory is bound up with different—and shifting—attitudes to the synthetic and to ersatz materials. Their changing status from exciting, modernist, patriotic, and fashionable fibers to failed, 

forgotten fibers is mapped and analyzed using Thompson’s rubbish theory. This theory explores the 

practices of value creation and is here used to illuminate their slippage from cultural memory and 

their consequent representation—or the lack of it—within museum collections.

INTRODUCTION

In 1942, the renowned agricultural chemist George Washington Carver wrote to 

Henry Ford expressing his admiration for the latter’s experimental “chemurgy” (biochemical engineering):

Possibly the thing that I believe you’re going to astonish the world with is your 

new fiber mixture . . . as trial mixtures perfect it I am expecting to see from 

your looms not only finer cloth, but rugs equal to the best Axminster, Wilton, 

etc. . . . I can see unlimited possibilities here. (George Washington Carver to 

Henry Ford, 1942, as summarized in Shurtleff and Aoyagi, 1994:70–71)

The fiber causing such enthusiasm was made by Ford’s research chemists from soybeans and was one of a number of man-made fibers developed as substitutes for wool or 

silk from a variety of protein sources known as regenerated protein fibers, or azlons. At 

about the same time, three very different men were wearing suits made with regenerated 

protein fibers. Both Thomas McInnerney of National Dairy Products Corporation and 

Dino Grandi, the Italian ambassador to Great Britain, were sporting milk fiber suits, 

while Henry Ford had himself photographed in his soybean/wool fiber suit (Mielewski 

et al., this volume). The transformation of sources such as soybeans, milk, peanuts, or 

corn into a viable fiber involved complex processing and has intriguing overlaps with 

the development of some plastics. However, the fibers were not technically successful 

and enjoyed a restricted commercial life only under the unusual political and economic 

Department of Archaeology, Durham University, Durham DH1 3LE, UK

Correspondence: M. M. Brooks, mary.brooks

@durham.ac.uk

Manuscript received 19 August 2016; accepted 

13 February 2017.

“Astonish the World with . . . Your New 

Fiber Mixture”: Producing, Promoting, 

and Forgetting Man-Made Protein Fibers

Mary M. Brooks
3 6 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

circumstances of World War II. This chapter will review the 

definition, production, and promotion of these fibers in the late 

nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and the mid-twentieth 

century; these distinct groups are categorized as the first and second generations, respectively. Their links with plastic technologies are examined, and their complex but short-lived trajectory 

is analyzed together with different—and shifting—attitudes to 

substitute materials often described by the German word ersatz. 

Their changing status from exciting, modernist, patriotic, and 

fashionable fibers to a failed and rapidly forgotten technical experiment makes them a classic exemplar of Michael Thompson’s 

rubbish theory (Thompson, 1979).

DEFINING A REGENERATED PROTEIN FIBER

Researchers and chemists alike found it difficult to define 

and characterize the fibers they were striving to develop. Fibers are traditionally categorized by source, whether animal, 

vegetable, mineral, or man-made, which encompasses both the 

truly synthetic fibers such as nylon and regenerated fibers from 

natural sources. Regenerated fibers are situated on the boundary 

between the natural and synthetic, being made from artificially 

manipulated natural materials. Francis Atwood, who led the 

mid-twentieth-century development of Atlantic Research Associates’ (ARA) casein fiber Aralac, acknowledged this difficulty: 

“This confusion of words is disconcerting to a chemist who approaches this field of man-made fibers. . . . What is he to call the 

product when he starts with casein from milk or soybean and 

ends with a textile fiber, and why?” (Atwood, 1940:1547). 

In a definition that reflects the nature of the regenerated cellulosic fibers such as rayon made from plant sources, on which 

some of these fibers were modeled and from which they derived 

some of their production technology, the 1958 U.S. Textile Fiber 

Products Identification Act defined an azlon fiber as “a manufactured fiber in which the fiber forming substance is composed 

of any regenerated, naturally occurring protein.” However, unlike cellulosics, proteins have extremely diverse structures. They 

may be completely fibrous or globular. This diversity contributed 

to the challenges encountered by researchers and manufacturers 

seeking to create regenerated protein fibers and also influenced 

the debate over defining and naming the resulting fibers. R. L. 

Wormell, a Courtaulds chemist who dedicated many years to the 

study of these proteins and their fiber-forming potential, argued 

that the term “regenerated protein fiber” masked a fundamental 

physical inaccuracy: 

Regenerated protein fibers are not at all like regenerated 

cellulose fibers. Regeneration means being born new, 

and in this sense is correctly applied to cellulose, because the cellulose originates in nature as fibers; it is dispersed and regenerated in fiber form. Proteins come into 

existence as corpuscles; they remain corpuscular when 

dispersed, and are still corpuscular when dispersed, and 

still corpuscular when they are strung together into 

fibers with the aid of some extraneous agent such as 

formaldehyde. Their fibers are thus fundamentally different from those of cellulose. (Wormell, 1954:v)

This distinction is significant and indicates the importance 

of the growing understanding of protein chemistry in comprehending the behavior of regenerated protein fibers and the need 

to cross-link protein filaments so as to produce a fiber. A regenerated protein fiber is essentially a nonfibrous globular protein 

(noncrystalline random copolymer) that has been reconfigured 

to achieve crystallized sequences that can take up and retain a 

fibrous form.

PRODUCING A REGENERATED 

PROTEIN FIBER

To be suitable for use as fibers, source proteins, whether 

animal or vegetable, needed to be readily available in large 

quantities at an economically viable cost, be either color free or 

bleachable, and, most importantly, be capable of forming at least 

a relatively effective fiber. 

Almost all soluble proteins may be turned into fibers when 

they are considered as orientated assemblies of linear macromolecules. Whether they are useful fibers or not is another matter; as Cook (1959:228) noted, “wherever there is a source of 

cheap, waste protein, there is potential textile fibre.” In order of 

descending importance, milk casein and proteins from soybeans, 

peanuts, and zein (derived from corn/maize) were the most common sources of protein used for making fibers. Other proposed 

sources included blood, collagen, egg white, feathers, fish albumen, gelatin, hair, hemoglobin (horse serum), silk and wool waste 

or rags, hooves, horns, and whalebone, as well as seeds, including 

castor oil, cotton, pumpkin, hemp, linseed, and tobacco (Traill, 

1951:262; Stout, 1965:163). This list indicates both the scope of 

the initial research and possibly the randomness of some of the 

experimentation, fueled by the urgency of the search for replacement fibers in the mid-twentieth century. To be capable of forming a useful fiber, polymers need to be pure and stereochemically 

regular so they can crystallize once oriented to the fiber axis, to 

have large molecules (molecular weight not less than 12,000), 

and to possess a high degree of polarity to give intermolecular cohesion. The degree of crystallinity is critical as this gives strength 

to a fiber. The process of transforming a nonfibrous protein into a 

stable fibrous protein is complex. Traill summarized it with beautiful simplicity, noting where the process diverged from that of the 

production of regenerated cellulose fibers:

In general, regenerated protein fibers are made by dissolving the protein starting materials, usually in a suitable alkaline solution, and extruding through a spinneret into a coagulating bath. Thus far the process is 

similar to viscose [regenerated cellulose fiber] spinning. 

The protein fibers, however, require a hardening or tan-
number 7 • 3 7

ning process, in order to render them resistant to the 

wet processing which they encounter during dyeing, 

finishing, laundering etc. (Traill, 1951:262)

There were, of course, more stages in this process. Fats and 

oils first had to be removed from the source protein, often leaving a solid, usually called a curd, which then had to be washed, 

dried, and redissolved to form a solution with a high solids 

content. Often referred to in contemporaneous literature as a 

“spinning” solution, a term derived from regenerated cellulose 

production, this was actually a colloidal dispersion. Aging was 

required prior to forcing the solution under pressure through 

fine spinnerets into the coagulation bath. This step was often 

described as air or wet spinning but was actually an extrusion 

process. The vital cross-linking process took place at this stage 

using a variety of chemicals, including formaldehyde. Other 

“hardening” treatments followed, including both chemical baths 

and stretching to increase physical orientation and hence fiber 

quality. The threads thus formed were then gathered together, 

washed, dried, cut, and processed using standard textile machinery. The fibers were often blended with other natural, man-made, 

or synthetic fibers to overcome problems with wet strength.

Who Made Them and When?

Fibers to blend with, bulk out, or substitute for wool were 

developed from animal and vegetable protein sources in Europe, 

America, and Japan in two main phases (Table 1).

TABLE 1. Production dates (when known), trade names, and manufacturers of first- and second-generation regenerated protein fibers.

Fiber source Trade names Manufacturer, country, and date (when known)

Gelatin Vanduara Adam Millar, Vanduara Silk Company, Scotland, 1890s

Milk casein sellwolle Frederick Todtenhaupt, Deutsche Kunstseidenfabrik, Germany, 1904–1909

Lanital and Merinova SNIA Viscosa and Leumann, Italy, 1936; Under license Les Textiles Nouveaux, Belgium

Cisalfa Probably SNIA Viscosa, Italy, 1930–1940s

Caslen Rubberset, USA, 1949

Cargan Belgium

Casenka (Enkasa) Nederlandsche Kunstzijde Fabriek, Netherlands (Dutch Enka, later AKU)

Casolana Condensfabriek, Netherlands

Lactofil Nederlandsche Kunstzijde Fabriek, Netherlands

Tiolan/Thiolan VEB Thuringisches Kunstfaserwerk, Germany 

Thiozell State Factory and VEB Thuringisches Kunstfaserwerk, Germany; Lodzkie Zaklady Wlokien 

Sztucznych, Poland; still in production in 1960s

Silkool Kanebo, Japan, 1938

Fibrolane A, B, BC, BX Courtaulds, UK

Lactofil Nederlandsche Kunstzijde Fabriek, Netherlands

Lactron Unknown 

Aralac and Aralac R-53 Atlantic Research Associates, USA, 1939/1942–1946/1948

Caslan Monofilament; possibly Atlantic Research Associates, USA 

Wipolan Lozkie Zaklady Wlokien Sztucznych, Poland

Polan Poland

Feathers No known trade name Possibly United States Rubber Co., USA, 1940s

Egg white Zealon Northern Regional Laboratory, USA, 1940s

Corn (maize) Vicara Virginia-Carolina Chemical Corp., USA, 1948–1957/1958

Zycon 

Peanuts Ardil Imperial Chemical Industries, UK, 1935–1957

Fibrolane C Courtaulds, UK

Sarelon U.S. Department of Agriculture, USA

Soybeans No known trade name Ford Motor Company, USA, 1939?–1943

No known trade name Drackett Company, USA, 1943–1949

Provis Teikoku Seni, Japan; 1940s

Tammo Teikoku Seni, Japan; 1940s

Silkool Showa Sangyo, Japan, 1940s
3 8 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

First-Generation Fibers

The first generation of these fibers was produced by around 

the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries with the aim 

of producing imitation silk. These pioneering manufacturers and 

inventors explored the potential of a regeneration process applied 

to “proteid” sources, by which they meant egg albumen, blood, 

gelatin from seaweed, and milk, to produce threads with chemical 

composition and physical properties comparable to the animal 

fibers silk, wool, and hair. Patentees often seem to have regarded 

these sources as comparable and interexchangeable (Figure 1).

Gelatin Fibers

Both Marie-Paul Emile Gerard in the 1880s in France and the 

Scottish manufacturer Adam Millar in the 1890s were interested 

in the fiber-forming potential of gelatin produced by solubilizing 

ground-up bone, cartilage, and fibrous tissue in boiling water 

or dilute acid. Gerard patented a “spinning solution” of gelatin 

and nitrocellulose spun into glacial acetic acid (Koch 1972:27). 

Although not commercially exploited (Koch, 1972), Génin considered this the birth of “l’industrie moderne des fibres de protéine” (1954:521). Adam Millar worked for the firm of William 

Cross, a shawl and tartan manufacturer, and was also managing director of Vanduara Silk Company, named for the Celtic 

word for Paisley, where he had his factory. He was interested 

in producing artificial silk using gelatin and devised a method 

of extruding a liquid solution on to a traveling belt, resulting 

in “a proteid strand” that he claimed was “insoluble in water” 

(Millar, 1899a). The importance of Millar’s process is his use of 

formaldehyde to harden the fiber in order to achieve some degree 

of insolubility. He acknowledged he was inspired by “chemicals 

frequently employed in various photographic processes” including “the recently introduced material called formic-aldehyde” 

(Millar, 1895). “Vanduara silk” was apparently produced commercially, but although praised for its luster and elasticity when 

dry, it had little wet strength (Barker, 1919:59).

Milk Casein Fibers

Millar (1899b) was also interested in the fiber-forming potential of milk, although he does not seem to have produced a 

viable fiber. At almost the same time in Germany, Dr. Friedrich 

Todtenhaupt (1904–1905) was experimenting with fiber made 

from milk casein. With a background in artificial silk made from 

cellulosic sources, he produced a viable but not very successful 

fiber, sinking all his private resources into his company Deutsche 

Kunstseidenfabrik. Wormell noted this was an “enlarged experimental plant rather than full commercial production” (1954:xv). 

The equipment and spinning technique were primitive, producing 

FIGURE 1. Sources used for producing regenerated protein fibers showing date of patent application. Note 

that no applications were made in the decades 1880–1889, 1920–1929, and 1960–1969.
number 7 • 3 9

uneven fibers of variable width that were hard and brittle (Peterson et al., 1945:492) but would also swell, soften, and stick 

together during dyeing, making processing highly problematic 

(Fletcher, 1942:34). Despite the failure of his business, Todtenhaupt made some crucial advances in processes for solubilizing 

and extruding casein and hardening the resulting fiber.

Serious interest in producing azlon fibers appears to have 

lapsed after this, despite some Dutch interest in casein fibers. Hermann Timpe (1911–1912) patented a method of producing fibers 

drawn from a solid casein curd. In the 1920s, the American Arthur 

D. Little Laboratories explored this technology simply to demonstrate the value of scientific research. In order to disprove the proverb “You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,”they extracted 

gelatin from pigs’ ears and formed fibers using a method similar 

to Millar’s. They admitted that their gelatin fiber was “frankly . . . 

not very strong or good silk” (Arthur D. Little Inc., 1921:8). 

Second-Generation Fibers

Little successful production seems to have been carried out 

until the 1930s, when the opposing forces of surplus (excess milk 

by-products) and actual or perceived lack due to war (threatened 

wool imports) encouraged manufacturers to develop the second 

generation of regenerated protein fibers. Researchers in America, 

Europe, and Japan explored the fiber and film-forming potential 

of various proteins, the most successful being milk, soybeans, 

peanuts, and corn, although egg white and feathers were also 

seriously studied. 

The potential of milk casein fibers was followed up by many 

researchers and manufacturers. Antonio Ferretti, an Italian 

chemist, had been researching casein fibers since 1924, registering at least 15 patents in Europe and America. It seems likely 

Ferretti modified Todtenhaupt’s method, using different quality 

casein and altering the composition of the coagulating baths to 

improve the fiber’s wet strength, resulting in a reasonably satisfactory commercially viable casein fiber named Lanital produced 

by SNIA Viscosa, a renowned producer of regenerated cellulosic 

fabrics, and widely licensed across Europe. Dutch casein curd 

producers sold over 4 million pounds of casein to SNIA Viscosa 

(Génin, 1940:156) as well as producing their own milk fibers, 

often using Ferretti’s method licensed to them by SNIA Viscosa. 

These Dutch fibers were sold under different trade names, such 

as Lactofil produced by H. Timpe Nammlooze. Despite the interest shown by American adhesive and paint companies, it was 

National Dairy Products Corporation (NDPC), the dairy conglomerate formed by Thomas McInnerney in 1923, that was 

successful in producing and marketing the American milk fiber 

named Aralac. The American government’s interest and involvement in alternative fiber sources is demonstrated by the public 

service patents issued by Earle O. Whittier and Stephen P. Gould, 

chemists working for the Bureau of Dairy Industry, U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA). Somewhat unexpectedly, casein 

fiber patents were also filed by American manufacturers of regenerated cellulosic fibers, such as the Celanese Corporation (1942), 

and of synthetic fibers, such as DuPont (1940).

Soybean Fibers

The ready availability of soybeans in America spurred on 

considerable investigation into their use as the source of food, 

materials, and fibers. Soy had huge potential to supply wartime requirements: “There is no farm crop that the test tube has 

turned into more industrial products than soy beans . . . from 

gunstocks for guns to a good substitute for butter; from vitamin 

K for our blood to a handkerchief for tears” (R. L. Holman, “A 

Chemurgic Fantasy,” Yale Review, 1945, as summarized in Shurtleff and Aoyagi, 1994:86). 

In Japan, Ryohei Inouye apparently built on Ferretti’s 

work with milk fibers, replacing casein with soy protein (Génin, 

1940:157–158). Several companies, including Mitsubishi, are reported to have produced soybean fiber commercially, although 

the fiber was not very successful (Wickliffe Rose, 1946:103). 

From the 1930s onward, intensive research was undertaken in 

America into both the plant and its potential products. The Regional Soybean Industrial Products Laboratory (which became 

the National Soybean Research Laboratory) was established in 

Urbana, Illinois, in 1936. The laboratory researched soybean 

varieties, genetic engineering, disease management, and different end uses. Objectives included “finding as many end uses 

for this farm product as possible,” including plastics (Brother, 

1939:147). Many of the major players filed patents for soybean 

fiber in 1942, including Atwood (1942a, 1942b) for Atlantic 

Research Associates in America, Huppert (1943, 1945) for the 

Glidden Company in Chicago, Wormell and Knight (1942) for 

Courtaulds in England, and Ferretti (1942) in Italy. It was Henry 

Ford who took up soybean fiber with undiminished enthusiasm, 

although with mixed results (Brooks, 2005). His interest in the 

potential of soybeans was part of his wider vision to use chemurgy to link industry with agriculture (cf. Mielewski et al., this 

volume). Ford wanted to address the agricultural decline of the 

Great Depression, but his vision seems surprisingly prophetic in 

its environmental ambitions:

Stalks and straw garbage are being made to yield valuable products, such as fibers, gas and fertilizers. . . . I 

foresee the time when Industry shall no longer denude 

the forests which require generations to mature, nor 

use up the mines which were ages in making, but shall 

draw its material largely from the annual produce of 

the fields. (Simonds, 1938:217—219)

During 1932 and 1933 Ford is reported to have spent 

about $1,225,000 researching potential applications of soy in 

food and industry, including plastics and fibers (J. Sweinhart, 

The Industrialized American Barn: A Glimpse of the Farm of 

the Future. Dearborn, Michigan. Ford Motor Co., 1934, as 

summarized in Shurtleff and Aoyagi, 1994:23). His researchers, including Robert Boyer, first filed soybean protein fiber patents on behalf of Ford Motor Company in the 1940s. It was 

this fiber, together with beans, soybean-based paint, and coated 

paper, that had elicited Carver’s enthusiastic response (Carver, 

1942:70–71; Frank Campsall to George Washington Carver, 
4 0 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

1942, as summarized in Shurtleff and Aoyagi, 1994:68). By 

1942, the Ford Motor Company reported that the pilot plant 

at Highland Park, Detroit, was producing about 1,000 pounds 

of fiber per day. Another large plant at the Rouge River works 

was planned, capable of producing 5,000 pounds of soybean 

fiber. The War Production Board granted Ford permission to 

acquire equipment for air-conditioning in the factory because 

it was hoped the resulting fiber could be used for military purposes (Stouffer, 1942). One of Ford’s original goals had been 

to reduce dependence on imported wool for car upholstery, but 

the company’s experiments never seemed to have achieved a viable and commercially competitive soybean fiber that could be 

woven into a useful fabric, and the armed forces were not interested in using it. Ford sold the process and the soy fiber processing machinery to the Drackett Company, which had expertise in 

soybean processing for oil and cattle feed, in November 1943. 

Key Ford staff with soy fiber expertise, including Boyer, Calvert, Atkinson, and Robinette, moved to Drackett (C. Butke, 

“The Drackett Company’s Work with Soy Proteins,” interview, 

1993, as summarized in Shurtleff and Aoyagi, 1994:199) and 

sought to improve the quality of the soy curd and experimented 

with soybean plastics, wallboards, and paint as well as fiber. An 

Azlon Research Facility with a laboratory and spinning facilities 

was set up (W. Shurtleff, “Dave Perkins: Update on The Drackett Co.,” interview transcript, 1993, as summarized in Shurtleff 

and Aoyagi, 1994:205). In 1944, Boyer reported to a National 

Forecast Council meeting that “this new source of protein from 

soybeans marks the start of a new industry which promises to be 

not only-worldwide in scope, but fundamentally important to 

the future of the nation” (Rayon Textile Monthly, 1944b:114). 

Suits and hats containing “Soybean Azlon” were made for the 

sales team (Butke, 1993). Commercial production apparently 

started on 2 December 1944 but was limited by difficulties in 

obtaining equipment and machinery under wartime conditions. 

Approximately 1,000–1,500 pounds of Soybean Azlon were 

made per day, cut into 21⁄2′′-31⁄2′′ fibers for hat feltings, and sold 

mainly to the American Hat Corporation (Butke, 1993). However, technical problems were never overcome, and by 1947 the 

company acknowledged that their fiber, which never acquired a 

trademarked name, was only viable under wartime conditions: 

“We realized from the time that we began to sell Azlon in the 

war period that the shortage of textile fibers was to some degree 

responsible for its acceptance” (Drackett Company Annual Report, 1947, as summarized in Shurtleff and Aoyagi, 1994:97). 

Drackett ceased their fiber spinning operation in 1949 (W. 

Shurtleff, “Robert Boyer: Work with Henry Ford and Soybeans 

III,” interview transcript, 1980, as summarized in Shurtleff and 

Aoyagi, 1994:151).

Zein (Corn) Fibers

Unusually, fibers formed from corn (maize) are generally referred to by the name of the protein, zein, rather than that of the 

originating plant. Ostenberg filed the earliest patent for zein fibers 

in 1919, but no viable fiber seems to have been developed until 

the 1930s, when there was an “explosion of research” (Lawton, 

2002:1–2). Research into zein fiber production was carried out by 

the USDA Northern Regional Research Laboratory in Peoria, Illinois; several commercial companies, particularly Lloyd Swallen at 

the Corn Products Refining Company; and an independent laboratory, the Harris Research Laboratory (Stout, 1965:165). There 

were close links between researchers and industry; DuPont and 

Calco Chemical Division carried out experimental dyeing work 

for the Peoria Laboratory (Evans et al., 1947), while other work 

was carried out by the Virginia-Carolina Chemical Corporation 

of Richmond, Virginia. DuPont was also interested. In 1947, DuPont’s Electrochemicals Department announced “a process for 

making nylon intermediates from corn cobs and other agricultural by-products,” although this may have been a mechanical 

rather than a regeneration process (E. I. du Pont de Nemours & 

Company, 1980:10). Their 1940 patent proposed methods for 

stretching zein and casein fibers, implying familiarity with both 

the product and production methods (DuPont, 1940). DuPont 

argued that combining compatible proteins and synthetic linear 

polyamides resulted in strong, flexible films and fibers, proposing 

a “new and valuable composition of matter comprising intimate 

mixtures of proteins and synthetic linear polyamides or interpolyamides.” They filed two patents with a remarkably wide-ranging 

list of proteins, including albumins (egg), collagen (cartilage, 

bone, fibrous connective tissue), edestin, elastin (protein of animal elastic fibers), gelatin, globulins (blood hemoglobin, serum, 

and soya), hordein (barley), oryzenin (rice), keratins (wool, hair, 

and horn), phosphoproteins (casein), prolamins (zein), scleroprotein (fibroin from waste silk), vitellin (egg yolk), and wheat 

gliadin, although zein was preferred (DuPont, 1941, 1942). 

However, their zein/polyhexamethylene adipamide fiber does not 

seem to have been produced commercially. The Virginia-Carolina 

Corporation proved to be the most successful producers of zein 

fibers. Vicara (a registered trade mark), usually as a blended fiber, 

was made until well after the war. Virginia-Carolina bought National Dairy’s redundant Aralac plant in Taftville, Connecticut, 

in 1948 (National Dairy Products Corporation, 1948), aiming to 

increase their initial capacity of about 12 million pounds per year 

to 20 million pounds by 1954. Despite some commercial success, 

increasing competition from other man-made fibers caused production to cease in 1957 or 1958. 

Peanut (Groundnut) Fibers

Interest in peanuts as a fiber source was second to interest in 

milk and almost equal to that in soybeans. In America, the USDA 

Southern Regional Laboratory researched peanut protein, but 

no commercial fiber resulted. In the United Kingdom, Imperial 

Chemical Industries (ICI) and Courtaulds both contributed to the 

understanding of the peanut fiber. Courtaulds’ scientist Wormell 

furthered understanding of both the protein and fiber production, 

writing an important book on the subject (Wormell, 1954). Partly 

as result of the complex and conflicted relationship between these 

industrial giants, only ICI produced it in any quantity. Professor 

William Astbury (Department of Textile Industries, University of 
number 7 • 4 1

Leeds) and Professor Albert C. Chibnall and Kenneth Bailey (Imperial College of Science and Technology) were the first to file patents. After acquiring their process, ICI proceeded to file patents of 

their own (Imperial Chemical Industries, 1937). Imperial Chemical Industries’ chemists in Ardeer, Scotland, included David Traill, 

Robert Seddon, William Sever, and George Simpson, who all filed 

patents; Traill also published on the subject. Imperial Chemical 

Industries announced Ardil’s arrival just before the start of World 

War II and planned to start commercial production in 1938, but 

this plan was suspended for the duration of the war (Brooks, 

1993). A pilot plant, also possibly at Ardeer, was set up in 1939 

because, of all ICI’s divisions, their Scottish plants had the most 

experience of fiber spinning and weaving. This pilot plant had 

the capacity to produce 400 pounds of protein and 200 pounds 

of fiber per week (Byrne and Johnstone, 1987:21). After the war, 

ICI urgently needed to diversify, particularly seeking replacement 

activities for their newly—and happily—redundant Scottish Explosion Division factories. Using these for the production of Ardil 

seemed the ideal solution. A 1947 internal memo noted that ICI 

invested capital of £2.1 million in Ardil for an expected return of 

7% when the full plant was operating at half capacity (Reader, 

1970:389). In 1949 ICI built a dedicated factory at Dumfries, 

Scotland, with a maximum capacity of 22 million pounds. Production commenced in 1951 (Coleman, 1980:70), just in time 

for the early 1950s slump in the worldwide textile market. This 

slump reduced the economic viability of Ardil as a blending fiber, 

which needed both to be cheaper than natural or synthetic fibers and to be produced in sufficiently large quantities to achieve 

economies of scale. Imperial Chemical Industries was caught in 

a vicious economic circle: while costs were high, it was difficult 

for the sales force to build up the bulk orders, which meant costeffective production and hence a lower price. Of the 316 firms indicating an interest in the fiber in 1947, only 76 placed small trial 

orders in 1951 (Reader, 1975:380). Despite internal divisions and 

marked skepticism from the influential Dyestuffs Division, which 

had extensive experience of the British wholesale textile market 

(Reader, 1975:379), ICI set up a new division called Group F 

in 1956 to develop their man-made fibers, including Ardil and 

Terylene. Cautious, but misplaced, optimism was expressed: 

“Sales of Ardil were disappointing, but work is in hand to evaluate an Ardil fibre with improved properties, samples of which are 

in the hands of potential consuming bodies” (Imperial Chemical 

Industries, 1956:21). The hoped-for improvements never materialized. Trading losses reached £3.7 million between 1951 and 

1957 (Craik, 1957). In 1957, Ardil production ceased after an 

effective commercial life of only six years. 

REGENERATED PROTEIN FIBERS 

AND PLASTICS

Although the development of these fibers and that of the 

early plastics may seem very far apart, there is, in fact, a link—

the casein curd. Lebriel and Desgorge’s (1916) patent for a silklike fiber refers to preparing “plastic casein.” It seems likely that 

Millar’s development of casein fiber was linked to the development of casein plastics in the late 1890s, but no evidence exists 

to support this. The word “plastic” appears in some of his fiber 

patents but as a description of a material quality rather than a 

material in its own right. In one patent Millar (1899c) took a 

rather scattergun approach, listing gutta-percha, India rubber, 

and nitrocellulose alongside protein sources such as gelatin and 

albumen as well as “any substance which can be made plastic 

or liquid and which may subsequently be made non-plastic and 

tenacious.” Millar appeared to have used the lactic casein used in 

cheese making and was not overly concerned about its production method. Todtenhaupt was clearly aware of the differences 

between various commercial caseins and the implications of their 

use in fiber production. It is possible that he used a casein similar 

to that used for casein plastics. His experimentation was supported by Galalith Gesellschaft, who produced the casein-based 

plastics Galalith from 1904 in Germany and Erinoid from 1914 

in Britain. It was gradually realized that the process of extracting 

the protein and the nature of the curd had a critical impact on 

the quality of the resulting fiber. Ferretti’s understanding of the 

need to use a curd especially developed for fiber production was 

critical to his fiber’s success. He believed it was “necessary to 

devise a method for obtaining a textile casein, namely a casein 

which is suitable for the regular manufacture of artificial fibers”

(Ferretti, 1938). He rejected the casein used for plastics: 

Galalith is rendered insoluble by dipping it into water 

baths of formaldehyde, but this product is formed by paracasein, which, among other features, is not soluble in 

alkalis and is a plastic material. . . . Casein, on the contrary, differently from paracasein, is not plastic material; 

it must be dissolved in alkali and water. (Ferretti, 1942)

Ferretti (1942) was clear that processes used in the production of casein plastics could not be simply transferred to the production of casein fibers, criticizing other researchers for trying 

“simply to apply to protein fibers the already known method for 

insolubilizing the so-called Galalith in water solutions of formaldehyde” and for not understanding the differences between casein and paracasein. He experimented with methods for forming 

satisfactory casein for fibers through acid coagulation, rejecting 

lactic casein because it was insoluble in alkalis and demineralized 

caseins because they were liable to stick together when extruded 

from the spinnerets, resulting in hard and brittle fibers. However, 

Whittier and Gould (1939:374), although noting that the Lanital

process used a special casein that was subjected to acid treatment 

at pH 2.9, stated that their unnamed milk fiber could be made 

using any high-grade commercial acid-precipitated casein. 

QUALITY ISSUES

The second-generation regenerated protein fibers had a 

wool-like warmth and softness with high moisture absorption 

and high heat of wetting, making them warm and comfortable to 

wear. As the fibers had no scales, they did not felt, nor did they 
4 2 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

shrink like wool in hot water (Dirks, 2000:81). However, they 

had poor abrasion resistance, could be damaged by concentrated 

acids, and, most critical of all, had poor tenacity when wet, with 

a marked tendency to dissolve in hot water and shrink in boiling water (Maueersberger, 1940:37; Patterson, 1945:83–84; 

Scull and De Witt Smith, 1945:137–138; Dirks, 2000:81). The 

NDPC advised consumers that Aralac could be washed like wool 

using mild soap suds without rubbing and should be dried flat 

without wringing. However, these fibers had a distinctive and 

regrettable property: they tended to smell when wet, an obvious 

drawback for consumers. Lanital was said to smell like cheese 

(Traill, 1951:263), whereas Aralac had “an odour similar to that 

of spoiled milk” (Dirks, 2000:81). Others contest this. Moncrieff 

(1970:297) argued that Lanital smelled “cheesy” when wet but, 

because Aralac had undergone an acetylation process known 

as “Aratherming,” it did not smell when wet. There were other 

problems. Micol Fontana, an Italian couturier, recalled how her 

sister called Lanital the “mozzarella fabric, because when you 

ironed it threads came up like tiny threads of cheese” (Paulicelli, 

2004:162). 

Zein had many attractive qualities—good wet strength, 

hand (the way a textile feels when touched), elastic resistance, 

and better abrasion resistance than regenerated cellulosic fibers—but lower tensile strength than other fibers, and dyeing was 

problematic. Despite these problems, the zein fiber Vicara had 

a longer commercial life than other regenerated protein fibers; 

Lawton (2002:13) suggests this success was simply because of 

the lack of better alternatives in the 1950s. The behavior of garments containing Ardil when washed is indicative of the sort of 

problems these fibers presented. Freda Moody’s father worked 

in the commercial and distribution department of ICI’s Dumfries 

factory where Ardil, their peanut fiber, was manufactured. Her 

mother was asked to “fill in questionnaires about the wearability, washability [sic] etc. of the various clothes my father brought 

home for us to try out.” Sadly, she remembers, “the hems always 

dropped. I had a pretty floral patterned dress which I loved wearing. However, after several washes, it lost its shape and eventually 

my mother cut it up” (F. Moody, personal communication, 2001).

WHY RESEARCH AND PRODUCE 

A REGENERATED PROTEIN FIBER?

What lay behind this intellectual and economic investment 

in fibers that were problematic to produce and had poor qualities 

in use? The first-generation fibers were intended as substitutes 

for silk or for the silk substitutes made from regenerated cellulose. Millar (1899b) noted that his fibers would be “similar 

in chemical composition to silk, wool, hair, and other insoluble 

animal products.” Todtenhaupt (1906) was clearly interested 

in the potential of casein to create substitute silk and hair fibers, arguing his fibers “possess[ed] qualities similar to those of 

natural silk.” By the late 1930s things had changed: most researchers were focusing on creating wool-type fibers alone. As 

war loomed, European and American politicians and planners 

were increasingly anxious about the availability of wool for military purposes and actively encouraged research into substitutes 

for use in fashion at a time when synthetics such as nylon were 

in their infancy. When Ferretti filed British Patent 483,731 in 

1935, his emphasis was clearly on finding a wool substitute. He 

rejected the regenerated cellulosic fibers precisely on account of 

their cotton-like characteristics: “These fibers are cold like cotton, are inflammable, are not adapted to be dyed with the dye 

stuffs employed with textile fibers of animal origin, such as wool 

and animal hair generally, and do not contain nitrogen” (Ferretti, 1938). His goal was therefore to produce “an artificial fiber 

consisting solely of a substance of animal character containing 

nitrogen and having an elementary composition almost identical 

to that of natural wool” (Ferretti, 1938).

The need for a wool substitute was driven by threats to 

wool imports by the spread of World War II. A cheaper fiber 

that, unlike regenerated cellulose, had wool’s warmth, handle, 

and hydrophobicity was clearly desirable and lay behind research in America and Europe. Britain was in a different position. Exploiting the special relationship with the Dominions 

and Dependencies, the government bought the entire Australian 

and New Zealand wool clip and negotiated an agreement to acquire these clips for the war’s duration plus one subsequent year 

(Hurstfield, 1953:57–58). Such farsighted planning resulted in 

Britain holding surplus wool stocks at the war’s end (Hurstfield, 

1953:174). This agreement may be a significant factor behind 

ICI’s and Courtaulds’ relative disinterest in developing their milk 

and peanut fibers as alternatives to wool during the war.

PROMOTING SUBSTITUTE FIBERS

Educating the consumer to accept substitute products in a 

controlled wartime economy was vital. Governments and manufacturers sought to promote these substitute fibers as desirable 

and patriotic alternatives to wool, which was increasingly unavailable either through genuine lack or because its use was 

restricted to the armed forces. Whether undertaken by manufacturers or as part of a political strategy, the underlying aim was 

to convince consumers of the value and utility of unknown—and 

poor quality—fibers. 

Axis countries appear to have started implementing strategies to develop substitute materials earlier than Allied countries in order to develop economic self-sufficiency or autarchy 

as preparation for war. From this flowed new attitudes toward 

the morality of buying and wearing certain types of fibers and 

fabrics. The Nazi propaganda machine lauded the development 

of new man-made fibers. Hitler visited the 1937 Düsseldorf exhibition Industrious People and saw Vistra, a spun rayon, being 

produced. In 1935, the Spinnstoffgesetz (Textile Act) legally 

regulated textile production; fabrics had to contain a certain 

amount of man-made fibers (Guenther, 2004:234). The 1936 

Four Year Plan, developed by Goring’s Office of Raw Materials 
number 7 • 4 3

and Synthetics and the War Ministry’s economic division, had 

the overt goal of developing raw materials, thus saving foreign 

exchange; its covert aim was autarchy and rearmament (Macrakis, 1993:102). Increased restrictions were placed upon the textile industry in order to engineer a shift from foreign to domestic 

raw materials for civilian garments. Domestic textile production 

increased, but quality fell. Eventually, demand was controlled 

by the introduction of rationing in November 1939. Substitute 

materials became vital, essential, and desirable. Life magazine 

reported that “Germans live substitute lives”: “In Germany’s 

delicately balanced internal economy, the word ersatz has lately 

increased in importance. Ersatz or substitute products are the 

Reich’s answer to the problem of living at home on home-grown 

materials” (Life, 1939:40). Olaf Nissen’s book Germany: Land 

of Substitutes, published in Britain in 1944, argues that German 

innovation and technical ability in producing ersatz materials 

would enable the country to win the war. It may be black propaganda, but Leslie considers many of its claims to be plausible 

(Leslie, 2005:265). In the same vein, I. G. Farben published a 

celebratory history of the “science of synthetics” under the Third 

Reich (Leslie, 2005:167, 170–182).

In Italy, substitute materials were initially seen as modernist 

and futurist, a way of defining Italian identity and national pride. 

However, celebrations of national identity through the use of new 

materials became an urgent search for economic self-sufficiency, 

especially after the 1935 sanctions imposed by the League of Nations following Italy’s transgressions in Ethiopia. Finding substitutes for restricted materials was a matter of urgency, expressed 

politically through autarkic policies. Mussolini lauded politically correct substitutes. The Ente Tessile Nazionale (National 

Textile Board) was set up in 1937 to establish self-sufficiency in 

the textile industry and to promote the resulting autarchic fibers 

and fabrics. In 1939 the composition of an autarchic fabric was 

regulated by law; imported wool or cotton had to be less than 

20%, with the remainder comprising either indigenous natural 

or man-made fibers (Paulicelli, 2004:107–108). A series of exhibitions celebrated these fabrics as achievements of Fascist Italy, 

including those at the Circo Massimo, Rome (1937–1938), and 

the Palazzo Giustiniani, Venice (1941; Paulicelli, 2004:117). 

SNIA Viscosa was strongly committed to the development 

of autarkic fibers. The image of their Torviscosa rayon factory 

with the word AUTARCHIA blazoned above the roof vividly 

demonstrated the merging of politics, industry, and national 

identity. SNIA Viscosa’s Propaganda Office commissioned the 

futurist—and fascist—poet Filippo Marinetti (1937) to write 

Il Poema del Vestito di Latte in praise of Lanital. A striking, 

if brutal, fusion of visual and textual war imagery with fibers 

and fashion, the poem was, significantly, dedicated to Mussolini, who had been involved in supporting SNIA Viscosa through 

various financial crises. This theme of a modern fiber securing 

the country’s future was articulated in the promotional song “Il 

Miracolo dalla Lana,” put out on an HMV record complete with 

the image of a milk bottle top on the label (Renzo Mori Orchestra, 1937). This song praises Lanital as the miraculous patriotic 

fiber that answered each Italian mother’s prayer—while her husband is away fighting for his country’s glory, their child sleeps 

in a knitted nest made from the “wool of Italy.” Advertisements 

and promotional literature stressed the fiber’s modernity; one advertisement establishes this by linking Lanital with fast cars and 

elegant women—who establish their contemporary credentials 

by daring to smoke—set in a distinctive Italian landscape. Leumann stressed the fiber’s patriotic appeal through stylized imperial imagery. Smart suits of Lanital, bamboo, and grass fibers 

were shown off by models at the 1939 New York World’s Fair, 

but reality was rather different. Lanital was used not only for 

women’s clothing, probably as an extender in blends, but also for 

“army uniforms and overcoats” (Simpich, 1939:604).

O’Brian’s article “Wartime Textile Adjustments” makes 

American concerns about wool, military requirements, and the 

need for substitute fibers in the domestic market very clear: 

At the opening of the war, wool caused perhaps more 

concern than any other fiber . . . it is a vital necessity 

in war—almost as precious as ammunition. . . . Every 

ounce of this valuable fiber is needed for our men in the 

front lines. . . . few recognise that warm clothes may 

become as essential as either food or guns. (O’Brian, 

1942:512)

A Pepperell Fabrics advertisement “Mud to You...” makes 

the link between consumer shortages and military needs explicit: 

“Clothes, Clothes, Clean Clothes, War Orders Must Come First!” 

(Life, 1942:3). Promotional leaflets reveal how consumers were 

wooed to accept the new substitute fibers by arguments linking 

nature, via agriculture, with the laboratory. Fashion magazines 

such as American Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, California Stylist, and 

International Textiles introduced the new fibers in enthusiastic 

editorials, often only one step away from advertisements. These 

nevertheless provided the consumer—and the retail trade—with 

enticing, often rather overoptimistic information, thus creating 

social confidence about the acceptability of substitute fibers. The 

excitement generated by these fibers is demonstrated by their selection by the American Science Service (ASS) for their campaign 

popularizing science. This not-for-profit organization promoted 

news coverage of “useful scientific information ‘to the masses’ by 

developing and disseminating stories about chemistry” (America 

Science Services, 1939; LaFollette, 2006). The development of 

man-made and synthetic fibers, including milk fibers alongside 

nylon and vinyon, came ninth in ASS’s list of the 10 most significant scientific innovations of 1939. Whittier did a radio interview for ASS discussing “Wool from Milk,” and listeners could 

request a free leaflet and a “synthetic” wool sample (interview 

script, American Science Service, 1939; LaFollette, 2006). The 

ASS developed a nationwide traveling exhibition on man-made 

fibers during 1939–1940. Displays in department store windows 

were sponsored by local newspapers, which published concurrent articles written by Robert D. Potter, a New York Herald 

Tribune science editor and a founder of the U.S. National Association of Science Writers who joined the ASS in 1934 (LaFollette, 
4 4 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

2006). For example, the Washington Daily News supported the 

display in Woodward & Lothrop, a Washington store (Figure 

2). A Lanital garment was flanked by nylon stockings and rayon 

fabric lengths together with samples of chemicals. The spiderweb 

design on the window signified the spinning of artificial fibers 

(LaFollette, 2006), again linking nature and science. The ASS 

authors argued that war had been a spur to American ingenuity and invention, ensuring the country would be “liberated 

from foreign imports that might fail in time of war” (LaFollette, 

2006). Ironically, the fiber used in the exhibition is more likely 

to have been imported Italian Lanital as ARA’s fiber was not yet 

available (Rayon Textile Monthly, 1939:304). 

Although no evidence has yet been found for ARA’s involvement in this project, their promotion strategy was similar. Aralac 

was modeled as “The Wonder Protein Fiber,” thus overlaying its 

substitute aspects with technological excitement and converting 

substitution into modernism and futurism. Atlantic Research Associates might use quirky puns and humorous images, but their 

underlying point was serious—innovative, modernistic, and patriotic fibers were needed at a time of crisis. Dirks (2000) argued 

that the early sales campaigns for Aralac promoted it as a wool 

replacement, but this changed after the start of the war when 

its separate identity as a new “wonder fiber” was the important 

factor. The NDPC’s promotional leaflet The Cow, the Milkmaid 

and the Chemist exemplifies this approach: 

Aralac identifies a completely new fiber. Nothing like 

it has ever before existed. Though it has many of the 

properties of wool—it is not a wool . . . Aralac is itself—a fiber standing on its own merits—possessing 

characteristics distinctly its own—and is not a substitute for something else. Neither is Aralac a mere “duration” material. Its development was well under way 

when war struck. It came into being because from the 

first—it gave promise of being a material that could be 

used advantageously—under all conditions—and at all 

times. (Aralac, Inc., n.d.)

In contrast to the visual sophistication of Aralac’s logo linking agriculture, science, and fashion (Figure 3), this leaflet has 

naïve cartoonlike drawings with a smiling cow (Figure 4). The 

FIGURE 2. Women admiring the ASS display of man-made and synthetic fibers, including Lanital, in the window of Woodward & Lothrop, a Washington, D.C., store, ca. 1938–1939. Courtesy Smithsonian Institution 

Archives, image 2005-10444.
number 7 • 4 5

childish milkmaid is contrasted with a stereotypical white-coated 

male scientist. The light tone explaining the fiber’s chemistry and 

extolling its virtues was aimed at overcoming resistance to the 

unknown by enthralling potential purchasers with the fiber’s innovative, scientifically created qualities with a strong nationalist 

undertone: “Attempts have been made in other countries to produce a similar fiber—but it remained for American ingenuity to 

perfect it” (Aralac, Inc., n.d.).

Aralac was marketed through press and advertising campaigns, supported with displays in department stores such as 

Macy’s (Rayon Textile Monthly, 1942:549). The “It’s Aralac” 

series of advertisements features sophisticated garments made by 

American designers, suggesting a promotional campaign on the 

part of NDPC to raise the fashionable status of the fiber. Only 

Claire McArdle seems to have been interested in using the fiber 

in its own right. This interest would have been in character as 

she was famous for her innovative application of “unpretentious 

materials, such as denim, cotton calico, and industrial fastenings 

for fashion clothes” (Steele, 2000:190). Despite this positioning 

of Aralac as a fashionable fiber associated with Hollywood film 

stars such as Jane Wyman and Dorothy Lamour, who promoted 

the “Vitamin Coat” costing $22.75, it seems likely that the majority of sales were mass market. Mail-order catalogs such as 

Sears and Montgomery Ward offered coats containing Aralac

fiber priced at a much more modest $9.98.

Other manufacturers also tried to satisfy consumers’ conflicting desires for fashionable and the economical. After the 

war, Vicara fibers were promoted as possessing “Uniformity, 

Beauty, Versatility, Economy, Ease in Use” while demonstrating 

their chic by associating them with garments designed by French 

FIGURE 3. One version of the Aralac logo. Aralac, Inc., a division of 

National Dairy Products Corporation.

FIGURE 4. Aralac promotional leaflet The Cow, The Milkmaid and 

the Chemist. National Dairy Products Corporation.
4 6 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

couturiers such as Fath, which interestingly contrasts with the 

anti-Paris fashion rhetoric of some of NDPC’s Aralac promotion. Imperial Chemical Industries, promoting Ardil in postwar 

Britain in the grip of rationing and economic restrictions, did not 

attempt to evoke the fervid futurism and patriotic modernism 

seen in the American or Italian rhetoric. Although the journalist Chapman Pincher’s excited vision of “Synthetic Man,” clad 

in man-made and artificial materials, including a “ground nuts, 

rayon and nylon suit” (Pincher, 1952:6), was certainly modernistic and the News of the World (1956) welcomed Ardil as “among 

the wonders of the post-war world,” ICI’s tone was generally 

much more muted, reflecting austerity, changing attitudes to 

women’s role and, possibly, the concerns within the company 

over the fiber’s technical and economic viability.

Their advertisements in women’s magazines and newspapers sought to convince consumers that Ardil was similar to, 

if not surpassing, natural fibers while being more economical: 

“warm and absorbent, like wool. Comfortable because it is soft 

and smooth—like cashmere and silk: clothes with Ardil cannot 

irritate even the most sensitive skins” (Good Housekeeping, 

1955:16). Great play was made of its ability to “give clothes the 

unmistakable touch of luxury at prices you can afford” (Woman’s Journal, 1956:4).

Although his unnamed fiber does not appear to have been 

advertised to consumers, Ford was a brilliant publicist. The Ford 

Motor Company’s “Textiles from Soybean Protein” exhibit at 

the 1939 New York World Fair demonstrated the production 

process with the spinning solution dyed blue so that the thread 

would be visible as it formed. Ford had two soybean fiber ties 

made and wore one to his seventy-fifth birthday celebrations in 

Detroit, providing journalists with ample copy. Posing in a field 

wearing his famous soybean fiber suit was a perfect photo opportunity, enabling Ford to promote both his chemurgic vision 

and his fiber. According to his employees, this suit was far from 

being an entirely successful garment. Crump recalls the fabric 

was so itchy that Ford wore it only for photo calls (C. Crump, 

“Soy Coffee, Soy Cookies: Buffet Salutes Virtues of Ford’s Beloved Bean,” Ann Arbor News, 1988, as summarized in Shurtleff 

and Aoyagi, 1994:174), whereas Boyer apparently acknowledged that its strength was so poor that Ford was forced to move 

extremely cautiously (F. R. Bryan, Henry’s Lieutenants, 1993, as 

summarized in Shurtleff and Aoyagi, 1994:184–185). 

CHANGING ATTITUDES TO THE ERSATZ

Analyzing the rhetoric associated with regenerated protein 

fibers shows complex shifts from excitement to disillusionment. 

The representation of regenerated protein fibers reflected changing 

financial and political contexts as well as the availability of other 

new fibers. Initially, many expected great things from these fibers: 

Fibers have been formed from the proteins of milk, soybeans, peanuts, corn, fish, chicken feathers and eggs. 

All of these materials are potentially abundant and 

cheap, and the quantities going to waste throughout 

the world, if made into fibers, would probably be sufficient to keep every man, woman and child well clothed. 

(Sherman and Sherman, 1946:191)

They were modeled as futuristic and utopian, free of limiting historical traditions, and linked with ideas of democracy, 

health, and emancipation, an accessible symbol of the modernistic project (Schnapp, 1997). The ASS highlighted the futuristic aspects of these scientific advances, linking patriotism and 

financial benefits with patriotic self-sufficiency—a democratic 

version of autarky. Science was magic that, through wizardry, alchemy, and ingenuity, transformed waste materials into essential 

war fabrics for the fashionable woman. Research chemists became unlikely heroes: “In this period of nationalistic tendencies, 

economic uncertainty, and surplus agricultural crops, research 

chemists have an unusual opportunity to be of real and lasting 

service to society” (Brother, 1939:148).

But the idea of the ersatz was constantly challenging and 

potentially undermining. Manufacturers themselves sometimes 

exhibited ambivalent attitudes toward being perceived as producers of substitute—and by implication—inferior fibers. This 

profound ambivalence about the value of ersatz materials and 

their desirability (or otherwise) meant that creating a strong and 

positive commercial identity for regenerated protein fibers was 

vital through the development of distinctive names, logos, and 

dramatic marketing campaigns (Brooks, 2006). Their chosen 

names reveal both the fibers’ inherent status as substitutes and 

the strategies used to overcome this perceived inferiority and invisibility. Subtlety of language and carefully constructed arguments were needed to convince people that ersatz materials were 

worthwhile. Thyssen observed,

The Nazis go about trumpeting to the world everything 

that they think is a discovery. They have made much 

ado about the so-called new raw materials invented under the Four-Year Plan. Ingeniously, they have called 

them neue Werkstoffe—new production materials—so 

as to avoid the word ersatz which has had so bad a 

sound ever since the last war. (Thyssen, 1941:185)

Underestimating the potential of the ersatz was also a risk. 

Hurstfield (1953:351) noted that German research into substitute materials “was insufficiently understood in the democracies 

while the very term for substitutes, ersatz, acquired in the West 

a derisory connotation.” However, misreading innovative substitutes as inferior products was a mistake as it underestimated 

the technical and scientific expertise they represented: “these materials were characteristic of the most advanced practice of the 

contemporary chemical industry” (Reader, 1975:33). 

However, the utopian scientific vision for regenerated protein fibers quickly became dystopian, and the image of modernity failed under the pressure of the twin realities of the fibers’ 

poor performance and the development of better-performing 
number 7 • 4 7

synthetics. Margaret Atwood evokes this rejection in her novel 

The Blind Assassin (

2000:275): 

Richard had been approached to make an investment 

in a new fabric the Italians were developing—very 

hush-hush—made out of heated milk protein. But if 

the stuff got wet, said Richard, it smelled horribly of 

cheese, and the ladies in North America would therefore never accept it.

FORGETTING REGENERATED 

PROTEIN FIBERS

Fiber reputations undoubtedly go through cycles (Schneider, 

1994). After the war, the reputation of regenerated protein fibers 

plummeted rapidly: “What had appeared as an unattractive wartime substitute for natural fibers and the industry had to consider 

whether improvements in quality and reductions in cost could 

present it as a desirable fiber for commercial use” (Coleman, 

1969:185). With the exception of work such as that of Koch 

(1972) and Dirks (2000), relatively little published research into 

these fibers exists. They disappeared quickly from standard textile handbooks. Earlier books from the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s 

tended to include enthusiastic and relatively detailed reviews, but 

these dwindled down to paragraphs and then sentences before 

ceasing altogether. By the 1960s, phrases such as “of historical 

interest only” or “obsolete” become common. If these fibers slip 

out of written histories, it would seem reasonable to expect to 

find identified examples of regenerated protein fibers surviving 

in museums. Surprisingly, they are rare, and there are few collections with examples of complete garments, although collections 

of fiber and fabric samples do survive, notably at the University 

of Leeds International Textiles Archive (ULITA; Walsh, 1987); 

the Whitworth Art Gallery, Manchester; the Smithsonian Institution, Washington D.C.; and the Power House Museum, Sydney. A survey of over 50 costume, textile, local, technical, and 

industrial museums in America carried out in 2002 produced 

positive results in terms of curatorial interest but no information on identified artifacts in the collections. The difficulty in 

identifying and cataloguing such pieces is possibly because, unless manufacturers’ names or labels provide a clue, there is little 

physically to suggest the presence of an unusual fiber. Even when 

a name is present, it can remain unrecognized or give rise to 

uncertainty, not to say confusion, further contributing to azlons’ 

disappearance from cultural memory. Regenerated protein fibers 

may have literally disappeared from material culture or been cut 

up because of their technical weaknesses. Freda Moody recalled 

that Ardil garments her father brought home performed so badly 

that “few of our clothes were kept and [they] ended up as dusters.” Her mother cut up garments containing Ardil to use as 

patches to repair a quilt (Moody, pers. comm.). However, there 

are deeper reasons why these fibers have been forgotten within 

the span of a generation. In postwar Britain, with rationing 

still in force, using protein for fibers seemed wrong. Wormell 

(1954:xiii) asked, “Why use good food to make poor wool?” 

Moncrieff (1970:295) made the same point: “As to whether it 

is ethically justifiable to convert a valuable foodstuff into a fibre 

is open to question.” Azlons became remodeled as inferior substitutes and commercial failures—an experiment to forget rather 

than remember. Association with these fibers had a depressing 

effect on some key researchers’ careers. After leaving Drackett, 

Boyer, a pioneer researcher into soybean fibers for both Ford and 

Drackett, suffered a long “wilderness period” before turning the 

technical difficulties in creating a viable textile fiber to advantage 

and, somewhat ironically, developing spun soy protein for food.

Rubbish Theory and the Status of Azlon Fibers

The trajectory of the twentieth-century azlon fibers is thus 

one of physical loss, and textual loss which fits well into the “rubbish theory” model developed by Michael Thompson. A social 

anthropologist with a keen interest in material culture, Thompson applied mathematical analysis to exploring why some artifacts are considered valuable or valueless in particular cultures 

at certain times and how and why this status changes. Rubbish 

theory tracks shifting values applied to objects and the changing “relationship between status, the possession of objects, and 

the ability to discard objects” (Thompson, 1979:1). This theory 

enables a systematic understanding of how and why some things 

lose not only their commercial value but also their cultural values and meanings and why it is thus possible for them to become 

physically discarded and culturally lost. Of course, the alternative 

journey to recovery is also possible. Under certain conditions, 

some artifacts may be shifted from the literal and/or metaphorical rubbish heap to become revalued both financially and commercially and thus desirable and collectable again. Thompson 

used the categories of “transient” and “durable” to categorize 

these contrasting destinies. Objects in the transient category decrease in value over time and have finite life spans. Objects in the 

durable category increase in value over time and, conceptually at 

least, have infinite life spans (Thompson, 1979:7). This model is 

particularly relevant to the changing values placed on substitute 

and/or synthetic materials and shifting attitudes towards the ersatz and, by extension, to the changing values placed on other 

materials such as man-made plastics. It helps us to understand 

the cultural shifts that meant ersatz materials were at first seen 

as desirable but became tainted and undesirable. In Thompson’s 

terms, fibers that had been intended as durable became transient 

and could thus be literally and metaphorically discarded and so 

slipped from cultural memory. 

CONCLUSIONS

There is considerable evidence of the importance of regenerated protein fibers used as substitute fibers in both the Allied and 

Axis war economies and the efforts that were made to make these 
4 8 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

fibers acceptable to consumers in increasingly restricted marketplaces. For a brief moment, regenerated protein fibers seemed to 

be the fibers of the future. At a 1944 New York fashion show to 

promote new fibers, the elegantly dressed mannequins are shown 

stepping out of stylized test tubes wearing garments made from 

both azlons and synthetic fibers (Figure 5). In the battle of the 

fibers, the synthetics won, but there was a moment when both 

fiber types held equal sway. Technical problems meant that regenerated protein fibers could not compete effectively with either natural fibers or the newly developed synthetic fibers. They 

lost economic viability after the war when wool prices slumped. 

The tension between manufacturers’ attempts to create a highfashion image for these fibers and their more likely role as massmarket fashion fibers probably helps to explain why, after the 

war, these fibers were rejected, associated in some countries with 

reduced choices, legal restrictions, and even with fascism. Their 

status changed from exciting, modernist, patriotic, and fashionable fibers to failed, forgotten fibers, associated with a period of 

deprivation and substitute materials. The negative image of the 

ersatz returned to dominance as these fibers became perceived 

as imitations of desirable and unobtainable natural fibers. They 

failed to become mainstream, and despite the extensive time, energy, investment, and promotion lavished upon them, by the first 

decade of the twenty-first century they had been largely forgotten by manufacturers, consumers, and textile historians. Nevertheless, these unusual fibers played a part in creating a unique 

wartime fashion and have extraordinary social, cultural, and 

political resonance. The third generation of regenerated protein 

fibers, combined with synthetics using biochemistry, may yet 

“astonish the world.” 

Acknowledgments

I thank the Getty Conservation Institute, Los Angeles, for 

enabling museums in the United States to be surveyed for their 

regenerated protein fiber holdings during my 2002 residency as a 

Getty Conservation Guest Scholar, in particular Sherri Saperstein 

for undertaking the administration; Katherine Dirks, Smithsonian Institution; University of California Los Angeles Library; 

Doris Stein Research Center, Los Angeles County Museum of 

Art; Denise Buhr, research librarian, Central Soya, Indiana; Michael Hann and colleagues at ULITA, University of Leeds; Patricia Starrett, archivist, Imperial Chemical Industries; Jennifer 

Harris and Ann Tullo, Whitworth Art Gallery, Manchester; and 

Susan Mossman, Science Museum, London.

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ABSTRACT. It is a commonplace that the first artificial plastics were used largely to imitate more 

precious materials. The best example is the widespread imitation of ivory in celluloid products between the material’s introduction in about 1870 and its declining popularity in the second or third 

decade of the twentieth century. On the basis of extensive examination of the Perlov Collection of 

celluloid acquired by the National Museum of American History, this chapter challenges the characterization of this ivory appearance as simply an imitative effect. The ivory look became, in fact, the 

hallmark of celluloid’s own appearance. When the plastic was used for a variety of purposes, from 

pocket calculators to notepads to advertising signs, the ivory effect given to celluloid was meant to 

enhance the value and recognition of the plastic, not to imitate or mimic the traditional material.

INTRODUCTION OR THE VALUE OF IMITATION OR . . .

About 30 years ago, I coined the term “pioneer plastic” to refer to celluloid, the 

first generally used synthesized plastic material. When celluloid was introduced in about 

1870 by a manufacturer in Newark, New Jersey, no other materials had the properties 

of being easily molded and readily available in a range of colors and visual effects while 

at the same time being tough and flexible. The “natural plastics,” themselves largely new 

to most craftsmen and manufacturers in the mid-nineteenth century, were materials like 

shellac and hard rubber, and these were far less versatile. Celluloid, as a pioneer, established technical, economic, and cultural norms for myriad plastics to come.

A representative array of celluloid articles conveys some specific images to the modern viewer. The material is usually shiny, even polished, in appearance. In most uses its 

ready moldability is obvious, as many objects display complex shapes, chasing, and other 

forms that would be very laborious to apply otherwise. Most prominent, however, are 

the surface effects. There would be, in a large collection of materials (such as represented 

by the Perlov Collection, recently acquired by the Smithsonian’s National Museum of 

American History, NMAH), a wide range of colors and decorations. Most prominent 

among a typical collection would be objects looking, at least superficially, like ivory. 

Ivory objects of almost every size and description dominate—toilet sets, letter openers, 

party favors, toys, even signs, badges, and advertising cards. Ivory may be joined by other 

visual effects, simulating coral, tortoiseshell, or amber. Above all, the basic impression 

celluloid conveys is imitation. 

For several decades, scholars (me included) have largely characterized celluloid’s 

role as imitating finer and more expensive materials. The prevalence of the ivory form, in 

particular, supports this characterization (Figure 1).

The sort of elaborate toilet sets shown in Figure 1 has long stood as the prototypical 

example of celluloid and its role of democratizing luxury through astonishingly good and 

convincing imitation of pricier materials (although it could be argued that this particular 

pink mother-of-pearl might be pretty hard to find in nature, at whatever price). This 

long-lasting and convincing imitative role has been one basis for a kind of dichotomy 

Department of History, University of Maryland, 

College Park, Maryland 20742, USA.

Correspondence: R. Friedel, friedel@umd.edu

Manuscript received 19 August 2016; accepted 

13 February 2017.

Is It Real? Imitation and Originality in Plastics

Robert Friedel
5 2 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

that has colored the historical interpretation of plastic for decades. My own interpretations of celluloid included it (Friedel, 

1983:86–89), and Jeffrey Meikle, as he so often does, has put the 

case even more clearly: 

Mid-twentieth-century design critics tended to judge 

plastic by strict either-or categories. On the one hand, 

“regressive” manufacturers imitated traditional materials with ever more convincing results, hoping to gain by 

reducing processing costs without alienating naïve consumers who demanded clearly “domestic” surroundings. On the other hand, “enlightened” consumers preferred artificial objects whose plastic forms suggested 

the outlines of a future technological environment. A 

split earlier defined by celluloid collars and Bakelite 

radios survived decades later as an almost schizoid aesthetic. (Meikle, 1996:183–184)

Meikle went on to admit, however, that “to argue about 

imitative plastic versus plastic-as-plastic was to ignore a vast 

excluded middle.” He pointed to all sorts of explicitly plastic 

objects that have vaguely imitative elements—like plastic daisies on a wastebasket—as occupying this middle ground. But 

in the “flood” of plastics appearing in the mid-twentieth century, he saw this ground as an aesthetic desert: “Although some 

artifacts did evoke modernity, most remained stylistically ‘rubbish,’ too anonymous and ephemeral to do more than add to a 

vague consciousness of an ever greater flow of plastic” (Meikle 

1996:185–186).

This class of the “anonymous and ephemeral” deserves 

more attention, however. These objects need to be appreciated 

for what, in even the earliest plastics, they can tell us about material, design, and originality. To be sure, the finer pieces represented by celluloid, such as the “tortoiseshell” comb, are indeed 

spectacular examples of imitation and even deception (Figure 2).

FIGURE 1. Examples of toilet sets imitating ivory and mother of pearl. National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution; photo 

by Ann Seeger.
number 7 • 5 3

Victorian critics, such as John Ruskin or Charles Eastlake, 

commented on both the dangers and virtues of imitation. On 

the one hand, imitation was a threat to one of the core values of 

art—sincerity—and the machine-oriented imitation of celluloid 

manufactures was a fundamental threat to the values of craftsmanship. On the other hand, Ruskin maintained that skillful imitation was a source of real aesthetic pleasure, particularly when 

it stopped just short of true counterfeit, that is, when it gave 

evidence of its real intentions: to honor the natural by imitating 

it but not going so far as to be “fake.” 

It is in this “middle ground” between imitation and an 

avowedly plastic aesthetic that the question “Is it real?” becomes 

more central to our appreciation of the material and its uses. In 

some cases, as in the picture frames from the current display of 

the NMAH’s Perlov Collection shown in Figure 3, there is still 

a high aesthetic in the uses of celluloid at the same time that the 

imitative effects become a bit more ambiguous.

But it is really to the truly ephemeral that we need to turn—

the host of objects that were never expected to have a future 

or any long-term use, objects never supposed to have even an 

“aesthetic value.” The Perlov Collection has not hundreds, but 

thousands, of these items, and this abundance is something that 

few historians have paid any attention to. 

FIGURE 3. Two examples of plastic picture frames from the Perlov 

Collection. National Museum of American History, Smithsonian 

Institution.

FIGURE 2. Celluloid comb imitating tortoiseshell. National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution.
5 4 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

Many of these objects go by the name “novelties,” which 

is, in itself, a curious kind of terminology. Consulting the Oxford English Dictionary doesn’t help, as it refers only to “some 

things that are new.” The term comes to mean, in the nineteenth 

century, small objects of modest value, typically given out as premiums or souvenirs or advertising or possibly sold for very small 

amounts. As such, novelties were expected to be manufactured 

in quantity, in multiple, identical copies. There are actually two 

historical roots for this trade, and to understand the significance 

for plastics, it is worth taking just a quick historical look at both.

BRIEF HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

One of these roots lies back in the seventeenth century, in 

what came to be known as the “toy trades.” The classic locus 

of this was the English town of Birmingham, where iron and 

brass workers took advantage of new materials and novel ways 

of working them, as well as of emerging forms of marketing, to 

set up hundreds of shops for turning out small goods, not all of 

them, of course, “toys” in the literal sense but most aptly recognized by small devices of cast or sheet metal. Tellingly, many of 

these were painted so that they came to look more valuable than 

they actually were. The most famous form of these painted and 

decorated items went by the term “japanware,” after the shellac 

composition used to coat sheet iron or tin and make the result 

look more like fine Oriental lacquer work (Figure 4).

Later, papier-mâché became a favorite material for such 

elaborate objects as tea trays. Manufacturers like Matthew 

Boulton, who became James Watt’s indispensable partner in the 

steam engine, made their fortunes in making buttons, buckles, 

and other small objects. Toy soldiers were another large seller for 

the toy makers. The lineage from these mass-produced items to 

the late nineteenth century celluloid novelty makers is not a hard 

one to construct (Friedel, 2007:247–251).

The other primary historical root for these articles lies with 

printers. From the first presses in the mid-fifteenth century, printers had produced by the hundreds and the thousands identical 

small handbills, cards, prayer sheets, and other ephemera. Here, 

too, the linkage to the mass production of small manufactured 

FIGURE 4. A painted tinware tray. Photo R. Friedel.
number 7 • 5 5

articles in the late nineteenth century is readily apparent. It is 

curious, therefore, how little attention has been paid to this linkage. Another NMAH collection, printed items from the shop of 

Baldwin & Gleason of New York, found in the graphic arts collections, illustrates some of the connections that can be made 

(Figure 5). Baldwin & Gleason made printing on celluloid one of 

their specialties, and they appear to have enjoyed some success 

(Figure 6).

The significance of some aspects of the Smithsonian collections can now be seen in a different light. Printed objects of a 

great variety are everywhere. Even objects that are not simple 

cards, like the score keeper shown in Figure 7, are handsomely 

printed. The most dominant impression they give, however, 

is that of being “ivory.” Of course, they are not ivory in any 

convincing sense, but they, and many, many objects like them, 

particularly in the category of novelties, do appear to be ivory; 

FIGURE 5. Front and back of printed celluloid card from Baldwin & Gleason, Graphic Arts Collection, National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution.
5 6 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

further, these items are not simply an ivory white—the striations 

of true ivory, complete with their waviness and imperfections, 

are produced in the most convincing way.

Devices intended for practical applications, although often 

given out as what we might call “specialized novelties,” maintain the same aesthetic that dominates the printed ware and the 

familiar giveaways. It is the series of very practical, utilitarian 

calculators for things like drill bits and ball bearings rendered 

in perfectly reproduced ivory celluloid shown in Figure 8 that is 

perhaps the most startling to contemplate. It has been remarked 

before that celluloid’s imitation ivory was used for many things 

that would never have been ivory, but the phenomenon deserves 

greater scrutiny. The strict division between plastics as imitation and the modern plastics aesthetic is simply inadequate to 

describe fully the way in which early plastics made their way into 

the world of everyday objects and design.

The ivory form, in particular, constituted a fundamental 

identity for celluloid. That materials capable of a wide range of 

appearances tend to settle into only a small number of widely 

accepted forms is a common but often overlooked phenomenon. 

Thus hard vulcanized rubber—naturally a muddled brown or 

amber color—becomes unshakably associated with jet black. 

FIGURE 6. Celluloid cards and signs printed by Baldwin & Gleason. 

National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution.
number 7 • 5 7

The same happens later to Bakelite, although with a few exceptions. Polymethyl methacrylate—Lucite or Plexiglas to use the 

most common trade names—is firmly associated with glass-like 

transparency, although it lends itself readily to colorful effects. 

Rarely, however, do such instances include the identity with an 

appearance that requires the extra effort, with no technical benefit, that making imitation ivory involves. 

To be sure, the celluloid makers were ready and even eager 

to make the association between their material and substitution for precious substances central to the material’s identity: 

“As petroleum came to the relief of the whale,” the Celluloid 

Manufacturing Company declared in an oft-quoted passage, 

“[so] has celluloid given the elephant, the tortoise, and the coral 

insect a respite in their native haunts” (Meikle, 1996:12; Freinkel, 

2011:17). This idea of celluloid as fundamentally a substitute has 

so strongly colored its image in modern interpretations that an 

issue of Chemical Heritage features a cover story on “Celluloid—

the Eternal Substitute.” Here once again we see the characterization of celluloid as a “second-class material,” valued only as 

“a substitute, a plausible counterfeit of natural materials” (Boyd, 

2011/2012), until it was rescued from this fate by the development of photographic and movie film at the end of the century.

FIGURE 7. Mock ivory score keeper, front and back. National Museum of American History collection, Smithsonian Institution.
5 8 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

FIGURE 8. Practical calculators in celluloid. Note the high quality of the mock ivory for the item on the top. The back and front of a ball bearing 

equivalence calculator are shown on the bottom. National Museum of American History collection, Smithsonian Institution.
number 7 • 5 9

What was celluloid actually substituting for in the objects 

shown in Figure 9? More than anything else, it is, in fact, paper 

or cardboard. In other words, we are substituting a clearly more 

expensive plastic for a cheaper, familiar alternative. In addition, 

of course, as has been noted, the plastic—the celluloid—has been 

given the fancy appearance of artificial ivory, even though it is 

abundantly clear that one would never use, or ever want, ivory 

in these articles.

One detail worth pointing out here is the great range of 

dates covered by these items. The calendars allow us, of course, 

particularly easy dating, so there are pieces ranging from the 

1880s to the mid-1920s. Presumably, by 1926, when the Baltimore department store Hochschild, Kohn & Co. gave out the 

note holders for “shopping memoranda” in Figure 9, celluloid 

was a somewhat old-fashioned material. Nonetheless, the habit 

of producing and distributing novelties of the material and of 

using the ivory form dominantly persisted. 

Note also that celluloid can, indeed, still be deemed a “substitute,” but it is substituting not for more expensive materials, 

such as ivory (despite the appearance) or shell or the like, but 

for cheaper materials, like paper or cardboard or, perhaps, thin 

sheet metal. 

More complicated novelties persisted as well, from score 

keepers (Figure 7) to cigar cutters and reminders of trump suits 

(Figure 10). It is harder to say just what celluloid is substituting 

for in the trump suit reminder. Indeed, some of these items might 

simply not be made at all without the plastic, although it is hard 

to claim that celluloid is somehow uniquely suited for these uses. 

There is, in fact, a real level of originality in the uses of this first 

plastic. 

FIGURE 9. Two celluloid objects from the National Museum of American History that are actually replacing paper objects. National Museum 

of American History, Smithsonian Institution.
6 0 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

As mere novelties, it is easy to overlook these objects, to see 

them not only as ephemera, in the technical sense, but as ephemeral and unworthy of notice. But perhaps here is where we see 

some of the material’s real significance, even in its earliest days.

FINAL CONSIDERATIONS

Celluloid, perhaps above all, did in its gentle, and sometimes 

subtle way, usher in different principles of design and good taste. 

Charles Eastlake could declare in a work first published in 1868 

on the eve of celluloid’s invention and then reprinted throughout 

the nineteenth century in both Britain and America that “every 

material . . . is obviously restricted by the nature of its substance 

to certain conditions of form. . . . Whenever . . . the material is 

allowed to assume in design an appearance which is foreign to 

its own peculiar attributes, the result is invariably inartistic and 

vulgar” (Eastlake, 1969:185–186). But celluloid ushered in new 

possibilities, not only in manufactures and effects but in conceptions of design itself. 

The ivory that seems so blatantly to announce imitation in 

celluloid is also an announcement of its own identity. We should 

not blame the material’s users for what seems in hindsight to be 

a remarkable conservatism of appearance but instead celebrate 

the originality with which they exploited the material’s virtues 

and possibilities.

Indeed, the observers of early plastics might well ask “Is it 

real?” when encountering a host of products, from brushes to fans 

to souvenir knives. But the uses of the material, over the course 

of more than half a century, particularly in the obscure little bits 

of life, made it very clear that it was as real as any material and 

opened up new opportunities for design, originality, and profit.

REFERENCES

Boyd, Jane E., “Celluloid: The Eternal Substitute,” Distillations Magazine (Fall 

2011/Winter 2012). https://www.chemheritage.org/distillations/magazine

/celluloid-the-eternal-substitute (accessed June 5, 2017).

Eastlake, C. 1969. Hints on Household Taste. New York: Dover. Reprinted from 

4th ed., London, 1878.

Freinkel, S. 2011. Plastic: A Toxic Love Story. New York: Houghton Mifflin 

Harcourt.

Friedel, R. 1983. Pioneer Plastic: The Making and Selling of Celluloid. Madison: 

University of Wisconsin Press.

Friedel, R. 2007. A Culture of Improvement: Technology and the Western Millennium. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press.

Meikle, J. 1996. American Plastic: A Cultural History. New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press.

FIGURE 10. A cigar cutter and a trump suit reminder in celluloid. National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution.
ABSTRACT. The materials used in space suits are very diverse and serve multiple purposes. They 

protect against the known hazards of space such as solar and galactic radiation along with micrometeoroid impacts, but they also need to ensure that the occupants are securely encapsulated within 

a pressurized system that provides a constant flow of oxygen, body cooling, and all of the mobility they need to safely and efficiently carry out their tasks. The development of early space suits 

came at a time when DuPont was producing many advanced materials for common use that would 

ultimately find their way into these suits. Materials such as Mylar worked to reflect the radiation, 

whereas Nomex and then Beta cloth provided protection against high temperatures. Nylon helped 

to hold the suits together under internal pressures without elongating, whereas spandex did elongate 

and comfortably encapsulated the wearer with 300 feet of polyvinyl tubing that contained the flow 

of cold water for the removal of body heat. This miniature space ship had to allow the elbows to 

flex and the lower torso to walk. Current space suits still use many of these materials, and improved 

versions of these are used in advanced space suits.

INTRODUCTION

Plastics became popular around the time the earliest space suits were being developed. Their engineers relied on plastics to provide the strength needed to support the 

internal pressures and also guard the wearers against the hostile environment of space. 

The first evidence of pressurized suits appears in this country around the 1930s, almost at 

the same time one was being developed by a Soviet inventor. The original, crude pressure 

suits did their job helping to set new altitude records while also ensuring that the wearers 

could safely land their aircraft on earth. From the start, special materials had to be used 

that would contain the internal air pressure without catastrophically ripping apart. At 

the same time these suits had to permit some degree of mobility that initially was very 

limited. Early on, the main materials of choice typically consisted of simple rubber-coated 

parachute fabrics. When looking at the names of the companies who developed the first 

suits, one can immediately guess what the main ingredient was. Companies such as B. F. 

Goodrich, the Arrowhead Rubber Company, and Goodyear Tire and Rubber all entered 

into the competition along with others. Even the later contributor to the Apollo space 

suit, International Latex Corporation, brought along many years of experience working 

with rubber blends used to develop bras, girdles, and other rubber-based products for 

World War II such as rafts and canteens. 

Between 1948 and the early 1960s, DuPont contributed to a major advancement in 

fiber development by what can best be described as a “substitution of materials.” During 

this period, DuPont created many new materials that improved upon thermal properties and provided flame resistance, higher elasticity, and strength (Gabara, 2010). Although initially made for earthbound purposes, the timing for providing these materials 

ILC Dover, LP, One Moonwalker Road, Frederica, Delaware 19946, USA.

* Correspondence: B. Ayrey, ayreyb@ilcdover

.com

Manuscript received 19 August 2016; accepted 

13 February 2017.

Advanced Materials Used in Space 

Suit Construction

Bill Ayrey* and Linda Hewes
6 2 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

could not have been better as far as the manned space race was 

concerned. These advanced materials contributed greatly to increased mobility and provided protection from possible fire as 

well as from radiation and impacts from micrometeoroids traveling at 30,000 miles per hour. One interesting note is the fact that 

none of the advanced materials used in space suits to date were 

developed specifically for the suits. The space suit industry along 

with NASA looked for advanced materials that were available 

on the market at the time. A DuPont advertisement from the late 

1960s demonstrates this fact (Figure 1).

The majority of the space suit materials were developed by 

very well respected chemists such as Wallace Carothers, Roy 

Plunkett, and others over a period of many years leading up to 

the manned space program. The list of materials includes the following, along with the approximate discovery dates:

• neoprene, 1930

• Teflon, 1938

• nylon, 1940

• polyester (PET), 1941

• Mylar, 1955

• spandex, 1959

• Kapton, 1962

• Nomex, 1962

WHAT IS A PRESSURE SUIT?

Space suits are also known as full-pressure suits. They encapsulate the wearer and rely on a pressure source to inflate the 

suit with 100% oxygen and maintain this pressure around the 

entire body. Although the history of full-pressure suits is relatively long, the most noted example of this style of suit was the 

one worn by Wiley Post in the mid-1930s. Post was an aviation 

record setter who knew that flying at 50,000 feet or higher meant 

that he could fly faster since there was less air, thus reducing drag 

on the airplane. As a result, Post worked with engineers at B. F. 

Goodrich to design a full-pressure suit to protect him as he flew 

for long durations in his unpressurized plane. The result was “a 

suit made of parachute silk, rubberized and doubled on the bias 

to give light weight minimum diffusivity and ease of fabrication 

FIGURE 1. Early DuPont materials advertisement. Courtesy of DuPont.
number 7 • 6 3

on the sewing machines” (Mallan, 1971:27). Post went through 

three different suits during the development efforts. Both the first 

and second versions were made from only a single layer of rubberized silk that leaked excessively and ballooned beyond an acceptable range, thus providing very poor performance. The third 

suit featured an inner neoprene rubber layer to retain the pressure with an outer layer of heavy three-ply cotton cloth intended 

to hold shape and provide some limited mobility. This concept 

of a bladder within a restraint layer is still used today. Several 

records were set by Post, and the full-pressure suit that he wore 

proved the value of such a device (Figure 2).

THE HAZARDS OF SPACE

Although there have been many varieties of full-pressure 

suits used by aviators over the years that have used advanced 

materials, the focus of this chapter is on space suits. Before proceeding, it is a good idea to explain the challenges of space travel. 

Simply put, human space travel exposes astronauts to the following hazards:

• total vacuum/no oxygen

• solar radiation and galactic cosmic radiation

• high- and low-temperature exposure due to radiant heat 

gain or loss

• exposure to high-velocity micrometeorites traveling up 

to 64,000 miles per hour

• touch temperatures between 302°F and −292°F (+150°C 

and −180°C)

Space suits come in two different styles. One is called the 

intravehicular activity suit. The best example of this is the space 

suit worn by the Mercury astronauts and the crew of the space 

shuttle as they launched and landed aboard the shuttle vehicles. 

These astronauts were pressurized within the capsule or the space 

shuttle and were protected by the environmental control systems 

on board the spacecraft and during normal conditions would 

never need a space suit. The intravehicular activity suits are typically never pressurized, but they are capable of pressurization 

should the spacecraft develop a severe problem where it cannot 

hold pressure. The other suit is referred to as the extravehicular 

activity (EVA) suit, which is designed specifically to protect the 

astronaut against significant outside hazards encountered during 

space walks. These suits rely on constant pressurization in order 

to keep the astronaut alive. 

The suits need to protect against the hazards outlined 

above, but other problems come about as a direct result. The 

suit needs to be pressurized to keep the dissolved gases within 

the body from expanding, thus resulting in what is known as the 

bends. The resultant effect is a series of pressurized joints that 

wrap around critical body flex points such as the elbows, knees, 

and waist. These joints need to allow the wearer to flex their 

limbs naturally without compressing the cylinder, thus increasing 

the pressure as a result of the gas compression. This “compression” causes the muscles to have to work much harder, leading 

to fatigue. A convoluted joint or one that does not significantly 

change volume eliminates or greatly reduces the compression, 

so that less muscle energy is expended. These are sometimes referred to as “constant-volume joints.” 

Another challenge is that the wearer is encapsulated within a 

suit while they are typically working hard and generating a lot of 

heat and humidity brought about by sweating. In addition, they 

are likely to abrade skin areas against parts of the suit and need 

a comfort layer to provide abrasion protection. Other factors 

must be taken into account such as the fit. Assuming that an astronaut is sized perfectly within the suit, it is necessary that they 

maintain this perfect fit with the suit under pressure; otherwise, 

FIGURE 2. The Wiley Post suit. Photo by Eric F. Long, National Air 

and Space Museum, Smithsonian Institution, SI 98-15012.
6 4 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

their hands may not be properly positioned inside their gloves 

once the suit begins to “balloon” out and away from them. This 

effect was demonstrated by the earlier Wiley Post suits when the 

rubberized fabrics could not restrain the expansion or growth 

under pressure. 

INTRODUCTION OF ADVANCED 

MATERIALS TO THE AEROSPACE WORLD

As newer aircraft were being manufactured to fly much 

higher, newer pressure suits were needed that provided better 

flexibility when pressurized. When the X-15 was being developed in the early to mid-1950s, the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics was in need of advanced pressure suits 

since the X-15 was expected to break new records by flying to 

altitudes beyond 300,000 feet. The pressure suits at that time 

allowed extremely poor mobility, which had to be improved. As 

a result, Wright-Patterson’s Aero Medical Laboratory released 

a contract to develop an entirely new suit. Several companies 

provided suits designated as models XMC-2. The David Clark 

Company was the eventual winner with their model XMC2-DC suit. 

ILC Industries (previously known as the International 

Latex Corporation) entered that competition with the first pressure suit they ever made using state-of-the-art manufacturing 

facilities that helped them create latex-dipped convolutes that 

made flexing of the joints much easier. This design was further 

evolved as the Air Force continued to provide development contracts to ILC until the late 1950s. By 1962, the further developed ILC suit was in a prime position to enter the competition 

for the Apollo space program. David Clark went on to make the 

Gemini space suits, whereas B.F. Goodrich provided the Mercury suits. 

Mercury Space Suits

Development of the Mercury space suits began in January of 

1959. The B. F. Goodrich Mercury suits were derived from the 

Navy Mark IV high-altitude aircraft suit with some minor modifications. The most notable was the silvery outer cover that was 

added to help reflect heat generated during reentry. This outer 

silver layer was made of aluminized nylon. The inner layers consisted of a neoprene-coated nylon fabric to hold the pressure. 

When the suit was pressurized, the nylon offered reduced elongation versus the rubber used in much earlier suits, thus helping 

maintain shape and conformity to the body. Since the Mercury 

suits were never intended for EVA use, there was little need to 

further develop this suit to withstand more extreme space-like 

conditions. In addition, the Mercury suits were never inflated 

during use. They were attached to oxygen tanks on board the 

capsule, and if pressure were lost at any time during the mission, 

the suits would instantly pressurize. Fortunately, such an event 

never occurred (see Figure 3).

Gemini

The David Clark Company designed and manufactured the 

Gemini space suit using their own funding. It was based somewhat on their successful X-15 suit. The greatest challenge this 

suit faced was the fact that it would be the first one to perform 

an EVA from the Gemini capsule and be directly exposed to the 

hazards of outer space. Three versions of the Gemini suits were 

made, each containing different combinations of fabric layers 

necessary to meet specific mission goals. An interesting fact is 

that the Gemini astronauts faced the possibility of having to use 

ejection seats to evacuate their capsule in the event of a catastrophic incident at launch. If this occurred, they likely had to 

eject through a fireball of ignited rocket fuel, which meant that 

the space suits had to stand up to a significant challenge. This 

possibility no doubt was taken into account during the development of the suit and throughout the materials selection process. 

FIGURE 3. The Mercury space suit. Courtesy of NASA.
number 7 • 6 5

The outer layer consisted of the uncoated, high-temperatureresistant polyamide fabric called HT-1, or Nomex as it is now 

referred to. The name Nomex was first announced by DuPont 

in 1963 when pilot plants began production. DuPont marketed 

this material as retaining 50% of its strength at 285°C (545°F). 

In addition, it retained its dimensional stability and resistance to 

chemical and solvent attack (McCune, 1962). The rate of material decomposition and charring is high only after the temperature greatly exceeds 350°C (660°F); however, the material does 

not melt (DuPont, 2016). 

The first U.S. astronaut to perform an EVA was Ed White on 

Gemini 4. The suit he used, the model G4C suit, contained the 

HT-1 outer layer followed by a felt layer made up of the HT-1 

Nomex and also contained a thermal layer of aluminized Mylar. 

Another felt layer of the HT-1 was further inside to absorb any 

potential impacts from micrometeorites. The pressure bladder 

was made of neoprene-coated nylon and was surrounded by a restraint layer made up of link-net woven from Dacron and Teflon 

cords (Figure 4). The link-net design, which resembled an openweave net, was patented and used extensively by David Clark as a 

way to promote flexibility in the various limb joints while retaining the shape of the suit when pressurized. One of Dacron’s advantages is its resistance to stretching under load (low elongation) 

even when wet, and as a result, Dacron is a prime candidate for 

use in space suits in which elongation is not a desired property. 

The main purpose of the Gemini missions was to learn as 

much as possible about human space flight and the required 

systems so that we could successfully venture to the moon in 

Apollo. On Gemini 9A, astronaut Eugene Cernan was scheduled 

to take a space walk that required him to transit to the aft end of 

the capsule and strap on a rocket pack called the Astronaut Maneuvering Unit, or AMU. This was the first true U.S. space walk 

that required extensive energy to carry out a task. Previously, Ed 

White simply drifted in free space for about 30 minutes, expending very little energy. Cernan, however, soon discovered that he 

had to work much harder than was expected. His heart rate went 

FIGURE 4. The Gemini space suit, showing the various layers it contains. Courtesy of NASA.
6 6 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

up to 155 beats per minute, and his perspiration overwhelmed 

the air circulation system inside the suit to the point that his visor 

fogged up and he could not see without wiping his nose against 

the visor to clear it. This discovery would drive a change to the 

design of the Apollo suit. 

The Apollo Space Suit

While David Clark was busy manufacturing the Gemini 

space suits and flying them on missions in the early to mid-1960s, 

ILC was deeply immersed in the development of its Apollo suit. 

Having won the contract in 1962, ILC was building on its earlier 

pressure suits from the 1950s. Between 1962 and the first flight of 

Apollo 7 in 1968, the ILC pressure garments took several twists 

in their design path and development, but the essential material 

ingredients remained the same. What few people realize is that 

between each of the Apollo missions, from Apollo 7 all the way 

through to Apollo 17, small changes took place to improve the 

performance and reliability of the suits, but once again, the materials essentially remained the same. Figure 5 provides insight into 

the various DuPont materials selected for the Apollo program.

During the development of the Apollo suits, ILC continuously worked closely with NASA engineers to determine what 

material combinations had to be used in order to provide the 

necessary life support for an astronaut expected to perform as 

much as a 7-hour walk on the moon. In a worst-case scenario, 

the sun angle would be at 70°, and there would be solar reflection 

from a close-by crater. Heat loss or gain to the suit was measured 

in Btu leakage per hour, and the solar loading could certainly 

not exceed the capability of the backpack. The leakage limit was 

FIGURE 5. DuPont advertisement detailing the various materials used in the Apollo suit. Courtesy of DuPont.
number 7 • 6 7

250 Btus per hour. Thanks to the multilayered combinations of 

modern plastics, the suit fell within the required specifications. 

The Apollo suit began its design from the inside out, meaning that the pressure garment and supporting hardware were 

developed first, followed by the outside layers that make up the 

thermal micrometeoroid garment (TMG). The following sections 

outline the major components that made up the Apollo suits. 

Liquid Cooling Garment

As proven during Eugene Cernan’s Gemini 9A space walk, 

much needed to be improved in terms of removing body heat that 

was significant during any physical activity. It was estimated from 

previous studies that the Apollo astronauts would be required to 

expend between 1,200 and 1,600 Btus per hour of heat and possibly upward of 2,000 Btus while walking about on the moon, 

and an air-cooled suit alone would not be able to compensate 

these loads. The solution to this problem came about once again 

by way of advanced materials. In 1963, Hamilton Standard engineers working with NASA developed a liquid cooling suit based 

on a Royal Air Force design to keep their fighter pilots cool while 

they sat in their aircraft on hot runways. The final result for the 

Apollo suit was an open-weave nylon spandex garment with approximately 300 feet of polyvinyl chloride (PVC) tubing through 

which cool water would flow from the backpack. This PVC tubing was sold under the trade name of Tygon, which is a registered 

trademark of the Saint-Gobain Corporation. It also featured a 

thin, lightweight nylon chiffon liner for comfort. Spandex is a 

manufactured fiber based on a long-chain synthetic polymer composed of at least 85% of a segmented polyurethane (American 

Fiber Manufacturers Association, 1997–2012). The spandex provided the ability to be stretched repeatedly with almost total recovery; thus, when it is worn close to the body, the cooling tubes 

are held close to the skin and remove the body heat (Figure 6).

One of the key issues investigated during the Save America’s 

Treasures program was the fact that the dioctyl phthalate (DOP) 

was leaching out of the vinyl tubing, thus resulting in brittle and 

brown-colored tubes covered with the wet and tacky DOP. In 

addition, over time PVC will release hydrogen chloride (HCl) 

that further goes on to attack any metal suit hardware nearby (V. 

Gabara, DuPont Fellow, personal communication, May 7, 2012). 

Nothing can be done to reverse these conditions, and the items 

in the collection that have the potential to create these problems 

must be isolated from contact with other artifacts. Figure 7 shows 

the Apollo liquid cooling garment (LCG) and its current state 

with the brown vinyl tubing.

FIGURE 6. Liquid cooling garment. Courtesy of NASA.

FIGURE 7. Apollo liquid cooling garment. Courtesy of ILC 

Dover, LP.
6 8 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

Pressure Garment Assembly

Working our way out from the cooling garment, we have 

the beginning of what it called the pressure garment assembly 

(Figure 8). The first layer consists of a lightweight Nomex liner. 

This liner not only serves as a comfort barrier, but it also aids 

the astronaut when donning the suit and protects the bladder 

layer. Getting into the suit was not an easy task since: you had 

to fold your body and slip in between the tight zipper assembly 

while working your arms and legs into their respective openings. 

The thin Nomex layer helped provide this continuous, slippery 

surface for the arms and feet to slide along until the suit was 

fully donned. 

The next layer is the neoprene-coated nylon fabric used as 

the barrier to retain the pressurized oxygen. Neoprene is a synthetic rubber also known as polychloroprene. This layer was certainly one of the most critical barriers of the suit, and it did serve 

to prevent any leakages. Various cut panels were spliced together 

using a two-part neoprene adhesive and similar neoprene/nylon 

cover tape to form this bladder layer. This rubber-coated layer 

had to be installed into the garments within one year of manufacture and had only a three-year shelf life from the installation 

date. Most of the Apollo suits were manufactured with the intent 

of using them within three years of installation. Unfortunately, 

many of the suits now in the care of the National Air and Space 

Museum are well beyond the three-year installation date, and 

the results of the aging process show by way of brittle rubber 

particles that fall out of the suit openings during handling. 

To prevent the bladder layer from being stressed when 

under the internal pressure or loads (as when walking, reaching, 

bending, etc.), the next layer toward the outside consisted of a 

blue colored 7.0 ounce per yard oxford nylon called the restraint 

layer that maintained the shape of the suit. Integrated throughout several areas of this layer were the accordion-style convolutes that allowed the joints to flex. These convolutes were latex 

dipped and contained a tricot fabric throughout the inside layer 

to retard growth under pressure. In addition, within the valley of 

each band of the convolute was a nylon webbing to further help 

prevent expansion. From the earlier Apollo missions up to Apollo 

14, a couple of the suits had to have their bellow joints surgically 

removed and replaced with new units just prior to their flights 

because the rubber was beginning to turn brittle as it reached the 

end of its relatively short shelf life. An investigation was begun 

to find possible solutions to extend the life of the rubber. Leading 

experts were brought in, and two significant changes were made 

on the basis of the findings. It was found that the reason for the 

accelerated aging of the rubber was the presence of copper alloy 

traces in the tank used for the latex dipping process of the bellows that originated from the copper pipes feeding the tank. As 

a result, all copper pipes were eliminated from the process. The 

second improvement was the addition of an antioxidant, called 

Agerite White (N, N ́-di-2-naphthyl-p-phenylene diamine), still 

used currently throughout the industry to prolong the life of the 

rubber. That these improvements served their purpose was validated during the Save America’s Treasures program when it was 

apparent that all of the suits prior to Apollo 14 had convolutes 

that were seriously degraded, whereas the later suits had convoluted joints that still appeared to be in good condition. The 

inner restraint and bladder layer also contained air ducts made 

of nylon to aid in the circulation of the air throughout the suit. 

Thermal Micrometeoroid Garment

Following the Apollo 1 fire in February of 1967 that killed 

astronauts Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee, safety 

review findings determined that more work was needed on crew 

protection in the event of a similar situation. With regard to the 

suit design, much, if not all of this change affected the outer TMG 

layer of the suit. The purpose of this multilayered garment was to 

provide protection from possible fire as well as to defend against 

radiant heat energy from the sun and micrometeoroid impacts 

when performing space walks. In addition, it provided abrasion 

resistance and significantly reduced conductive heating and cooling through the layers. It was found that the fire actually melted 

the outer Nomex layers of the suits in the Apollo 1 incident, so 

NASA immediately began looking for improved performance.

Prior to the fire, the initial version of the ILC Apollo suit 

was the model A6L. This first model of the actual flight suit was 

initially designed to have a slip-on TMG with a cover layer of 

Nomex similar to the Gemini one. The intent was to reduce bulk 

by being able to remove this outer TMG layer during noncritical phases of the mission. This design was taking shape in 1967 

when the fire occurred. As a result of the many findings that came 

out of the NASA Review Board investigating the incident, it was 

decided that the TMG of the suit should be redesigned using improved materials so that it could protect crewmembers against 

even higher temperatures and, in addition, not be removable but 

rather be integrated onto the suit as a permanent part of it. This 

ultimately led to the model A7L suit that was used in most of 

the Apollo missions. New requirements were set in place so that 

astronauts might have a chance to escape onboard fires provided 

they could exit the command module (such as when on the launch 

FIGURE 8. Pressure garment assembly layers. Courtesy of NASA.
number 7 • 6 9

pad). The goal was to provide a TMG layer that could offer the 

following benefits: (1) provide crewmembers 45 s of time to exit 

the spacecraft once flame impingement began and (2) ensure that 

the inner bladder layer of the pressure garment did not exceed 

250°F (122°C) within the 45-s time period. This estimation was 

all based on a flame temperature of 1,800°F (982°C) in an oxygen 

environment (McBarron and Poradek, 1968). 

NASA engineers quickly began work with both Owens 

Corning and DuPont to develop a new combination of existing fibers to create a cover layer that would ultimately become 

known as Beta cloth. It was a noncombustible fabric that had 

a melting point of over 1,200°F (650°C). The main component 

was an ultrafine glass filament that was twisted into yarns and 

woven as a fabric. Figure 9 shows the size of the Beta fiber relative to other fibers in addition to its relative bending stiffness 

(Naimer, 1970). Its small diameter afforded good bending qualities and provided high tensile strength. 

The next step was to coat the fabric with a DuPont polytetrafluoroethylene more commonly known as Teflon. One of the 

earlier findings during the development of this Beta cloth material was that the glass-fiber threads alone did not stand up well 

during the sewing operations. To increase their mechanical resistance, the glass fibers were coated with Teflon. This robust combination of fibers was then covered with a layer of Teflon cloth 

that provided excellent abrasion and additional fire resistance. 

The TMG consisted of many layers of different insulating 

materials under the Teflon and Beta cloth that made up what was 

known as “superinsulation.” They were assembled in a very precise order so as to provide maximum insulating capacity. Figure 

10 shows the arrangement of the materials typical of the Apollo 

FIGURE 10. Layers of the Apollo A7L thermal micrometeorite garment. Please note that layers 3 and 4 

are aluminized Kapton bonded to Beta Marquisette. Courtesy of ILC Dover, LP.

FIGURE 9. Relative fiber diameters and bending stiffness (Naimer, 

1970). Courtesy of NASA.
7 0 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

missions. Under the Beta cloth, the combinations included the 

following:

• Aluminized Kapton provided the capability to reflect the 

solar radiant energy away from the inner layers.

• Beta marquisette/laminated aluminized Kapton consisted 

of a Teflon-coated silica fiber laminated to Kapton. This 

layer provided a spacer material between the aluminized 

Kapton so that conductive heat gain or loss was kept to 

a minimum. 

• Aluminized Mylar film was a plastic film consisting of 

polyethylene terephthalate (also referred to as PET) with 

a vaporized metallic layer. This material provided further 

reflective capability to reduce heat gain or loss through 

radiant means. It is capable of reflecting up to 99% of 

the light, including much of the infrared spectrum. 

• Nonwoven polyester Dacron also acted as a spacer material and reduced conductive heat gain or loss.

• Neoprene-coated nylon ripstop was the inner liner that 

helped sandwich all the layers together. It acted as a protective layer and gave a firm base cloth in which to sew.

Once flame testing was performed on the final design of the 

TMG, it was found that the bladder layer took 54 s to reach 

the 250°F (121°C) temperature with an 1,800°F (982°C) flame 

impingement. This time was 9 s over the minimum requirement. 

All of the above materials remained very stable at the expected 

lunar temperatures of between +350°F (+415°C) and −180°F 

(−292°C). The end result was a TMG garment that weighed 

less than 20 pounds and had 454 individual piece parts taped or 

sewn together to form the single garment. 

Helmet: Extravehicular Visor Assembly

The helmet for Apollo consisted of two main sections. First 

was the pressure helmet proper that provided the pressure sealing 

integrity and strength and allowed good visibility. It was made 

from a high-optical-quality polycarbonate plastic and made by 

Air-Lock, Inc. A synthetic elastomer foam vent pad was mounted 

inside the back of the helmet to provide a comfort headrest for 

the astronauts during the launch and reentry phases. 

The extravehicular visor assembly was mechanically attached over the pressure helmet and provided protection while 

the astronauts were exposed to direct sunlight. The white shell 

was made of fiberglass that also had three opaque sun shades. 

Two were on the sides, and one was located in the center and 

could be pulled down to block direct sun at low angles. The 

extravehicular visor assembly contained two separate visors. 

The outer gold-coated sun visor was made of a high-temperature 

polysulfone plastic. The inner visor was made of ultraviolet 

stabilized polycarbonate plastic. The outer visor filtered visible 

light and rejected most ultraviolet and infrared rays while the 

inner visor also aided in filtering these radiations. Together they 

also provided a thermal barrier. All of these materials worked 

together to ensure that if a crewmember were to fall and strike 

his head against the surface, the helmet would stand up to the 

impact with minimal damage while ensuring pressure integrity. 

The outer surface of the helmet (top, sides, and back) was covered with Beta cloth and plied-up insulation as in the suit cover 

for additional thermal protection (Figure 11).

Gloves

The gloves started with the dipping of a hand-shaped mold 

into neoprene rubber. The mold was custom made on the basis 

of over 20 hand dimensions from each astronaut. Following the 

FIGURE 11. Extravehicular visor assembly. Courtesy of NASA.
number 7 • 7 1

first dipping, a thin nylon restraint layer was wrapped over the 

mold, and the dipping process continued until 10 mils (a thousandth of an inch, approximately 25 μm) of neoprene coating were 

applied. Several layers of the superinsulation were formed on top 

of this, similar to the TMG construction, where alternating layers 

of nonwoven Dacron were sandwiched between aluminized Mylar. 

Nylon was provided as a cover layer over this. The gauntlet, which 

in terms of space suit gloves is defined as the cuff below the palm 

area, consisted of a layer of Beta cloth together with Chromel-R 

fabric, which was a woven chromium steel fiber to provide puncture and abrasion resistance. (At the cost of over $3,000 per yard in 

the 1960s this Chromel-R material was locked up in a vault at ILC 

when not being cut for parts.) The fingertips had a silicone rubber 

cover to protect it as well as aid in picking objects up (Figure 12).

FIGURE 12. The Apollo EVA glove. Courtesy of NASA.
7 2 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

Lunar Boots

The soles of the lunar boots—famous for the prints left on 

the moon—were molded using silicone rubber. The upper portions of the boots contained the similar makeup of Beta cloth 

and plied-up insulation. The sole of the boots contained two layers of 0.125′′ Nomex felt to provide added insulation. Because of 

the concerns of the astronauts cutting into the boots because of 

abrasion from sharp rocks, the Chromel-R steel fabric was used 

as a cover layer around most of the outer surface. 

The Apollo 17 mission was the last mission to the moon; 

ILC continued making many more suits for Skylab and then the 

Apollo–Soyuz Test Project. These suits remained essentially the 

same with some minor changes resulting in fewer insulating layers, which were all driven by mission requirements. However, the 

basic materials remained the same. 

As a result of the Save America’s Treasures program, the 

effort to preserve the Apollo space suits in the National Air and 

Space Museum collection, an extremely helpful and instructive 

report was published (Young and Young, 2001). Along with 

general care and display practices, this report summarized the 

issues related to the decay of the older space suits and the challenges associated with it. This publication was used in preparing 

the Smithsonian Institution Suited for Space traveling exhibition 

that opened in 2011 at the Museum of Science and Industry in 

Chicago, Illinois, and closed in 2105 at the Stauth Memorial 

Museum in Montezuma, Kansas, after touring nine other states.

The Space Shuttle/Space Station Suit

When NASA announced the new Space Shuttle Program 

in the early 1970s, new requirements were called for, including 

those related to space suits. No longer could suits be custom 

made since significantly more astronauts would need to do space 

walks. In addition, the suits would be used only in a no-gravity 

environment. By the late 1970s as the plan was coming together 

for the shuttle EVA suit, it was decided to assemble the suits 

from a modular design where parts could be reused, and modularity would also increase sizing capability. This meant that the 

suit had to be robustly designed. It also meant taking advantage 

of more advanced materials that provided longer life and could 

stand up to repeated abrasion and cycling. Both NASA and industry learned a lot from the Apollo program, and this new program was a good time to start with a fresh design that eliminated 

the perceived weak areas of the Apollo suits.

There were a number of design-related concerns with the 

Apollo suits:

• the use of rubber that was readily susceptible to agerelated degradation mechanisms such as UV light exposure, moisture, or oxidation

• closure zippers that had the potential to open under extreme stress (but fortunately never did)

• the need to replace the steel restraint cables that had the 

potential to fail where tied off

By the time ILC had won the contract to make the Space 

Shuttle/Station Suit Assembly (SSA) in 1977, newer advanced 

materials were on the market, and once again, the focus was on 

using industry material advancements to lead the way.

For the new shuttle program the LCG design remained relatively unchanged except for two important design changes: (1) a 

change to the tubing material and (2) removing the vent system 

from the pressure garment itself and adding it to the cooling garment. The addition of the vents resulted in the newer garment 

being called the liquid cooling and ventilating garment (LCVG; 

Figure 13). The DOP plasticizer that leached out of the vinyl 

tubing was a serious concern for the portable life support system (PLSS). The DOP had the potential for blocking filters in 

the PLSS, causing it to malfunction. Ethylene vinyl acetate copolymer (EVA resin) was used to replace the vinyl for the tubing. The EVA resin does not contain migratory additives such as 

plasticizers, and when partially cross-linked through irradiation, 

it develops sufficient strength to allow the use of thermal sealing 

FIGURE 13. The shuttle-station LCVG. Courtesy of ILC Dover, LP.
number 7 • 7 3

methods in manufacture. The vent system consisted of urethanecoated springs that are covered with Dacron for abrasion protection. These ducts run down the arm to the elbow and along the 

outside of each leg. They come together at the plenum located in 

the small of the back on the LCVG. The combination of materials used provides for air retention without the risk of crushing or 

blocking off one of the tubes.

Perhaps one of the biggest material substitutions was the 

change to urethane for the air-retaining bladder material. The 

availability of urethane-coated fabrics ushered in a chance to 

streamline suit manufacture while increasing reliability and reducing the need for adhesive bonding. Urethane-coated fabrics were 

being used in the life raft industry and provided an ideal material for replacing the neoprene-coated nylon that required cement 

bonding for use in the air- and pressure-retaining bladders. With 

urethane-coated materials came the capability to use heat-sealing 

techniques that provided reliable and robust bonds. In addition, 

the urethane-coated materials exhibited better adhesion between 

the polymers and fabric, increased abrasion resistance, increased 

damage tolerance, increased air retention properties, and perhaps 

most importantly, increased resistance to age-related degradation, all of which contributed to better wear characteristics and 

longer life. Early on in the program only solution-coated fabric 

technology provided the fabric with the film adhesion needed in 

the bladder cloth as it came to be known. The downside was that 

solution-coated fabric was more prone to flex cracking. To solve 

this problem, an additional layer of urethane film was applied to 

the individual parts as they were being assembled. This application provided protection against any flex cracking if it were to 

occur as well as a layer of abrasion resistance. However, this process was very time-consuming from a manufacturing perspective 

and made the bladders thicker and less flexible. A new bladder 

cloth was developed by ILC Dover that incorporated a laminate 

structure providing abrasion resistance and adhesion while maintaining material thickness and weight of the solution-coated material. This material development program significantly reduced 

cost and schedule for suit manufacture, increased flexibility, and 

significantly increased reliability by virtually eliminating delamination, a problem that plagued the solution-coated material, especially once the abrasion layer had been applied.

Urethanes in general also provided the versatility for different use applications, including pressure seals. Early on in the 

program, however, ester urethanes were used throughout the system because of their durability and availability relative to ether 

urethanes. Ester urethanes are particularly prone to hydrolytic 

degradation, which limited the life of suit components. Compounding the hydrolysis degradation is the fact that the material degrades to form carboxylic acid, which becomes a catalyst 

for the degradation reaction. Degradation rates accelerate, and 

physical properties drop off nonlinearly. To address this issue, 

hydrolytic stabilizers were incorporated into ester urethanes used 

in the space suit assembly as the shuttle program matured, but 

the principal course of action was to gradually replace them with 

ether urethanes. Although ether urethanes are also degraded by 

hydrolysis and oxidation, ether urethanes are far more stable, 

and testing performed at ILC shows that their service life can 

be nearly twice as long as that of ester urethanes given standard storage conditions. Examples of the different degradation 

between the two types of urethanes can be seen when comparing 

the glove bladders of the 1000 series to the 4000 series, made of 

ester and ether urethane, respectively. Within a three-year period 

the ester bladders began to embrittle and quickly disintegrated, 

and very little remains of these original bluish-colored bladders. 

Conversely, ether urethane glove bladders older than 15 years 

exist in fairly good condition, and testing of samples from these 

bladders shows that material properties begin to deteriorate at 

about this age. 

For restraint layer applications, Dacron fabric offered improved abrasion resistance and durability over the nylon used in 

the Apollo restraints. The Dacron fabric also replaced the rubber 

convolutes, which dramatically increased the usable life of the restraint from both an age-related degradation aspect and wear. Dacron also offers lower elongation than nylon and provides more 

design flexibility and control with the restraint. In addition, since 

Dacron is versatile in that it can be used in webbing form and is 

not prone to flex fatigue as metals are, it was used to replace the 

steel restraint cables previously used with the Apollo suit. 

In the early 1990s a major suit redesign was undertaken to 

add on-orbit sizing change out, increased mobility, and increased 

reliability by improving safety factors and adding redundant systems. With the arrival of Spectra, an ultrahigh-molecular-weight 

polyethylene, replacement of the Dacron restraint lines with 

Spectra increased restraint line strength, effectively increasing 

safety factors without additional bulk or weight. The Spectra 

fibers possess a tenacity (that is fiber strength) over three times 

that of Dacron (26 g/denier for the former and 8 g/denier for the 

latter). However, Spectra has a lower melting temperature and 

creeps at relatively low temperatures over time. For space suit 

applications it was determined that the Spectra could be used 

only in applications where the temperature would not exceed 

160°F (71°C). For those applications for which higher temperature resistance was required, the use of Dacron would continue. 

Figure 14 shows the waist subassembly section with the oxygen 

retention (bladder) layer with the restraint fabric and restraint 

webbings.

Another significant design change from Apollo to shuttle 

suits was the use of a hard upper torso (HUT) made using a 

composite material consisting of epoxy-impregnated fiberglass 

(Figure 15). The rigid composite HUT provides a good supporting structure for the PLSS and Display Control Module that are 

now consolidated on the space suit to eliminate the myriad of 

hoses that were in the Apollo suit. The modular design of the 

SSA allowed for the rigid structure that could not be used economically with the customized suit design of the Apollo suits. 

Also, with the zero-gravity shuttle missions, the extra weight 

could be afforded. In the early to mid-1990s the HUT was redesigned to eliminate the single point of failure at the arm pivots. 

This design also removed the need for the neoprene-coated fabric 

bellows. This change paved the way for extending the life of the 

HUT significantly. 
7 4 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

FIGURE 15. The shuttle/space station hard upper torso (HUT). Courtesy of ILC Dover, LP.

FIGURE 14. Waist subassembly including the bladder, restraint fabric, and webbings. Courtesy of ILC Dover, LP.
number 7 • 7 5

The new shuttle missions did not require extensive mobility below the waist, and the lack of gravity did allow for some 

weight gain, but as the shuttle missions evolved, it became apparent that the gloves would play perhaps the most critical role. 

Early on in the shuttle program, EVAs typically consisted of deploying satellites, which required some increased dexterity over 

the Apollo program, but it was the assembly of the International 

Space Station and missions to repair on-orbit hardware like 

the Hubble Space Telescope that really challenged and drove 

glove design improvements. The material changes in the glove 

from Apollo to the beginning of the shuttle program focused 

on increased wear life and age as well as increased flexibility 

and function. The monolayer rubber bladders wore out quickly 

because the material aged poorly and by simple abrasion. In 

addition, as a fabric-reinforced rubber, the Apollo glove bladder material was not as flexible, nor did it have the tactility 

that the shuttle program astronauts would come to demand. 

The first shuttle glove design, the 1000 series, consisted of the 

ester urethane bladder that resisted wear and was more flexible because it was unreinforced but still aged poorly, as previously mentioned. In the 2000 series, the glove bladder material 

was changed to the ether urethane. This ether urethane has very 

good aging characteristics and is flexible as well as tough. It is 

more damage resistant, having a high tear propagation strength, 

and has the ability to “self-heal” in that small punctures can 

close themselves. 

Beginning in 1996, very significant changes to the glove design came about with the Phase VI gloves still in use today. The 

improvements required at the beginning of the SSA called for 

higher mobility and torque, and the new joint designs demanded 

materials with increased strength to keep the bulk down in the 

glove. Spectra cords and webbings could handle the higher loads 

without having to increase material usage. The low coefficient of 

friction also allowed improved movement through the range of 

motion in certain locations. The development and use of Vectran 

(a multifilament yarn spun from a liquid crystal polymer fibers 

made by Honeywell, now Kuraray) was also an important event 

for glove design. Vectran had been used for the Pathfinder Airbag 

program at ILC.

Early on in the design development Kevlar (a heat-resistant 

fiber related to Nomex) had been evaluated for use in areas 

where higher-strength materials were needed at elevated temperatures that Spectra cannot withstand, like the glove TMG palm. 

However, Kevlar would wear quickly with the amount of flexing 

typical of glove use. Although not as strong as Kevlar, Vectran 

possesses high strength with tenacity approximately at 22 g/denier. More importantly, Vectran exhibits better flex fatigue resistance than Kevlar in glove cycle testing, allowing the glove to be 

used longer. In 2005, a cut to an EVA glove TMG highlighted 

the fact that glove mission models were changing. Not only were 

EVAs becoming more hand intensive, but the work environment 

was changing too. Sharp edge requirements are levied on all 

space hardware, but as the International Space Station continued to be exposed to the space environment, the space hardware 

could change. This change became evident when damage from 

micrometeoroid/orbiting debris (MMOD) was identified on the 

International Space Station handrails. At their high energy level, 

MMOD impact with metal can create sharp edges. The hole in 

the TMG drove a design change that added Vectran TurtleSkin 

developed by Warwick Mills for ILC Dover. The material weave 

construction combined with the high tenacity and cut resistance 

of the Vectran fiber produced a puncture- and cut-resistant material that would protect the underlying glove materials from sharp 

edges. 

At the start of the shuttle program, it was understood that 

the Apollo Beta cloth TMG materials had to be replaced. Although the fiberglass in the Beta cloth did not degrade with exposure to environmental factors, fiberglass exhibits particularly 

poor flex properties over time. The Beta cloth was replaced by a 

Gore-Tex/Kevlar/Nomex double woven that became known as 

Ortho-Fabric because the weave looked orthogonal in nature. 

This material is nonflammable, and the Gore-Tex is chemically 

inert. The outer Gore-Tex shell provides for thermal and abrasion protection and acts as a fire-resistant and chemical-resistant 

barrier for the materials underneath. The Apollo era Kapton 

film was removed from the insulation ply up and replaced where 

needed with aluminized Mylar since the Mylar has higher tear 

strength and folding endurance. In addition, scrim material was 

added to the aluminized Mylar to provide standoff and avoid 

thermal conduction through the layers. Reinforcing the aluminized Mylar also increased tear and made manufacture easier 

by decreasing the number of layers in the ply up (separation of 

Mylar layers was accomplished using nonwoven Dacron in the 

Apollo suit). Figure 16 provides a view of the various layers of 

the current suit materials.

FIGURE 16. The shuttle/space station suit layers. Courtesy of ILC 

Dover, LP.
7 6 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

CONCLUSION

In conclusion, the plastics used in the current SSA significantly extend their life span and reliability compared with the 

earlier Apollo space suits. The future development suits now 

being fabricated by ILC Dover use advanced plastics and provide 

a springboard for long-duration missions to the moon or Mars. 

Objectives for suit advancement include adding more sizing 

capability and continued improvement to comfort, durability, 

mobility, and functionality. For those future interplanetary missions, some of the objectives include greater protection against 

long-term exposure of solar and galactic radiation. Plastics that 

contain a high concentration of hydrogen may be a nonmetallic 

solution, for example. Other advances may include the addition 

of electronic devices such as GPS and navigational control using 

plastic materials for enclosures and integration into the suits. For 

long-term missions lasting over a year, treated plastics will play a 

role in helping to prevent or limit microbial growth that occurs 

because of the inability to thoroughly launder the space suit garments after use. Plastics will likely be used to replace heavy metal 

bearings used in the arms and legs and ensure increased mobility 

and possibly seal out lunar or Martian dust. If we are to protect 

suited humans on Mars someday, we have to provide plastics 

that are cut resistant since there will be no sewing machines or 

other resources needed to perform repairs. 

Companies such as ILC Dover continue to depend on plastics for the fabrication of many other future space-related devices 

such as habitats necessary to provide long-term protection on 

the moon or on Mars. ILC currently fabricates high-altitude airships and other space inflatables such as aerodynamic decelerators that are constantly challenged by the severe environments. 

Whether protecting humans or machinery, plastics will always be 

a key ingredient in finished goods. 

Acknowledgments

The authors thank the following individuals for contributing to this paper: David Graziosi, Jinny Ferl, Ken Yocum, and 

James Clougherty, senior design engineers; Bobby Jones and 

David Slack, design engineers; and David Cadogan, director of 

engineering, all from ILC Dover, LP; and Vlodek Gabara, fellow 

at DuPont Protection Technologies (Richmond, Virginia)

REFERENCES

American Fiber Manufacturers Association. 2017. Spandex. http://www.fibersource

.com/f-tutor/spandex.htm (accessed May 16, 2017).

DuPont. 2016. Nomex® Fibers for Heat- and Flame-Resistant Protection. http://

www.dupont.com/products-and-services/fabrics-fibers-nonwovens/fibers

/products/nomex-fibers.html (accessed May 16, 2016).

Gabara, V., 2010. “Suited for Space.” Lecture, National Air and Space Museum, 

Washington, D.C., November. 

Mallan, L. 1971. Suiting up for Space: The Evolution of the Space Suit, New York: 

John Day.

McBarron, J. W., II, and J. C. Poradek. 1968. Materials Report on Extravehicular Mobility Unit Garments and Accessories. Document No. CSD-A-523. 

Manned Spacecraft Center, Crew Systems Division, Houston, Tex. 

McCune, L. K. 1962. HT-1 High-Temperature-Resistant Polyamide Fibers and 

Paper. Textile Research Journal, 32(9):762–767. http://dx.doi.org/10.1177

/004051756203200909.

Naimer, J. 1970. “Apollo Applications of Beta Fiber Glass.” In Proceedings of the 

NASA Conference on Materials for Improved Fire Safety, pp. 15/1–15/3. 

Houston, Tex.: NASA. http://ntrs.nasa.gov/archive/nasa/casi.ntrs.nasa.gov

/19700024901.pdf (accessed May 12, 2016).

Young, L., and A. Young. 2001. The Preservation, Storage and Display of Spacesuits. NASM Collections Care Report No. 5. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian 

Institution.
ABSTRACT. Conservation biology aims at understanding and maintaining the biological diversity 

that is critical for the sustainability of entire ecosystems while benefiting human societies. Plastic materials have brought many improvements in human daily life but also have many positive or negative 

impacts on conservation efforts. They include obvious detrimental effects on the environment (plastic 

pollution of lands and seas) as well as positive or even irreplaceable roles in animal care and biological research. Specifically, plastic enables us to save species from extinction by providing tools (including medical and laboratory supplies) and allowing technologies (assisted reproduction or genomic 

studies) that would be impossible to implement otherwise. Conversely, the presence of plastic waste 

in the environment threatens wildlife species that eat or become entangled by debris. In addition, 

plastic polymers are leaching out chemicals (mostly plasticizers) that can be transferred to wildlife 

and humans through simple contact or by ingestion. With controversial and sometimes contradictory 

reports on issues related to plastic, the difference between good plastic and bad plastic in conservation 

biology still needs to be thoroughly explored. The objective of this paper is twofold: first, to review 

the current interactions of plastic with natural habitats and animal populations either in the wild or 

in captive conditions and, second, to propose the design of systematic studies and wildlife monitoring 

to better identify and then mitigate the most significant, detrimental effects of plastic.

INTRODUCTION

Natural selection has resulted in millions of different plant and animal species, each 

with its own genetic makeup and each adapted to its own environment. However, extinction of species is now occurring at a much higher rate than speciation because of human 

activities, such as habitat destruction, overhunting, and competition with introduced or 

invasive plants or animals. As a result, some animal populations have become small 

and fragmented in nature, with little or no genetic exchange between them. The poor 

genetic diversity (homozygosity or inbreeding) then leads to a poor adaptive capacity 

of individuals to any environmental changes, risks of transmission of inherited diseases, 

congenital defects, and fertility problems (Reed and Frankham, 2003). The aim of conservation biology is to understand and maintain the biological diversity that is critical 

for the sustainability of entire ecosystems while also benefiting current and future human 

societies (Soule, 1985). Natural habitat preservation is virtually the best way to conserve 

biodiversity because in situ efforts enable live populations of animals in their adaptive 

environments to be maintained. However, these approaches have to be complemented 

by ex situ conservation efforts to establish viable populations in captivity as well as 

preserving animal genetic resources (gametes, embryos, gonadal tissues, DNA samples) 

for eventual reinforcements or reintroductions of wild populations into their natural 

habitat. Successful field conservation and captive breeding management also depend on 

different research areas aiming at a better understanding of the biology of entire species 

Center for Species Survival, Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute, National Zoological 

Park, P.O. Box 37012, MRC 5502, Washington, 

D.C., 20013, USA.

Correspondence: P. Comizzoli, comizzolip@si

.edu

Manuscript received 19 August 2016; accepted 

13 February 2017.

Separating Good Plastic from Bad Plastic 

in Conservation Biology

Pierre Comizzoli
7 8 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

and populations. These scientific areas include field ecology, 

population genetics, behavior, nutrition, husbandry, reproductive physiology, endocrinology, and veterinary medicine. Thus, 

a multidisciplinary and interdisciplinary strategy is the only efficient way to aid in the survival or recovery of species and their 

habitats as well as to ensure the health and well-being of animals 

in captivity and in the wild.

In this context, man-made plastic polymers often appear 

to be the most artificial materials having negative interactions 

with the protection of species. Plastic polymers have transformed 

human daily life since the 1940s with an increased usage and an 

annual production now exceeding 300 million tons. The omnipresence of plastic in human society has also become true for 

the environment (Freinkel, 2011). Interestingly, animal populations and natural habitats are involuntarily exposed to plastic, 

whereas some protection efforts in situ and ex situ extensively 

use plastic on purpose to save species. If anyone wonders about 

the positive aspects of plastic, there is an impressive list of benefits, including the enhancement of technological and medical 

advances and the limited amount of energy required to produce 

and transport plastic compared with other materials (Table 1). 

Unfortunately, plastic also is well known for its lack of biodegradability, being difficult to recycle, and not being sustainable 

since production depends on the extraction of fossil fuels (Table 

1). Last, it can be toxic, which is really a generic term including 

all the negative impacts that plastic can have on organisms and 

ecosystems (Andrady and Neal, 2009).

Plastics are composed of chains of hydrocarbon polymers 

(Table 2) that are rarely used by themselves and typically are 

mixed with various additives to improve performance. These 

supplements can be inorganic fillers such as carbon and silica 

that reinforce the material, plasticizers to render the material 

flexible, thermal and ultraviolet stabilizers, flame retardants, and 

colorings. Many additives are used in substantial quantities and 

in a wide range of products (Meeker et al., 2009). Some added 

chemicals are potentially toxic (e.g., lead, tributyltin, antimonium, phthalates, and bisphenol A), but there is considerable 

controversy about the extent to which additives can leach out 

from plastic products and have toxic effects on animal or human 

populations. The main issue is to link the types and quantities 

of additives present in plastics to real uptake and accumulation 

by living organisms (Andrady and Neal, 2009; Oehlmann et al., 

2009). Given the increasing usage and presence of plastic in our 

lives and our environment, separating good plastic from bad 

plastic in conservation biology has become a priority. The objective of this paper therefore is to review the current interactions 

TABLE 2. Example of plastics used for human consumption and in conservation biology.

Type of polymer Human use Medical or laboratory use

Polyethylene Good for beverage containers Good for medical tubing

Polypropylene Good for food containers Bad for in vitro culture (embryotoxic)

Polystyrene Very bad because of potential toxicity Optimal in its hard form for in vitro culture (not embryotoxic)

Polyvinyl chloride Very bad Gold standard for semen straws

TABLE 1. Positive and negative roles of plastic (from Andrady and Neal, 2009).

Why is plastic good? Why is plastic bad?

Producing plastics saves energy: 20%–40% less energy consumption than other materials Not biodegradable

Producing plastics saves our fresh air: between 63% and 73% fewer emissions than the alternatives Not easily recyclable

Producing plastics saves our waterways: 90% less waterborne waste than those created during the manufacture Production is not sustainable

 of alternatives

Plastics save transport costs: easy deliveries Toxic

Plastics save landfill space: plastics represent only 7% of total solid waste (by weight)

Plastics help health care via no cross contamination: disposable blood bags, tubing, catheters, syringes, protective 

gloves, artificial limbs, lifesaving valves

Plastics help agriculture: greenhouses and ground film

Plastics safely insulate: almost 100% of electrical energy insulation is provided by plastics (lowest thermal 

conductivity)

Plastics reduce food and water wastage: optimized food and water storage
number 7 • 7 9

of plastic with natural habitats and animal populations either in 

the wild or in captive conditions and suggest systematic studies 

to better address the questions of good or bad plastic in conservation biology.

PLASTIC AND NATURAL HABITATS

As previously mentioned, the protection of animal populations and their natural habitats is the highest priority in conservation biology. The presence of plastic in the wild is recognized 

as a major issue because its biodegradation is extremely slow 

compared to other natural materials (being degraded by physical 

or microbial processes). Recent studies have revealed that the 

vast majority of plastic waste and debris that are found in the 

marine environment are made of polyethylene or polypropylene. 

Interestingly, 80% of the plastic present in the sea originates 

from land pollution. It is transported by rain waters, rivers, flood 

events, winds, and streams (Thompson et al., 2005). As a result, 

plastic can be found really far from the continental coasts. Once 

debris is in the sea, it can slowly fragment into small pieces of 

<5 mm by the combined effect of the sun, the sea salt, and the 

water movements. This fragmentation creates a suspension of 

small plastic pieces that can be found from the water surface 

down to 30 m. This process is known to be bad for wildlife because of physical problems caused by ingestion or entanglement 

(Thompson et al., 2009). Investigations also have demonstrated 

that a high proportion of animal species ingests plastic debris 

(86% of sea turtles, 44% of seabirds, and 43% of marine mammals; Derraik, 2002). Even though most animals will be able 

to process the small plastic pieces through their entire digestive 

system, leaching out of additives and their potential transfer to 

the organisms are not known. Studies on annelids, mollusks, 

crustaceans, insects, fish, and amphibians have shown that 

phthalates and bisphenol A can affect reproduction in all studied 

animal groups. It also impairs development in crustaceans and 

amphibians and induces genetic aberrations (Oehlmann et al., 

2009). Toxic effects seem to be species specific because mollusks, 

crustaceans, and amphibians appear to be especially sensitive to 

plasticizers at environmentally relevant exposures (ranging from 

nanograms to micrograms per liter). In contrast, most negative 

effects in fish (except for disturbance in spermatogenesis) occur 

at higher concentrations (Oehlmann et al., 2009). Interestingly, 

floating plastic could have some indirect beneficial impacts on 

the environment. It appears that more phytoplankton can stay 

at the surface instead of sinking by getting attached to plastic 

debris. This addition of floating phytoplankton could lead to increased photosynthesis by CO2

 absorption and oxygen production at the surface of the oceans (Tara Expeditions, 2013).

Regarding terrestrial ecosystems, there is still a need for 

more research on the quantities and effects of plastic debris in 

natural habitats, on agricultural land, and in freshwater. Stomach obstructions caused by plastic bags have been described in 

several animal species, but no toxic effects have been measured 

so far. There also are a few reports about the contamination of 

soils with small plastic fragments as a consequence of spreading 

sewage sludge (Zubris and Richards, 2005) or fragments of plastic contaminating compost prepared from municipal solid waste 

(Brinton, 2005). Plastic therefore appears to represent more 

of a problem than an advantage in its interaction with natural 

habitats.

PLASTIC AND BIOLOGICAL STUDIES 

OF ANIMAL POPULATIONS

Understanding the biology of animal populations in the 

wild (in situ) or in captivity (ex situ) is another critical component of conservation biology that interacts with plastic in many 

ways. Animal populations managed in zoos or research centers 

are surrounded by plastic devices (toys, gates, water reservoirs), 

but safety committees always try to check the innocuousness of 

any plastic devices that are supposed to be in direct contact with 

the animals. 

Preventive or curative veterinary medicine in situ and ex situ 

now extensively uses plastic (e.g., disposable syringes, tubing, 

catheters, and physiological fluid bags) that is irreplaceable, as 

already mentioned for human medicine (Table 1). In these specific conditions, plastic is needed and is good. Even if it can be 

hypothesized that it is too good to be true, the potential harmful or toxic impact of “medical” plastic has not been reported 

yet. Besides animal care, conservation projects include biological research in laboratories or in the field. Over the past few 

decades, there has been a switch from glassware to convenient 

plasticware that is sterile and disposable (thus avoiding cross 

contamination of pathogens or reagents). Plastic supplies now 

are the gold standard in molecular biology and in vitro culture 

of cells and embryos (Figure 1). However, laboratory plastics are 

exposed to different stress conditions (e.g., autoclave, gas sterilization, UV lights, sonication, microwaves) that have unknown 

impacts on the integrity of the plastic polymer or the leaching 

out of additives. 

For several decades, biologists and veterinarians have been 

collecting and storing frozen biological materials, including samples of DNA, somatic cells, tissues, blood products, germplasm 

(sperm and eggs), and embryos, as well as other animal, plant, 

and soil products. The value of systematic and organized frozen biorepositories extends far beyond ensuring the protection 

of the world’s unique animal and plant species. When collected, 

stored, and used properly, these frozen biological materials can 

significantly enhance the pursuit of scholarly knowledge, enable 

biodiversity preservation and thus understanding, and contribute to the improvement of human health and well-being. The 

fact that some of the samples currently stored are no longer 

available in the natural world reflects the critical importance of 

properly preserving and managing these rare and growing biological collections. This critical resource relies heavily on plastic 

(tubes and straws; Figure 1d,e) because glass is not reliable and is 
8 0 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

FIGURE 1. Plastic supplies routinely used in biological research related to animal conservation. (a) Polystyrene 96-well dish 

used for assays. (b) Polystyrene (left) and polypropylene (right) 15-mL tubes for in-culture medium preparation. (c) Polystyrene 3.5-cm dish for in vitro culture. (d) Polypropylene tube for frozen samples. (e) Polyvinyl chloride 0.5-mL straws for 

frozen samples.
number 7 • 8 1

inconvenient (breakable and heavy). However, the long-term effect of freeze-thaw cycles on plastic integrity is a stress condition 

that has not been explored yet. Besides the use of freezing temperatures to stabilize biomaterials, new preservation techniques 

including desiccation or biostabilization at room temperatures 

will soon rely on plastic for long-term storage. The issue here is 

that plastic containers are designed to be disposable and will be 

expected to be stable for several decades. Therefore, more studies need to be conducted to understand and mitigate the aging 

process of plastic polymers.

It is interesting to point out that some plastics that are 

considered to be good and safe for human usage may be problematic in biological research and vice versa (Table 2). Plastic 

straws used for semen freezing (Figure 1e) are made of polyvinyl 

chloride (the most resistant to cryofractures during freeze-thaw 

cycles), which is also a controversial material because of its potential toxicity from lead and tributyltin (Meeker et al., 2009). 

Furthermore, there actually are interesting contradictions related 

to the embryo toxicity of some plastic supplies used for in vitro 

culture (Table 2). Prolonged usage of polyethylene tubes (Figure 

1b) during in vitro culture is known to be embryotoxic, whereas 

polystyrene tubes and dishes are not.

SEPARATING GOOD PLASTIC FROM BAD 

PLASTIC IN CONSERVATION BIOLOGY

It is currently difficult to distinguish good plastic from bad 

plastic aside from the most adverse effects of debris and pollution (e.g., animals dying from plastic ingestion or ecosystems 

polluted by plastic wastes). In addition, available data on plastic 

toxicity can be contradictory and not necessarily reflect the actual issues. Most toxicity studies are conducted with doses administered orally or injected. For instance, many reports have 

clearly demonstrated that plasticizers such as phthalates or bisphenol A have steroid hormone–like effects on living organisms 

(antitestosterone and estrogen-like, respectively; Thompson et 

al., 2009). More recent studies also demonstrated that phthalate promotes weight gain in female mice, which in turn produce 

overweight offspring. The effects occur even at the low concentrations commonly associated with human exposure (Schmidt 

et al., 2012). However, the main issue is relating the types and 

quantities of additives present in plastics to natural uptake and 

accumulation by living organisms. There also is a need for more 

studies exploring environmentally relevant concentrations and 

their toxicity on ecosystems. 

Furthermore, a vast array of compounds can leach out from 

plastic polymers during normal degradation over time or after 

exposure to different physical or chemical conditions. There is 

a need for more systematic studies and monitoring to identify 

the significant toxic and disruptive additives from the innocuous 

ones. It also is time to shed new light on plastic in conservation 

biology and challenge existing paradigms. As mentioned above, 

there are obvious bad plastics for the environment as well as 

good and irreplaceable plastics for animal care and other conservation efforts. Technology now is advanced enough to precisely 

know the composition of plastics commonly used in laboratories and to clearly identify the types and quantities of additives 

(Tsang et al., 2009). Thus, it is possible to force out liquid or 

volatile compounds from the plastic polymers and potentially 

mimic an aging process. In addition, the impact of the various 

stress conditions (e.g., extreme temperatures, physical and chemical properties of liquid in contact with plastic, or radiation) has 

to be assessed. It is important that compounds be thoroughly 

investigated for their biological effects. For instance, in vitro 

tools can precisely measure the impact on somatic and germ cell 

physiology (at the cellular and the molecular levels). Biological 

testing can also be performed on organs, entire organisms, and 

populations to explore any species specificity. Besides generating more scholarly knowledge about plastic compounds, results 

may be used to develop alternate methods to mitigate deterioration and detrimental effects. Data collected in vitro would then 

be useful to better understand the impact of plastic debris on 

the environment (water and soil pollution). A parallel approach 

should be to use biological collections of biomaterial samples 

(blood serum, hair, feathers, plants, soil) to detect the presence 

of targeted plastic compounds. Then, it could be possible to take 

advantage of conservation projects conducted all over the world 

(such as Global Earth Observatories) to measure and monitor 

the impact of plastic in the environment. A better understanding 

and mitigation of the impact of plastic on the various aspects of 

species survival and ecosystem health perfectly fit with the Smithsonian’s goal to find innovative approaches to global problems 

that stem from biodiversity loss, ecosystem degradation, and 

human-biosphere interactions. 

CONCLUSIONS

Plastics may offer considerable benefits in conservation biology, but our current approaches to production, use, and disposal are not sustainable and present concerns for wildlife as 

well as for human health. Even though the earliest plastics such 

as celluloid were invented as a substitute for natural materials 

like ivory or tortoiseshell (Friedel, 1977), they never really impeded the decline of elephant and tortoise populations in the 

wild. Conversely, plastic materials dispersed in nature are now 

blamed for having potential toxic effects. However, many concerns and uncertainties remain about the environmental hazards 

and information on health effects. Plastic is increasingly present, 

used, and also plays different roles in each discipline involved in 

conservation biology. Some successful conservation efforts could 

even help to consider that plastic can save species. There actually 

are many examples of species that are not necessarily threatened 

by plastic in their natural habitat but have been rescued from 

extinction, have been restored in captivity, and are now being 

reintroduced in the wild (Wildt et al., 2010) by taking advantage 

of plastic materials at each critical step (Figure 2).
8 2 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

It is still too early to answer the question about good and 

bad plastic, but the dichotomy that is recognized in human 

health and in other areas might not be necessarily valid for 

conservation biology. The reason is partly due to specific needs 

covered by plastics that cannot currently be met by other 

materials. To some extent a stable and durable plastic would 

be preferred to a biodegradable one. Hopefully, the issues of 

good usage versus bad usage will also help to solve a lot of 

problems in the future and help to change the way we think 

about plastic.

FIGURE 2. Examples of endangered species benefiting from captive breeding programs integrated with field conservation. None of these species 

are threatened by plastic in their natural habitat. (a) Eld’s deer (Rucervus eldii thamin) fawn born after in vitro fertilization and embryo transfer. 

(b) Black-footed ferret (Mustela nigripes) kit born by artificial insemination. (c) Panamanian golden frog (Atelopus zeteki) raised in captivity for 

semen collection. (d) Giant panda (Ailuropoda melanoleuca) cub born by artificial insemination.
number 7 • 8 3

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ABSTRACT. Like food, the topic of plastic is deceptively simple and an often-overlooked aspect of 

daily life. Both plastic and food developed new products and new markets for their products as part 

of the same consumer-oriented culture. As the food and plastic industries simultaneously made their 

production more efficient and factorylike, plastic wrap helped to present and preserve the finished 

food products in a slick way. By the end of World War II two industries adapted to and encouraged a 

postwar economic boom while marketers encouraged new consumer habits to compliment the needs 

of industry. Recently, plastic has been getting attention for negative reasons, such as its lingering 

appearance in the environment and in our bodies. The negative attention for the manufacturers of 

plastic is not unlike that of a much-discussed obesity epidemic for food producers: both industries 

are affiliated with promoting convenience for consumers and with problems of overconsumption. 

Could mass media reeducate us to become better consumers and disposers? It is hard to imagine 

that this medium would ever be used to discourage consumption. What shifts in the culture of mass 

production will compliment consumer awareness already taking place?

INTRODUCTION

For two years, as a member of the Food and Wine History Project at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of American History, I helped research and curate 

a museum exhibition called Food: Transforming the American Table, 1950–2000. The 

exhibition, focused on food in postwar United States, opened in November 2012. 

While working on this food-focused project, the topic of plastic kept surfacing, and 

it became hard to ignore. The Age of Plastic research program provided an intellectual 

home for these observations and surprisingly pressing questions. Both food and plastic 

appear in many aspects of our daily lives and underline the value of interdisciplinary 

research. Like food, the topic of plastic is deceptively simple and often overlooked. For 

Susan Freinkel, author of Plastic: A Toxic Love Story, plastic has become “a huge, and 

yet strangely invisible, part of modern life” that she was startled to realize she knew 

almost nothing about. “How did my life become so permeated by synthetics without my 

even trying?” (Freinkel, 2011:3). This question resonated with me, along with similar 

inquiries into the invisible aspects of our complex food system, and led to the compilation of examples in this chapter. I view this research as a type of unavoidable, yet highly 

insightful, by-product of other research. 

Historian and food scholar Warren Belasco (2008) claims that the field of food 

studies—my research approach—is now a “respectable” field of study. But he also warns 

that it is inherently subversive. Food scholars tend to be generalists and tend to ask inconvenient questions. He explains, “We think about matters political, historical, economic, 

sociocultural, and scientific, all at once. We study food as a system” (Belasco, 2008:8). 

Plastic has become an influential part of that system, often developing alongside modern food industries. As research topics, both food and plastic, perhaps, suffer from the 

National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C., USA.

Correspondence: C. A. Bernat, 1goodpotato@

gmail.com

Manuscript received 19 August 2016; accepted 

13 February 2017.

Plastic and Food Culture

Cory Bernat
8 6 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

tension that comes as a consequence of depending on a substance 

while simultaneously questioning its role on our lives. 

Recently, plastic has been getting attention for negative 

reasons, such as the planet’s overuse of it and our accidental 

ingestion of chemicals leaching from it. Manufacturers of plastic are feeling the pressure from the negative attention, not unlike how food manufacturers and marketers have to contend 

with a much-discussed obesity epidemic. Both industries are 

affiliated with promoting convenience for consumers and with 

problems of overconsumption. Although this may seem like a 

pessimistic starting point, this observation led to an appreciation of some of the parallels in the manufacture of plastic and 

the manufacture of food and to the insights that emerge from 

this comparison.

PLASTICS AND FOOD: THE PARALLELISM

While researching the postwar food system for the exhibition, it became clear that popular media increasingly embraced 

the word abundance and references to our land of plenty, although luxurious living was not the reality for everybody. Nonetheless, the postwar United States saw increased food production 

and consumption, which publications like Life reinforced enthusiastically and even with a sense of pride (Life, 1955, 1962). Favorite topics included new capabilities of modern, efficient food 

producers as well as consumers’ reinvigorated purchasing power 

(Figure 1).

The interior text and photos reflected a great deference for 

size and speed. An article compared the operations of a large 

quick-frozen vegetable producer favorably to automobile assembly lines and the military’s battlefield strategies (Life, 1955:41). 

The article noted that “in the previous year Seabrook farm grew, 

gathered, and froze 100 million pounds of 29 vegetables and 

fruits.” Seven years later, a photoessay documented the marvel of 

food processing (Life, 1962a, 1962b), dazzling the reader with 

a “10-lane expressway of a new frankfurter machine” in which 

“wieners whizz bumper to bumper at a 2,500-an-hour clip.” 

(Figure 2). These articles are just two examples of a food system 

extremely skilled at converting nature’s bounty into standardized 

FIGURE 1. Life magazine covers from January 3, 1955, and November 23, 1962. Both issues exalt an impressive and abundant American food 

system.
number 7 • 8 7

units ideal for a mass market and an increasingly visual media 

environment poised to document and admire it.

Such impressive food production relied on chemical inputs, 

such as synthetic fertilizers, to command what many believed 

was “a mastery over nature.” Chemists were praised for conjuring nitrogen out of the air, not unlike how other chemists were 

praised for conjuring plastic materials where nothing like it had 

existed before. 

In the book American Plastic, Jeffrey Meikle (1995) explains 

how publicists celebrated “the alchemical wizardry of industrial 

chemistry” and promoted new plastic materials as products of 

arcane magic rather than rational chemical processes. From 

Meikle’s perspective, “by suggesting that organic wastes from 

the bowels of the earth could be transformed into wondrous 

shapes and colors, chemical utopians encouraged ignorance 

and fostered a feeling that some things are best left unrevealed” 

(Meikle, 1995:243). It could be argued that agricultural utopians encouraged a similar, emotionally charged admiration—an 

unquestioning admiration—of “chemical breakthroughs” for 

FIGURE 2. Spreads from Life magazine showing the “Hot Dog 

Highway” (Life, 1962b:136–137) and “Chemical Magic to Make 

Crops Thrive” (Life, 1962a:58–59).
8 8 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

farmers and for the food supply. New methods of farming that 

increased production were widely accepted as the answer to 

global famine and the key to prosperity. When plastic and food 

products are viewed as part of the same consumer-oriented culture, the similarity of each industry’s trajectories becomes evident. Both industries developed new products and new markets 

for their products, and both industries relied on readily available 

and affordable chemical inputs to expand rapidly at a fast pace. 

An advertisement by Union Carbide combines them in a concrete 

way: they can sell you the chemicals that help grow food and the 

plastics that help preserve it (Figure 3). Fittingly, man’s control 

over nature was a recurring theme of the company’s ads in the 

late 1940s and 1950s.

As another example of food and plastic parallelism, wartime Army rations provided a big boost to both industries. World 

War II soldiers field-tested processed foods and the plastics in 

which many rations were wrapped. In a 1943 article Scientific 

American reported, “The packaging revolution perhaps reached 

its height; the restrictions on tin, steel, and rubber have necessitated sweeping changes. . . . In Army rations, cellophane is being 

widely employed for sealing in the moisture content of some 

components, such as the fruit bar and cigarettes, and keeping 

excess moisture out of others, such as the biscuits, D-bar, powdered bouillon and lemon juice” (Spencer, 1943:217–218). In the 

same year, Monsanto ( 1943:2) published A Wartime Guide to 

Monsanto Plastics “to help you answer the question ‘Can I do it 

better, faster, with plastics?’” 

The food industry met the demands and the special conditions of war with increased production and with considerable 

investment in technology. After the war, Laura Shapiro explains 

that “factories were ready to keep right on canning, freezing, 

and dehydrating food as if the nation’s life depended on it. But 

peacetime shoppers, unlike soldiers in foxholes, had a choice. . . . 

What the industry had to do was persuade millions of Americans 

to develop a lasting taste for meals that were a lot like field rations” (Shapiro, 2004:8). By the end of World War II we have 

foods with a long shelf life and plastics to help preserve them, 

reflecting increasingly intertwined industries rapidly adapting to 

and encouraging a postwar economic boom (Figure 3).

In the book Twinkie, Deconstructed, Steve Ettlinger explains 

in great detail all of the ingredients in a Twinkie and, by default, 

many of the mysterious processes that enable many familiar, and 

often beloved, snack foods. Not only do Twinkies “share a subingredient with the most common plastic, made from the most 

used petrochemical in the world” (Ettlinger 2007:194), but in a 

reverse pattern, the Twinkie’s plastic wrapper can also contain 

chemicals derived from corn, which also appear in Twinkies. 

Even if one never read this book-length attempt to understand an 

ingredients list, the fact that it exists should make anyone wonder 

how the supposedly powerful consumers are expected to know 

what goes into a large percentage of our food or how it is made. 

FIGURE 3. The carefully packaged Army rations on the left (Army photograph, Division of Work and Industry, National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution) provided a model for the consumer products depicted in the Union Carbide advertisement on the right, 

published in National Geographic magazine (July 1948).
number 7 • 8 9

In fact, it could be argued that we are not expected or encouraged 

to know this information at all (Nestle, 2003:20–25). The question arises, How are consumers expected to “know best” when 

we are encouraged to know so little? Ettlinger explains that at 

the writing of his book, then Twinkie producer Interstate Bakeries Corporation declined his request for tours and interviews, 

citing its “preference to help writers who are merely reminiscing about their sweet childhood memories” (Ettlinger, 2007:xiii). 

Appropriately, after chemical utopians and agricultural utopians appear the snack utopians, who deftly use nostalgia, among 

other tactics, to promote emotional, unquestioning ties to their 

products. Wendell Berry (1989:126) wrote about how the ideal 

eater in modern culture is the industrial eater, “who does not 

know that eating is an agricultural act, who no longer knows or 

imagines the connections between eating and the land, and who 

is therefore necessarily passive and uncritical.” Typically, most of 

us do not ask about food ingredients, in part because they have 

become so complex that even if consumers knew what questions 

to ask, few of us would understand what the answers mean. 

Although some have been critical of our industrial food 

supply, it has been advantageous for businesses to view agricultural crops, such as corn and soybeans, as raw materials that 

are components of an array of industrial goods, edible or otherwise. The edifying poster produced by Staley Manufacturing 

Company from about 1950 proudly displays their factory and 

their ties to industry and defense (Figure 4). When unfolded, the 

“Staley Target” lists many corn and soy derivatives and uses as 

“essential for national defense” and “essential for the civilian 

economy.”

The poster attempts to explain how industrial needs influence and determine the availability of certain consumer products. In the lower right the poster reads “IMPORTANT – in 

producing any one product from corn or soybeans, other basic 

products become available which, for economic reasons, must 

be processed into finished commodities. The complex character 

and wide range of constituents in the raw material make this unavoidable.” For example, the same corn derivative in recipes for 

gravies and soups is also used in dry cell batteries and fireproofing. In addition, this poster reveals how corn and soy crops—

grown for much more than food—have been encouraged to take 

on the positive properties of plastic, such as its malleability, mass 

output, and affordability. Warren Belasco (2008:5) recognizes 

this shift in thinking: “Food is so vague in our culture in part 

because, thanks to processing, packaging, and marketing, it is an 

abstraction. An almost infinite set of variations based on a theme 

of corn, which is the basis of so many modern foodstuffs, from 

Big Macs to Twinkies.” 

Figure 5 shows a 1963 advertisement for Kodak plastic 

sheeting, including a wrapped loaf of bread that appears to be 

out of place with the other industrial uses of plastic. But maybe 

it isn’t out of place at all. In the decades after the war, food was 

often treated like another industrial product. As the food and 

plastic industries simultaneously made their production more efficient and factorylike, plastic wrap helped to present and preserve the finished products in a slick way, even if the finished 

products were not Twinkie-like at all. In addition to breads and 

other processed foods, the cellophane advertisements depicting 

produce aisles in Figure 6 point to the wide reach of cellophane 

and how it influenced, or hoped to influence, the buying and 

FIGURE 4. Staley Manufacturing Company poster (ca. 1950). Left: The cover reads AID, standing for Agriculture, Industry, and Defense, and 

the back shows their factory. Right: When unfolded, the Staley Target appears.
9 0 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

selling practices of seemingly unprocessed foods available to 

consumers in the supermarket.

WHERE MARKETING TAKES OVER

With a contemporary awareness of the problems with plastic, it is easy to question how something so synthetic could ever 

be embraced as a go-to material for fresh food. The definition 

of “freshness,” it appears, is as malleable as plastic. Many believed plastic improved fresh produce, and in her book Fresh: A 

Perishable History, Susanne Freidberg (2009:184–188) explains 

that lettuce and vegetable growers turned to plastic wrap after 

they noticed a rise in the consumption of canned and frozen 

foods, especially once canned food makers began claiming that 

their products were as nutritious as fresh produce. Furthermore, 

highly influential supermarket chains appreciated wrapped produce, according to Freidberg, because compared with “naked” 

produce, it was easier to buy, display, and track; it looked neat, 

sold faster, generally kept longer, and suffered less “customer 

abuse.” In short, plastic helped products from nature to become 

more standardized, more like manufactured products easily 

boxed and labeled. 

Cellophane transformed meat departments even more dramatically by completely shifting the expectations of customers, 

butchers, and store managers (Figure 7). The advertisement from 

FIGURE 5. Kodak advertisement for their plastics (Fortune, 1963).
number 7 • 9 1

DuPont in Life magazine in Figure 7 has an unusually large 

amount of text for a 1959 advertisement. Although it explains 

how cellophane helps keep meat fresh, this ad is really an argument for self-service supermarkets. What DuPont understood 

was that cellophane-wrapped meat would require shoppers to 

develop new habits. That is not how they were used to buying it. 

With promises of freshness and visibility from cellophane, shoppers are reassured that a new store layout is really to their benefit 

and is a desirable way to shop. 

Beyond convincing shoppers of the benefits of cellophanewrapped food, DuPont carefully explained that self-service was 

also a desirable way to increase business. Their cellophane division published a few studies with store managers in mind, including a progress report on self-service meats (DuPont, 1945) 

and a study on impulse buying in which they concluded that 

“when half of the buying decisions are made at the point of sale 

(meaning inside the store), then factors such as display and packaging become all-important to stimulate unplanned, IMPULSE 

buying” (DuPont, 1946). 

Historian Roger Horowitz explains what happens to the 

meat itself in his book Putting Meat on the American Table 

(2006). “By interposing a film between the meat and outside environment, packaging could create artificial conditions that, in 

essence, performed the work once borne by curing or refrigeration. Cellophane made meat appear more attractive by influencing color, smell, and presentation of a particular cut” (Horowitz, 

2006:137). All of this helped sales. 

It is also likely that other technological changes, like the 

increased availability of refrigeration, may have helped DuPont 

sell cellophane more than anything else. Frigidaire pamphlets 

used the new concept of self-service meat to promote their refrigerated display cases, which were a necessary investment for 

any store manager interested in “better looking, busier, and more 

profitable stores” (Frigidaire, 1952; Figure 8).

Although many frozen foods were not wrapped in cellophane, their colorful cardboard boxes were typically coated 

in plastic to help handle moist environments and allow for 

brightly colored printing on the package. Printed packages were 

FIGURE 6. Left: DuPont cellophane ad appearing in Life in 1955. Right: Avisco cellophane ad appearing in the Saturday Evening Post, 

October 12, 1957.
9 2 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

necessary just to differentiate products because more and more, 

the contents of the packages were very similar, if not identical. 

Advertisements showing off the capabilities of meat-packing 

machines reinforce the concept of interchangeability and malleability among modern foodstuffs in addition to the growing 

significance of marketing and “eye appeal” (Meat Industry 

Trends, 1961; Figure 8). In Paradox of Plenty, historian Harvey Levenstein describes how in 1954, when General Foods, the 

largest food conglomerate, selected a new top officer, it chose 

not a production or financial specialist but a marketing expert. 

This acknowledged “that the emphasis in the food business 

has moved more and more from manufacturing to marketing” 

(Levenstein, 2003:115). By 1967 the American Management Association titled one publication simply Packaging Is Marketing 

(Guss, 1967); plastics made this possible. 

Cellophane-wrapped groceries even became symbols of 

American capitalism. The U.S. Information Agency possessed 

the image in Figure 9, presumably, to show abroad to impress 

foreigners with the concept of “abundance without affluence” 

FIGURE 8. Refrigerated self-service cases allowed consumers to 

choose from cellophane-wrapped meat and other products in eyegrabbing packaging, 1951. Image from the National Museum of 

American History Trade Literature Collection.

FIGURE 7. DuPont cellophane advertised self-service meat counters in Life magazine (Life, 1959:44) and encouraged store managers to adopt 

this way of selling meat with detailed reports about consumer behavior. Courtesy of Hagley Museum and Library.
number 7 • 9 3

to bolster arguments about a higher American standard of living available to a greater number of citizens. It shows an average American housewife at her kitchen counter overflowing with 

packaged groceries after a supposedly routine visit to the grocery 

store. Lizabeth Cohen (1998:111) writes how “mass consumption not only shaped the economy, but also altered the political realm, becoming a new vehicle for delivering the traditional 

American promises of democracy and egalitarianism.” 

At home, consumer-citizens were patriotic citizens. Increased 

household consumption extended to plastic housewares like 

Tupperware, which took advantage of the material’s malleability. 

Extensive product lines produced in many different shapes and 

colors helped create a healthy demand and gave their infamous 

sales force new products to talk about with their in-home customers (Syracuse University Libraries, 2013). As many historians 

have noted, the popularity of Tupperware speaks to the embrace 

of plastic as plastic (as opposed to plastic used to mimic more 

expensive materials) and to new definitions of consumption, 

convenience, and modern femininity. Its popularity also added 

to the general comfort level of using plastic containers for food 

storage (Life, 1956:47). Eventually, this comfort level expanded 

to include microwave ovens and dishwashers once they became 

commonplace and plastics were formulated for high heat and 

modern appliances. 

According to Susan Freinkel, disposable plastic goods were 

initially a tough sell; consumers had to be taught to throw plastic 

away. “The ethos of reuse was so deeply ingrained in the 1950s,” 

she writes, “when vending machines began dispensing coffee in 

plastic cups, people saved and reused them” (Freinkel, 2011:121); 

Figure 10 shows a plastic cup advertisement that practically 

shames people into modern, disposable living (Life, 1964:53). To 

use paper cups would be old-fashioned and miserly according to 

Scott; plastic cups, like many other plastic goods, were priced to 

be disposable. In the language of the Cold War, the act of disposing signified liberation—a real distinction at the time between the 

freedom of capitalism and the bondage of communism. 

FIGURE 9. The backside of this image reads, “A housewife displays a table-full of packaged foods she has purchased from a modern supermarket—farm fresh and easy to prepare.” Source: DuPont, National Archives, RG 306 

Subject 58-5877.
9 4 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

In Waste and Want: A Social History of Trash, historian 

Susan Strasser echoes Wendell Berry and notes how new materials, especially plastics, became the basis for a relationship 

to the material world that required consumers to buy things 

rather than make them and to throw things out rather than fix 

them: “Nobody made plastic at home, hardly anybody understood how it was made, and it usually could not be repaired” 

(Strasser, 1999:267). Just as most of us have become further removed from the production of our food and more dependent on 

industrial agriculture, we have also become removed from the 

production of any goods that are made with plastic. Although 

unnerving to some, a little ignorance has also been interpreted 

as a sign of progress: “Civilization advances in proportion to 

the number of operations its people can do without thinking 

about them” is an observation attributed to philosopher A. N. 

Whitehead (1911) and an awareness that the convenience of 

new technologies in our lives requires trust in a series of unknowns (Talbott, 1995). 

Some of the most interesting convenience packaging is never 

marketed to the end consumer at all. A newsletter from the Hotel 

& Restaurant Division of Heinz announced that ketchup is now 

set to enter into the “single-service field” (H. J. Heinz Company, 

1958). Although this packaging did not become widely used 

until the late 1960s, little helpers such as these fed into the habit 

and the expectation of convenience that Americans have become 

addicted to. It is a highly sophisticated little thing indeed: 

The package which meets Heinz standards is lined on 

the inside with a type of polyethylene that is compatible 

with food. The middle layer of this three-layer pouch 

is made of aluminum foil. Outside the foil is a layer of 

glassine high transparency paper that is printed in four 

colors. This triple-laminated package will stand the intense heat of filling while, at the same time, the glassine outer layer protects the printing from refrigeration 

“sweating” as well as from the damage of handling. (H. 

J. Heinz Company, 1958)

This description is reminiscent of the complex layering that 

goes into the newest bagged lettuce packaging, which works invisibly to preserve fresh greens in ways consumers are typically 

unaware (Bilger, 2004).

The coffee cup lid collection of Louise Harpman and Scott 

Specht, who have recently donated a selection of lids to the National Museum of American History, calls attention to another 

common instance of single-use plastic packaging that is tied directly to consumer habits and a widespread addiction to coffee. 

Lids from their collection are currently on display in the food 

exhibition Food: Transforming the American Table, 1950–2000 

(Smith, 2012), in a section about changing eating habits, in particular, eating on the go (Figure 11). Or in this case, drinking 

hot liquids on the go, which Harpman and Specht (2005) described as a “uniquely American phenomenon, responding to a 

particularly American set of expectations.” The patents for the 

lids reveal the engineering and considerable thought these objects have received. Harpman and Specht explain how each new 

patent designation identifies an “improvement” so as to differentiate it from other models. Some of the current innovations 

include “mouth comfort, splash reduction, friction fit, mating 

engagement, and one-handed activation,” any of which, the collectors joke, “could easily describe other, more intimate, bodily 

pleasures” (Harpman and Specht, 2005).

As interesting as the lids are as designed objects, I have also 

taken note of how people dispose of the single-use plastic lids 

and their corresponding disposable cups. Figure 12 gives some 

examples of photographs taken during a major public event in 

downtown Washington, D.C., when it was cold out and people 

clearly wanted their coffee. Such an ordered arrangement of our 

single-use trash can be seen as evidence that people feel guilty 

about this decadent habit, even if only briefly. 

Fear and guilt are certainly motivating factors on an individual level, but plenty of vested interests have researched and 

surveyed consumers to find ways to lessen any guilt and prevent 

us from changing any so-called bad habits. The website “Plastic 

Food Service Facts” (American Chemistry Council, 2010–2012) 

was created to relieve consumers of any guilt; it maintains that 

takeout food containers are a civilized and sanitary convenience 

FIGURE 10. Scott plastic disposable cups (Life, 1964:53).
number 7 • 9 5

that should be celebrated for making our lives better and not 

demonized or even questioned. 

Still, large companies have been convinced to stop serving 

certain types of packaging products deemed particularly harmful. 

McDonald’s famously stopped using Styrofoam clamshell boxes 

for sandwiches in 1990 after environmental groups publically 

complained about the packaging and the amount of trash the 

fast-food restaurants produced (Figure 13). The Associated Press 

( 1990:3) quoted the company president at the time: “Although 

some scientific studies indicate that foam packaging is environmentally sound, our customers just don’t feel good about it. So 

we’re changing.” Chemicals in the lined papers that currently 

wrap hamburgers are reportedly more detrimental to consumers’ 

health (Walsh, 2010), but the clamshell container is an example 

of how public concerns, scientifically founded or otherwise, can 

influence behavior and affect major business decisions. 

CONCLUDING REMARKS

The examples I included relate to plastic and food, but they 

are also about behavior and some of our favorite, addictive 

FIGURE 11. Top: Coffee cup lids collected by Louis 

Harpman and Scott Specht, on display in the National Museum of American History in 2012. Left: 

Patent drawing from U.S. Patent 4,589,569.
9 6 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

FIGURE 12. Coffee cup disposal during a major winter event in downtown Washington, D.C. Photographs courtesy of Robert 

Wechsler, 2009.
number 7 • 9 7

habits. Habits are notoriously difficult to change, although mass 

production and advertising actively encouraged Americans to 

become overconsumers and quick disposers. Could mass media 

reeducate us to become more conscientious consumers and disposers? Perhaps, but it is hard to imagine that this medium would 

ever be used to discourage consumption. Recent attempts to develop “bioplastics” and even more recycling at the end of the 

consumption process do not do much to alter consumer behavior. However, investment in these efforts implies that consumers 

are paying attention, asking questions, and applying pressure. 

What shifts in the culture of mass production and overconsumption will compliment consumer awareness already taking place?

REFERENCES

American Chemistry Council. 2017. Plastic Food Service Facts. https://

plasticfoodservicefacts.com (accessed May 17, 2017).

Associated Press. 1990. “McDonald’s Junks Foam Packaging.” Los Angeles Times, 

November 1, page 3.

Belasco, W. 2008. Food: The Key Concepts. Oxford: Berg.

Berry, W. 1989. The Pleasures of Eating. Journal of Gastronomy, 5(2):125–131.

Bilger, B. 2004. “Salad Days.” Annals of Agriculture. New Yorker, September 6, 

136–139.

Cohen, L. 1998. “The New Deal State and the Making of Consumer-Citizens.” In 

Getting and Spending: European and American Consumer Societies in the 

Twentieth Century, ed. S. Strasser, C. McGovern, and M. Judt, pp. 111-125. 

Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

DuPont. 1945. Self-Service Meats: Progress Report on a Promising New Development. Richmond, Va.: E.I. du Pont de Nemours and Company, Cellophane 

Division.

DuPont. 1946. Design for Selling. Wilmington, Del.: E.I. du Pont de Nemours and 

Company.

Ettlinger, S. 2007. Twinkie, Deconstructed: My Journey to Discover How the Ingredients Found in Processed Foods are Grown, Mined (Yes, Mined), and 

Manipulated into What America Eats. New York: Penguin.

Freinkel, S. 2011. Plastic: A Toxic Love Story. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

Friedberg, S. 2009. Fresh: A Perishable History. Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press.

Frigidaire. 1952. “Frigidaire Presents a Complete Line of Display Cases.” Sales 

pamphlet. Dayton, Ohio: General Motors Corporation, Frigidaire Division.

Guss, L. M. 1967. Packaging Is Marketing. New York: American Management 

Association.

Harpman, L., and S. Specht. 2005. “Inventory / Peel, Pucker, Pinch, Puncture.” 

Cabinet, issue 19 Fall. http://www.cabinetmagazine.org/issues/19/harpman

.php (accessed DecemberMay 17 20170).

H. J. Heinz Company. 1958. “Hot and Individual Ketchup Introduced.” Snapshots,

September. 

Horowitz, R. 2006. Putting Meat on the American Table. Baltimore, Md.: Johns 

Hopkins University Press.

Levenstein, H. 2003. Paradox of Plenty. Rev. ed. Berkeley: University of California 

Press.

Life. 1955. “The Biggest Vegetable Factory on Earth.” January 3, 41–43.

Life. 1956. “Biggest Parade of Juice Values.” Minute Maid advertisement. January 9, 47.

Life. 1959. “Why Your Self-Service Is the Best Place to Buy Meat.” DuPont cellophane advertisement. November 2, 44 

Life. 1962a. “The Source of the River of Abundance.” November 23, 58–59.

Life. 1962b. “Mighty Master of the Bounty.” November 23, 130–144. 

Life. 1964. “New, All-Plastic Disposable Cup.” Scott plastic cup advertisement. 

May 15, 53. 

Meat Industry Trends. 1961. Trade publication prepared by the staff of Meat, ed. H. 

L. Rothra. Trade Catalog Collection, National Museum of American History.

Meikle, J. L. 1995. American Plastic: A Cultural History. New Brunswick, N.J.: 

Rutgers University Press. 

Monsanto. 1943. A Wartime Guide to Monsanto Plastics. Spingfield, Ill.: Monsanto Company

Nestle, M. 2003. Food Politics: How the Food Industry Influences Nutrition and 

Health. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Shapiro, L. 2004. Something from the Oven: Reinventing Dinner in 1950s America. New York: Penguin.

Smith, K. 2012. “The World’s Largest Collection of Coffee Cup Lids.” (blog), Smithsonian. November 15. http://blogs.smithsonianmag.com/design/2012/11/the

-worlds-largest-collection-of-coffee-cup-lids/ (accessed May 10, 2017).

Spencer, S. 1943. “Packaging Delivers the Goods.” Scientific American, November, 

217–218. 

Strasser, S. 1999. Waste and Want: A Social History of Trash. New York: Henry Holt.

Syracuse University Libraries. 2013. The Plastics Collection. http://plastics.syr.edu/ 

(accessed May 17, 2017).

Talbott, S. 1995. The Future Does Not Compute: Transcending the Machines in 

Our Midst. O’Reilly & Associates. http://netfuture.org/fdnc/ch11.html#fn3

.0 (accessed May 18, 2017).

Walsh, B. 2010. “The Perils of Plastic.” Time, April 1.

Whitehead, A. N. 1911. An Introduction to Mathematics. Cambridge, Mass.: 

Henry Holt.

FIGURE 13. McDonald’s Styrofoam packaging in the collection of 

the National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution.

ABSTRACT. The world has seen multiple waves of innovation since the Industrial Revolution, 

from the so-called Steam Age to the Steel Age, Oil Age, Information Technology Age, and so on. 

The authors propose that we are entering a new wave of economic development in cleantech and 

sustainability, aimed at returning us to a low-carbon world. Ford Motor Company has been a leader 

throughout these innovation waves and continues to drive the path forward to the bioeconomy, albeit the company’s motivations for pursuing bio-based materials have evolved. This chapter details 

several key innovations and ongoing research at Ford in the development of bio-based materials, 

including polyurethane foam derived from soybeans, wheat straw–reinforced polypropylene, and 

experiments with polylactic acid.

INTRODUCTION

The world has seen multiple waves of innovation since the Industrial Revolution, 

such as the Steam Age, Steel Age, Oil Age, and Information Technology Age (Freeman 

and Louca, 2002). In 2001, Ford Motor Company added a biomaterials team to their 

research program, and that team has since developed new bio-based plastics that perform 

well, are economically competitive, and are being used in Ford production automobiles. 

With these successes and from their vantage point working with so-called green materials, there is a strong feeling that the world is moving into a new wave of cleantech and 

sustainability through which bio-based materials will help return us to a low-carbon 

world.

Great ideas endure the test of time. Henry Ford, founder of the Ford Motor Company and the automotive assembly line, was an avid inventor with more than 160 U.S. 

patents. He dreamed of cars that were reasonably priced, reliable, and efficient, not far 

from our ambitions today. Part of this philosophy included activities like the use of agricultural products and reuse of materials that today would be considered through a lens 

of sustainability, but the cultural context at that time was very different. For example, at 

one point, Ford commissioned his supplier to change the dimensions of shipping crates 

with the sole purpose of reusing the crate as part of the floor boards in vehicles (McDonough and Braungart, 2002). This made business sense because it reduced the car’s 

cost. Today, repurposing materials that would otherwise be discarded is also considered 

environmentally responsible.1

Ford also sought, in the 1930s and 1940s, to utilize biological plants for both the 

car’s materials and its fuel. This desire was such a passion that Ford conducted much of 

Ford Motor Company, MD3182/ RIC Building, 

P.O. Box 2053, Dearborn, Michigan 48121, USA.

* Correspondence: D. Mielewski, dmielews@

ford.com

Manuscript received 19 August 2016; accepted 

13 February 2017.

Ford’s Driving Role in the Bio-Based 

Materials Age

Debbie Mielewski,* Ellen Lee, Angela Harris, 

and Cynthia Flanigan
100 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

the materials science research in his own laboratory, which still 

stands within Greenfield Village at The Henry Ford museum in 

Dearborn Michigan.

To put this work in perspective, in 1937 Ford was producing 300,000 gallons of soy oil a year for use in car enamels (Shurtleff and Aoyagi, 2016Soybean Digest, 1947), and by 

1939 the Ford Motor Company was harvesting about 100,000 

bushels of its own soybeans. Ford Motor Company formulated 

soybean resin and natural fiber–reinforced body panels (recipes 

were said to include soybeans, wheat, hemp, flax, and ramie), 

and Mr. Ford demonstrated their resiliency by taking an axe to 

them (The Henry Ford, 2016). Most of the time, they survived. 

The panels were said to be able to withstand a blow 10 times as 

great as steel without denting (Collective Evolution, 2013). The 

windows were also said to be made of plastic, a light-weighting 

ambition that still exists as active research at Ford today.

Soy was not the only feedstock with which Ford worked. 

Fordite material, used in the steering wheels of the Model T, contained wheat straw as a reinforcing fiber.2

 Much of the straw 

used to produce Fordite came from Henry Ford’s Dearborn area 

farm (Ford Motor Company, 2009). Ford was also the first auto 

manufacturer to grow his own timber. In 1919, Ford purchased 

a northern Michigan tract of land to be used for a source of 

hard and soft wood. Ford even owned several rubber and tung 

tree plantations, and although these endeavors were unsuccessful, they demonstrate his persistence in using plant materials for 

automobiles. Recently, we were made aware of laboratory notebooks at Ford’s Palm Beach vacation home that suggest using 

goldenrod as a homegrown natural rubber source, rather than 

the one imported from the Pará rubber tree (Hevea brasiliensis), 

which was difficult to ship during World War II. 

After 12 years of research, Ford unveiled the experimental 

“Soybean Car” (Figure 1) at the Dearborn Days festival on August 13, 1941 (McCann-Erickson, Inc., 1941). The car had a 

tubular steel frame with 14 plastic panels attached to it. The car 

weighed around 2,000 pounds, a third lighter than a typical steel 

car. Even though the exact composition of the body panels remains unknown, they are purported to have contained soybeans, 

wheat, hemp, flax, and ramie (The Henry Ford, 2016).

Why was the soybean car built, and what motivated this emphasis on agriculture in general? The context in which Mr. Ford 

lived was different from today. The bounty of nature was certainly appreciated by industrialists, but as “a seemingly endless 

supply of natural ‘capital’” (McDonough and Braungart, 2002). 

Development of wild landscapes into crop land was a harnessing 

of nature that yielded renewable resources, unlike nonrenewable 

FIGURE 1. Henry Ford’s experimental Soybean Car.
number 7 • 101

activities like mining. However, it is not clear what Mr. Ford felt 

about our social responsibility toward the environment. He did 

believe in a strong partnership between industry and agriculture, 

so that each could utilize the products of the other. This interest 

in synergistic collaboration extended even to his personal wardrobe. In Figure 2, he is shown wearing a suit he had developed 

out of soybean fibers. A Chicago Tribune article, dated October 

4, 1936 quotes Mr. Ford as saying, “If we want the farmer to 

be our customer, we must find a way to become his customer.”3

This period was characterized by the growth of oil, automobiles, and mass production (Freeman and Louca, 2002). During 

the same time that Henry Ford was innovating in personal transportation, plastics were also developing quickly. New inventions 

and unique new materials were being produced from petrochemicals, which stemmed in part from a key discovery in 1907. In 

that year, chemist Leo Hendrik Baekeland produced Bakelite, the 

first commercially successful plastic made of a polymer that was 

synthesized from nonpolymeric materials (Cohoe, 1945). Although Ford and many others before him had investigated ways 

to manipulate plant-based substances to form plastics, this new 

synthetic route to creating polymers was a key moment in the socalled Age of Plastic.4

 Plastics proliferated not only in consumer 

goods and packaging but also in durable applications like transportation. Many technologies were made possible by advances 

in plastics during these years such that our lives have been improved in innumerable ways. Today, we can see that plastics are 

a mainstay and convenience of everyday life. Less known may be 

the fact that around 10% of a modern automobile’s weight is in 

plastic materials, and that number will surely grow as we make 

automobiles more lightweight to improve fuel economy.

Expansion of the plastics industry in the ensuing decades 

was also fueled by a growing coal, petroleum, and, eventually, 

natural gas infrastructure. The price of petroleum stayed relatively flat from 1907 when Bakelite was discovered until the 

1970s, and supply was increasing. Plastic technology based on 

fossil fuels outpaced developments in natural and renewably 

sourced plastic materials in that period.

Starting in the 1970s, large fluctuations in petroleum prices 

and a growing dependence on foreign sources of oil were beginning to have a significant effect on the petrochemical and plastics industries (Figure 3). Although petroleum prices plunged to 

an all-time low in 1999, significant price volatility and a general 

upward trend have again spurred interest in the development of 

plastics from feedstocks with more stable price and availability 

(Williams, 1996–2011). Furthermore, the energy needed to produce oil, and hence its cost, has grown significantly from 1% of 

its energy content at the beginning of the oil age to 5% today 

(Kricher, 2012), further closing the gap for agricultural feedstocks. As oil begins to grow scarce, alternatives to petrochemicals and petroleum-based materials will be sought. Even within 

the past 15 years, research has advanced bioplastics significantly, 

and now renewably sourced plastics are able to perform at a level 

equivalent to that of those derived from fossil fuels. This progress 

is one of many reasons why the idea of using things we can grow 

to manufacture automobiles is coming back to life at Ford.

When Bill Ford took over as chairman and CEO of Ford in 

2001, he made it clear that part of Ford’s revitalization plan included making the company more environmentally responsible. 

The great-grandson of Henry Ford is an avid environmentalist in 

an industry that seemingly turned its head to such a notion then. 

For instance, Ford spearheaded the rebuilding of his Dearborn 

River Rouge plant into a test lab for sustainable manufacturing 

practices, including natural sunlight for workers, conservation 

areas, and, at that time, the world’s largest green roof (Bonini 

and Kaas, 2010). He commissioned the RAT (Recycling Action 

Team, also known as the RAT patrol within the company), a 

group of employees whose mission was to improve the environmental sustainability of Ford products. Led by Andy Acho, then 

worldwide director of environmental outreach, they championed 

the development and implementation of aggressive environmental stewardship actions that would protect the environment and 

save the company millions of dollars annually. The RAT’s successes included transforming more than 50 million two-liter soda 

bottles, 1 billion bottle caps, and 27 million square feet of old 

carpeting into reliable vehicle components. They also initiated 

the recycling of more than 10 million tires into rubber products 

used for playground mulch, athletic and riding arenas, and roads. 

In 2003, following in his great-grandfather’s footsteps, Bill Ford 

introduced the “Model U” concept vehicle (Figure 4). Succeeding the Model T and the soybean car, the Model U displayed the 

younger Ford’s vision that transportation could be environmentally friendly and embrace agricultural plastics. In addition to a 

hydrogen internal combustion engine that ran much cleaner than 

our gasoline engines, the Model U sported sustainably produced 

polyester textiles, soy-based seating foams, and soy-based paint.

Within the past several years, the automotive industry has 

finally caught up with the forward thinking of the Fords. Interest in sustainability and environmentally friendly technologies 

has grown, and concepts like local sourcing are new again. For 

FIGURE 2. Henry Ford sporting a suit made from soy fibers.
102 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

the transportation industry, especially the automotive sector, 

sustainable technologies apply to manufacturing, the use phase 

(driving), and the product itself. Alternative powertrains and fuel 

economy–improving technologies can significantly reduce the 

carbon footprint of a vehicle, and so too can the development 

of more sustainable agricultural materials for the vehicle itself. 

Because plants take up carbon dioxide during photosynthesis, 

plant-based feedstocks create durable goods with a reduced 

carbon footprint from sequestration. Furthermore, some of the 

renewably sourced materials can be produced at a fraction of the 

energy required for petroleum-based alternatives.

In many cases, renewably sourced material may have a 

performance advantage, such as the density reduction of natural fiber reinforcements over fiberglass reinforcement. The reduced weight of these vehicles can improve driving dynamics 

and fuel economy. Over a vehicle’s lifetime these improvements 

can significantly reduce fuel consumption and carbon dioxide 

emissions.

FIGURE 4. Left: Exterior view of the Model U concept vehicle. Right: Interior view.

FIGURE 3. World oil prices from May 1987 to January 2012. Created by TomtheHand, Wikimedia Commons, 

2012. No changes were made to the image. Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported, https://

creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/.
number 7 • 103

SUSTAINABLE MATERIALS STRATEGY

Ford Motor Company’s commitment to sustainability has 

been expanded to include a formal statement on the strategy for 

sustainable materials. The overarching vision is that Ford Motor 

Company will ensure that our products are engineered to enable 

sustainable materials leadership without compromise to product 

quality, durability, performance, or economics. To this end, recycled and renewably sourced materials must be selected whenever technically and economically feasible, and technologies and 

tools that help us validate, select, and track the use of these materials in our products will be further enhanced. This corporate 

stance toward sustainable materials is an important motivator, 

but technical, economic, and logistical challenges remain. The 

large number of materials in the average vehicle, coupled with 

the significant variations between models and geographic regions, 

means that tracking materials can quickly become intractable. 

On average, over 300 pounds of plastic and nearly 100 different 

grades of plastic are used in every vehicle. Selection of these materials is an extremely complex process, with numerous material 

and performance requirements to consider for each application. 

This analysis must be combined with a comparison of each material’s sustainability. Thus, it is clear that considering the sustainability of materials used in our cars also requires development of 

new analytical tools to facilitate the material selection process. 

Doing so should allow the proportion of recycled and renewably 

sourced materials to increase year after year and model by model. 

Case Studies on Ford’s Successful

Implementation of Biomaterials

Soy-Based Polyurethane Foam

Ford Motor Company’s most significant success to date with 

biomaterials has been the implementation of functionalized soybean oil in the manufacture of flexible, polyurethane foam for 

automotive seating. This technology substitutes a portion of the 

petroleum-derived polyol with a soy-derived polyol within the 

formulation of a two-part polyurethane foam. Figure 5 shows 

two competing reactions that give rise to a polyurethane foam: 

the gel reaction, which forms the polyurethane linkages, and 

the blow reaction, which forms the cells, or voids, in the foam. 

The Ford biomaterials team invented and developed novel foam 

formulations that maximize the performance and processing of 

soy-based foams to meet all of the stringent requirements of automotive seating. After completing numerous processing trials 

on headrest, armrest, and seating applications, Ford launched 

soy-based foam on seat backs and seat cushions in the 2008 Ford 

Mustang (Figure 6). Since that initial launch, soy foam has been 

successfully migrated to all vehicle programs in North America 

for seat backs, seat cushions, and headrests. With this soy-based 

foam, Ford reduces its petroleum usage annually by over 5 million pounds. Life cycle assessment shows a net decrease of 5.5 

pounds of carbon dioxide per pound of soy polyol used, which 

FIGURE 6. Soy-based polyurethane foam introduced in the 2008 

model year Ford Mustang seat.

FIGURE 5. Competing reactions in the formation of polyurethane 

foam.
104 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

results in a net decrease of 20 million pounds of carbon dioxide 

annually (Pollack, 2006). 

This soy foam was an industry-leading innovation. In 2002, 

many chemical companies considered incorporating soy oil into 

urethanes but claimed that it could not be done, even in small 

concentrations. However, Ford Research was committed to the 

concept and wanted to pursue work in this area. A soy foam 

research program was initiated at Ford in 2001, and in 2004, 

Ford Research was awarded a three-year grant by the United 

Soybean Board’s New Uses Committee to help advance and accelerate commercialization of the foam as a way to utilize excess 

soybeans. The goal was to use crops that would otherwise be 

wasted rather than to plant new soy fields that would compete 

with other crops.

From proof of concept to implementation of the new foam 

in our vehicles, there was a long road of technical challenges to 

overcome and many other hurdles before the material could be 

adopted. Key technical challenges inherent to soy materials included lower chemical reactivity than the petroleum equivalents, 

separation of the blended materials, odor, and fogging. Initial 

foams created at Ford Research had poor mechanical properties 

and very noticeable, unpleasant odors. Foam cell structures were 

coarse or collapsed, and foams had weak structural integrity. 

There also were challenges for production. Soy-based foams are 

inherently less reactive than petroleum-based materials because 

of the secondary nature of the hydroxyl functionality versus a 

primary hydroxyl on petro-based materials. As a result, the time 

needed to create the foam is too long for the production environment. All these issues had to be addressed and overcome. 

In a typical polyurethane formulation, more than 10 chemicals are blended together, including surfactants, a blowing agent, 

catalysts, polyols, and isocyanates. Through innovative chemical 

studies and multiple experimental designs, we ultimately created 

foams with biocontent that could pass several of the key requirements for automotive seating (Mielewski et al., 2005). Cell 

structure was improved by adding specific combinations of surfactants and catalysts (Perry et al., 2016). The team developed 

two formulations for interior automotive applications: methylene diphenyl diisocyanate (MDI) based and toluene diisocyanate (TDI) based chemistries that use soy polyols in combination 

with the other chemical constituents. 

One key technical challenge of substituting soy polyols for 

petroleum polyols is that of fogging (release of volatile compounds that condense on the windshield and create a haze), 

which became a major hurdle in our development work. Surfactant and catalyst packages were reformulated to overcome this 

issue and were ultimately successful. Another challenge that had 

to be addressed by the team was the smell. The natural odor of 

soy-based materials is like rancid oil. Our strategy to reduce the 

smell included an odor stripping method called thin-film evaporation that removed the smelly, low-molecular-weight species. A 

panel of human sniffers judged that this method reduced the perceivable odor from a rating scale of 4, unacceptable, to 2, acceptable (see Table 1 for ratings). This low-odor soy polyol went into 

production for soy-based foam. These formulations used up to a 

staggering 40% soy in the polyol blend (Flanigan et al., 2007). 

Once methods were discovered to overcome the odor and 

fogging, our group concentrated on optimizing the soy foam formulations and processing methods to meet automotive requirements and current production cycle times for molding automotive 

seats. The United Soybean Board and Michigan Soybean Association funded an investigation of properties of soy foam during 

processing and in finished parts. The first factory-produced parts 

exhibited issues with surface skinning, low tear strength, and 

low density. In addition, issues were encountered with separation 

between the bio-based and petroleum constituents of the polyol 

blend. We resolved the latter by compatibilizing the two materials. In total, more than 15 trials were completed to improve 

reaction rates of the soy foam formulation to suit manufacturing 

conditions and to verify that the soy foam parts performed well. 

By experimenting with processing designs and additives to the 

polyol blend, the team was able to produce production-quality 

parts. Ultimately, Ford’s soy foam formulations met requirements 

for odor, fogging, vinyl staining, indentation load deflection, density, tear resistance, and compression set (Flanigan et al., 2008). 

Ford has since expanded this soy-based foam to other consumer product markets, including office furniture, home furniture, 

bedding, agricultural equipment, and marine applications. We are 

proud to have been recognized as a leader in developing and using 

sustainable materials. Ford has received numerous awards, including the 2008 award for “plastic materials from renewable sources 

and applications” from Global Plastics Environmental Conference, 

the 2009 R&D 100 Award for “soy based automotive seating 

foam,” and the 2008 Environmental Excellence in Transportation (E2T) Award by SAE International. In addition, the United 

Soybean Board awarded Ford its Excellence in New Uses Award 

for creating a commercial product from soybeans. More than 200 

media articles have covered news of Ford’s innovative use of soy 

oil in polyurethane foams, including coverage in major media outlets CNN, CBS, PBS, and Fast Company, among others (Toebben, 

2007; Car and Driver, 2007; Lear Corporation, 2007). Ford Marketing has also included “soy foam seats” as an advertised feature 

for many vehicles (Ford Motor Company, 2010, 2013). 

By introducing bio-derived content into polyurethane 

foams, Ford proved that this material could be used in one of the 

TABLE 1. Odor ratings. A maximum rating of 2 is required to 

pass the odor panel test. From Flanigan (2009).

Rating Description

1 No noticeable odor

2 Slight but noticeable odor

3 Definite odor but not strong enough to be offensive

4 Strong offensive odor

5 Very strong offensive odor
number 7 • 105

most challenging foam applications of all, seating. Given more 

than 30 pounds of flexible foam are used in a single automobile, 

there are many more potential applications for this foam, including headliners, instrument panels, and armrests. For example, 

we have incorporated soy foam into the headliners of the Ford 

Escape. Currently, Ford researchers are actively working with 

suppliers to investigate the use of soy foam for additional components, global programs, new applications, and formulations 

with increased biocontent. 

Injection-Molded Wheat Straw Polypropylene

A second example of successful implementation of a biomaterial at Ford was the world’s first wheat straw–reinforced plastic in an injection-molded application. This technology replaces 

glass fiber or mineral reinforcement (i.e., talc) in a thermoplastic polymer matrix with wheat straw fiber, a by-product of the 

wheat grain harvest. In addition to the carbon sequestered by 

incorporating a renewable fiber into the plastic, the technology 

also reduces weight and process cycle times. The following study 

describes Ford’s research, development, and eventual implementation of wheat straw–reinforced polypropylene (WSPP) in the 

2010 Ford Flex for an injection-molded storage bin. By launching this material in the Ford Flex, Ford reduced petroleum use 

by 20,000 pounds/yr and CO2

 emissions by 30,000 pounds/yr. 

Natural fiber composites have been used for many years in 

automotive and nonautomotive applications. Previous applications of injection molding– and extrusion-grade materials for durable goods used the renewable additives as a filler that displaced 

a portion of the petroleum-based resin—meaning the plastic 

could be produced with less resin—but did not improve the performance of the material. Examples include sawdust-filled composites commonly called “woodstock” and composite decking. 

Today, compressed and consolidated hardboards are available 

with 50% natural fibers mixed with 50% polypropylene or polyethylene terephthalate fibers in a nonwoven mat construction. 

Current and developing technologies include injection molding–

grade composites and engineering resins that contain natural fibers as a reinforcing agent, rather than just a filler, and replace 

traditional fiberglass and mineral reinforcement. Fibers including, but not limited to, hemp, kenaf, sisal, coconut coir, purified 

cellulose, and wheat straw have been investigated at Ford for 

injection molding–grade materials, primarily in polyolefin resins. 

Wheat straw, a by-product of wheat grain crops, contains 

a bast fiber that has very little use outside of animal bedding. In 

2007, Ford joined the Ontario BioCar Initiative, a governmentfunded research program aimed at introducing agricultural 

products into automotive parts, and formed a development 

team of partners and stakeholders from throughout the supply 

chain. The team comprised a research institution, raw material 

suppliers (e.g., farms), a natural fiber processor, a compounder/

material supplier, a molder/Tier 1 supplier, and an end user/automotive original equipment manufacturer. The team’s goal was 

to develop a production-grade polypropylene plastic reinforced 

with wheat straw. The case study was completed in only 20 

months, much faster than a typical case for the automotive industry, because all key stakeholders were included from the outset. Funding from the Ontario BioCar Initiative also helped us 

accelerate our research and development plan.

Wheat straw fiber was obtained from six Ontario farms and 

delivered to the processor to be cleaned and milled to a uniform 

length and aspect ratio (the relationship between length and 

width) prior to melt compounding with polypropylene (PP). Although the fiber itself was not treated, compatibilizers and other 

additives were added to the straw-PP mixture during compounding to enhance the interface between the fiber and plastic matrix, improve flow and processability, and inhibit oxidation and 

degradation of the wheat straw. Ford researchers decided that 

the final product should meet the same mechanical performance 

standards as talc-reinforced polypropylene homopolymer, a common polymer composite used in similar applications. Together 

with university researchers and the compounder, initial formulations were produced that resulted in good preliminary properties 

and a significant decrease in the density, and hence weight, of 

the composite material because wheat straw is less dense than 

talc. In terms of mechanical properties, a slight decrease in tensile 

strength and flexural modulus was observed, but notched Izod 

impact and heat distortion temperature were improved over talcreinforced PP. This initial screening of properties allowed us to 

assess the feasibility of the material and select an automotive material specification. Once the basic formula had been optimized to 

meet our initial material properties targets, the team worked with 

the molder to customize that formula and the injection molding 

process to make specific automobile components.

In 2009, WSPP was introduced in the 2010 model year Ford 

Flex in an interior storage bin (Figure 7). Ford was selected as a 

FIGURE 7. Wheat straw–reinforced polypropylene introduced in 

the 2010 Ford Flex third-row storage bin.
106 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

Blue Ribbon Finalist for the 2009 Society of Plastics Engineers, 

Automotive Innovation Award in the Environmental Category 

based on the successful launch of this new wheat straw material. 

The success of the wheat straw project was also instrumental in 

Ford winning, on the basis of their biomaterials research portfolio, the Society of Manufacturing Engineers’ 2010 award for Innovations That Could Change the Way You Manufacture. Ford 

Research is continuing to expand WSPP and other natural fiber 

composite materials into other applications and Ford vehicles 

globally.

CURRENT CHALLENGES ASSOCIATED 

WITH THE IMPLEMENTATION 

OF BIO-BASED MATERIALS

For a new material to be successfully launched on a Ford 

product, the material must meet all of Ford’s existing material 

and performance specifications and then some. In automotive 

applications, plastic materials have a unique set of performance 

requirements that are very different from other consumer product applications. Plastic parts are expected to be extremely durable, for at least 10 years in service, under the hood and as 

exterior and interior components. The materials are expected to 

perform well in all climates, including the extremes, from hot, 

humid southern Florida to the Arctic cold temperatures of northern Canada. 

A typical injection-molded plastic interior trim component 

must pass many material performance tests that measure things 

like flexibility, tensile strength, impact strength in cold temperatures, how well the material deflects heat, aging in warm conditions, resilience to weather, odor, and fogging. In addition, there 

are other overall performance requirements for each specific 

application of the material. For example, the requirements for 

interior plastic storage bins differ significantly from those for 

automotive seating fabrics, even though they may be made of 

similar thermoplastics. Although both are located in the vehicle’s 

interior cabin, each has a set of unique requirements that are designed to demonstrate how the component might fail in the field. 

A molded interior component is tested for the requirements described above, whereas seating fabrics are tested for wear, seam 

strength, tear strength, rubbing resistance, soiling and cleanability, resistance to staining, and shrinkage, among others. Since the 

design of a component can also play a role in its failure, both 

material and component testing are critical. 

Natural Fiber Composite Technical Challenges

These stringent automotive requirements can be difficult to 

meet even with traditional petroleum-based plastics. When biobased materials are considered, the material has to meet existing 

requirements, and new failure modes must be considered that 

are specific to the class of biomaterial. For example, natural fiber 

composites will have different potential failure modes than glass 

fiber composites. The following are a few of the unique performance challenges for these types of biomaterials.

Reinforced thermoplastic composites are typically manufactured by melt extrusion followed by injection molding or other 

melt processes, in which the thermoplastic is heated to a molten state. The melt temperatures of the thermoplastics are often 

high enough to cause some thermal degradation of the natural 

fiber reinforcements and fillers. Thermal damage can include 

discoloration or odor that may or may not affect mechanical 

performance, depending on the degree of degradation. Novel 

processing techniques or, as in the case of WSPP, formulation 

changes can improve the thermal stability of the fibers in the hot, 

melted state. For other natural fiber–reinforced composites that 

rely on dispersion at the much finer fibril level or for thermoplastics with very high melt temperatures, reducing thermal degradation and odor is an active area of research.

Because of the lignocellulosic make up of natural fibers, 

their surface chemistry gives rise to behaviors that are quite different from fiberglass and mineral reinforcements in a polymer 

matrix. Cellulose is itself a water-insoluble polymer, but because of its anhydroglucose repeat units, it has a rigid hydrogen 

bonding network and can swell significantly in moist conditions 

(Kontturi, 2005). There is a fundamental incompatibility between water-loving (e.g., hydrophilic) cellulose and a nonpolar, 

water-repelling (e.g., hydrophobic) polyolefin matrix. To avoid 

this incompatibility, our composites could have been made with 

polyamide or polylactide polymer matrices, which can themselves absorb moisture and are therefore more compatible with 

cellulose reinforcement, but moisture absorption of the finished 

plastic can be a critical problem. Instead, we opted to enhance 

the interfacial adhesion between PP and the straw, either by adding a compatibilizing agent during compounding or by surface 

modification of the fibers themselves. Also, because of their 

water-absorbing (e.g., hygroscopic) nature, natural fibers require 

drying to drive off moisture prior to any melt processing. Once 

compounding and manufacturing processes were optimized, still 

more tests were required to ensure the storage bin worked well. 

Polylactide and Its Technical Challenges

The soy-based polyurethane and WSPP are derived from 

combinations of renewable and fossil fuel raw materials. Polylactide or poly(lactic acid), also known as PLA, is a thermoplastic polyester derived completely from a renewable feedstock and 

has several end-of-life options, including chemical and mechanical recycling and composting. It can be processed into many 

forms from fibers to films to molded components. Polylactide 

plastics are popular with the sustainability movement and have 

found moderate success in recent years in consumable applications that take advantage of PLA’s relatively fast degradation in 

industrial composting environments. Use of PLA for automotive 

applications requires the assessment of long-term performance. 

Whereas a fast degradation rate is desirable for disposable things, 

long-term stability (i.e., slow degradation rate) is necessary for 
number 7 • 107

durable goods. For automotive components, not only does the 

material need to meet the mechanical performance specifications 

for a newly molded part, but it must maintain its performance 

throughout the lifetime of the vehicle (>10 years). Because PLA 

is formed by condensation polymerization, its primary mode of 

degradation is by hydrolysis, which is accelerated with exposure 

to high heat and humidity. 

Ford researchers have extensively studied the processability, performance, and durability of commercial injection molding grades of PLA (Harris and Lee, 2007, 2010). Sufficiently 

durable for consumer products such as electronics, these commercial grades showed a dramatic decrease in molecular weight 

(i.e., breaking down of the polymer chain) and mechanical performance over time when subjected to conditions that mimic 

the environment inside a car in the southeastern United States. 

The evaluation involved conditioning samples of crystalline 

and amorphous PLA together in a humidity chamber that was 

maintained at 50°C and 90% relative humidity. On the basis of 

previous correlations (Bauer et al., 2006) for petroleum-based 

polymers, one week of exposure at these conditions was considered to be approximately equivalent to an automobile interior exposed for two months in Florida. Therefore, a material 

suitable for an interior automotive application would need to 

maintain mechanical performance for at least 60 weeks at these 

exposure conditions in order to meet 10-year durability requirements. During this test, the flexural strength of the PLA samples 

decreased, and the samples became more brittle. After only 8 

weeks of conditioning, both the amorphous and crystalline samples had lost significant strength and by 12 weeks no longer had 

mechanical integrity (Harris and Lee, 2010). Thus, these types of 

PLA were unsuitable for the interior of an automobile.

Improving the durability of PLA to meet automotive requirements is the subject of current ongoing research. Blending 

or alloying PLA with certain petroleum-based resins could reduce hydrolysis to an acceptable level. An alternate approach 

might be to eliminate the potential for the hydrolysis reaction by 

which PLA breaks down. The addition of moisture scavengers 

or sacrificial compounds and capping functional groups at the 

ends of the polymer strands are strategies that can address the 

root cause of PLA’s instability without reducing the amount of 

renewable content.5

 Significant improvements in durability are 

required prior to more widespread durable use in automotive 

applications.

Economic Challenges

These technical challenges are significant, but there is no 

doubt that they can be addressed. At the same time, for these biobased materials to be a more sustainable solution for automotive 

applications, they must be economically and socially sustainable 

as well. The move from a petrochemical economy to a future bioeconomy will need concurrent development of technology and 

infrastructure that enable stakeholders to participate along the 

entire supply chain. Many of the economic hurdles for the first 

implementer in the bio-based materials space can be overcome 

by establishing tools and infrastructure for the collection and delivery of agri-based feedstocks, construction of biorefineries, colocation or hubs to connect the new value chains, and increasing 

volumes to take advantage of economies of scale.6

 All of these 

things need to take place in a coordinated manner, so cooperative research and open innovation are essential.

FUTURE OUTLOOK FOR BIO-BASED 

MATERIALS AT FORD MOTOR COMPANY

We are encouraged by the sustainable material successes 

we have implemented over the past 15 years at the Ford Motor 

Company. From our perspective, the biomaterials industry and 

the number of people now working in this space has exploded. 

With more university research and small companies innovating, 

we expect to accelerate our progress. The proportion of biobased materials continues to increase in packaging and consumer 

goods and also in durable applications like transportation. Continued innovation and growth will be propelled by drivers such 

as consumer awareness, desire for sustainability, and petroleum 

availability. We believe that as current innovation waves like 

information technology mature, the next innovation wave will 

center on sustainability and cleantech.

Ford Motor Company’s biomaterials research team has been 

on the leading edge of bio-based materials research and development, and we plan to continually demonstrate our leadership in 

this area for years to come. It is our goal to further expand biobased material technologies we have already developed to new 

product applications and vehicle programs. This expansion will 

require partnerships with our supply base, the farming community, and academia as well as leveraging resources from government institutions and other third parties. We will also strive to 

strengthen our research portfolio and fill the technology pipeline 

to ensure that Ford has novel, renewably sourced material formulations that meet or exceed our stringent specifications for years 

to come. It is our hope to implement many Ford-first biomaterials 

in future products and continue the legacy of Henry Ford. 

NOTES

1. Henry Ford’s thrifty attitude that waste materials could be repurposed in 

other products is also discussed by Brooks (this volume).

2. This is not to be confused with today’s Fordite, an ecojewelry material made 

of layers of hardened automotive paint that is collected from automobile assembly plants and cut and polished to create gems that resemble agate.

3. Henry Ford’s experimentation with soy fiber and the problems with soy fibers 

in general are discussed by Brooks (this volume).

4. Examples of creating plastics from agricultural feedstocks are discussed by 

Madden (this volume), Brooks (this volume), Friedel (this volume), and McGath and Madden (this volume).

5. Note that here the authors’ goal is to create plastics from renewable sources, 

but they do not want to, and cannot, work with plastics that break down easily. This illustrates that there are multiple issues to consider in debates about 

plastic and the environment.
108 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

6. This need for better infrastructure to streamline biofeedstock processing is 

similar to Mike Biddle’s call in this volume for infrastructure to aggregate 

discarded plastics so they can be recycled efficiently. Technological solutions 

often require that regulatory and industrial structures be modified as well.

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ABSTRACT. The collection at the Smithsonian American Art Museum includes more than 200 

works that list “plastic” as all or part of the work’s composition. The museum’s highly active loan 

and exhibition program requires that many of these plastic works receive conservation treatment 

before they are exhibited as aesthetic objects. Examples of deterioration in the collection are presented, followed by treatments of three specific artworks that show varying degrees of conservation 

intervention and exemplify the methodology and type of treatments that have been carried out on 

sculpture composed, wholly or in part, of modern polymers as case studies.

INTRODUCTION

For nearly 20 years visitors to the Smithsonian American Art Museum (SAAM) 

have been greeted by a colorful bucking stallion ridden by a pistol-wielding cowboy. The 

sculpture Vaquero by the American sculptor Luis Jimenez (1940–2006) stands more than 

16 feet tall and is the artist’s proof of a series of five casts from 1981 (Figure 1). Its colorful surface is a pigmented acrylic-urethane copolymer coating on a fiberglass form that 

is supported by an internal steel armature. This monumental sculpture is one of more 

than 200 works of art in the SAAM collection that list “plastic” as their medium in the 

database of collection holdings. That number would be higher if the museum’s collection 

were closely considered to include minor constituents of the artworks. Because SAAM is 

an art museum dedicated to the aesthetic experience, objects and sculptures are expected 

to appear at their best when on view. This requirement is a challenge for a sculpture conservator who must address plastics that vary widely in composition, may become chemically unstable as they age, are damaged unintentionally or by vandalism, or are exhibited 

under inclement conditions like Vaquero, which has spent nearly two decades outside. 

These problems are illustrated here with some examples from the SAAM collection and 

some solutions I have developed for their care.

PLASTIC IS A CATEGORY OF MATERIALS

We tend to recognize plastic when we see it, but most of us do not know much about 

what it is or how it is made. Just as there are many different metals, there are many kinds 

of plastic, each with a peculiar name and particular material properties. A plastic may be 

named for its polymer component like polyester or cellulose acetate butyrate (CAB), for 

a popular brand name like Lucite, or by a common name like vinyl, which usually refers 

to polyvinyl chloride (PVC). Most plastics also contain additional substances that modify 

the plastic’s color, opacity, or flexibility, for example. Myriad possibilities of composition, 

Smithsonian American Art Museum, Lunder Conservation Center, MRC 970, P.O. Box 

37012, Washington, D.C. 20013-7012, USA. 

Current address: St. Louis Art Museum, Conservation Department, Forest Park, 1 Fine Arts 

Dr., St. Louis, MO 63110, USA.

Correspondence: L. H. Shockey, hugh.shockey

@slam.org

Manuscript received 19 August 2016; accepted 

13 February 2017.

Conservation of Plastics at the Smithsonian 

American Art Museum

Lucian H. Shockey Jr.
110 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

some of which hold up well in a museum and others that do not, 

are the result. The composition of a plastic also affects how conservators treat it. For example, composition influences what can 

be used to clean it, what substances can adhere to it, and what 

kinds of repair materials will visually match the original. For 

these reasons it is important to distinguish which kind of plastic 

one is dealing with, but that is not necessarily possible by looking alone. For example, three entirely plastic works on exhibit 

at SAAM are very similar in color, texture, and scale but differ 

in composition. Frederick Eversley’s Untitled is a solid piece of 

cast polyester resin (Figure 2). John McCracken’s Untitled also 

is made of polyester, but the resin is filled with reinforcing glass 

FIGURE 2. Frederick Eversley, Untitled, 1974. polyester resin/

cast, approximately 19.5 in. diameter and 6.5 in. deep (50 × 

17 cm). 1983.82, Smithsonian American Art Museum. Photograph by author.

FIGURE 1. Vaquero by Luis Jimenez graces the north entrance to the Smithsonian American Art Museum. Modeled 1980/cast 1990; urethane, fiberglass, steel armature, 199 × 114 × 67 in. (505.5 × 289.6 × 170.2 cm.). Gift of 

Judith and Wilbur L. Ross Jr., Anne and Ronald Abramson, and Thelma and Melvin Lenkin, 1990.44. Photograph 

by author.
number 7 • 111

fibers (Figure 3). John Safer’s Chandelle is crafted from a sheet 

of black glossy plastic that is described in the museum records as 

Lucite, which is a brand name of polymethyl methacrylate (Figure 4). These three glossy, dark plastic sculptures are chemically 

and structurally quite different.

PLASTIC CONSERVATION CHALLENGES

Some works in the collection cannot be shown because they 

have condition problems that have yet to be solved. In other 

cases, we do find ways to treat artworks so that they can be 

exhibited. Interaction between the artwork and packing materials during long-term storage is one common problem. Robly 

Glover’s Fish Bait Necklace (2002) is an elastomeric work, 

shown in Figure 5. The “fish baits,” or lures, have begun to 

exude a liquid into the Tyvek dust cover that protects the sculpture in storage. This liquid may be an oily plasticizer or other 

additive in the plastic fish baits that is attracted to the nonpolar 

nature of Tyvek, a nonwoven polyethylene fabric produced by 

DuPont. Glen Kaufman’s The Knights (1976) is a much larger, 

flexible sculpture made of vinyl tubing (Figure 6a,b). The green 

smudges visible in Figure 6b appear to be a reaction between the 

tubing and its packaging. 

Substances migrating out of plastic is a common problem 

that we sometimes choose to treat and other times do not. Fish 

Bait Necklace and The Knights are not exhibited now because of 

their disfigurement. On the other hand, Robert Morris’s Model

FIGURE 4. John Safer, Chandelle, 1969, revised 2013. Lucite, approximately 77 × 27 × 13 in. (196 × 69 × 33 cm). Gift of the artist, 

2007.23, Smithsonian American Art Museum.

FIGURE 3. John McCracken, Untitled, 1981. Resin and fiberglass, 

98 × 201⁄4 × 21⁄2 in. (248.8 × 51.5 × 6.2 × 6 cm). Bequest of Edith S. 

and Arthur J. Levin, 2005.5.45, Smithsonian American Art Museum.
112 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

(1967) is a vacuum-molded sheet of bright green CAB that was 

treated before being loaned to another museum (Figure 7).

Scratches, scuffs, chips, and other mechanical damage are 

common in plastic artworks. Most plastics are soft and easily 

marred by routine handling, resting the object on a harder rough 

surface, contact with packaging materials, and even routine 

dusting.

Finally, presenting artworks in our galleries also carries some 

risk. Occasionally, pieces have been damaged by our visitors. These 

damages must be remedied if the artwork is to remain on exhibit.

FIGURE 6. (a) Glen Kaufman, The Knights, 1976. Vinyl tubing, each unit 48 in. tall (19 cm). Gift of the artist, 1992.61, Smithsonian American 

Art Museum. (b) Detail of The Knights that shows a reaction between the vinyl tubing with the packing material. Photograph courtesy of Helen 

Ingalls, Smithsonian American Art Museum.

FIGURE 5. Robly Glover, Fish Bait Necklace, 2002. Silicone, 15 3/8 × 12 1/4 × 1/2 in. (39.1 × 31.1 × 1.4 cm). Gift of Kenneth R. 

Trapp in memory of F. Harry Bottoms, 2002.85.1, Smithsonian American Art Museum.
number 7 • 113

CASE STUDIES: 

THREE APPLIED TREATMENTS

Conservators strive to prevent these damages from happening in the first place with preventive preservation methods. 

However, when treatment is required, the methodology is carefully considered (American Institute for Conservation, 1994; International Council for Monuments and Sites, 1964). The least 

invasive methods are always preferred, but sometimes a more 

interventive approach must be taken to correct the problem. 

Three case studies of treatments performed on our collection are 

presented here in order of invasiveness. 

Model: Minimum Intervention

As described above, Model is a vacuum-molded CAB sheet 

work. During a routine examination in preparation for its shipment, a white haze was observed along with scuffs and scratches 

(Figure 8). The haze was visually distracting and drew attention 

away from the sculpture’s color and shape. With closer observation we saw a white substance on the surface, but we did not 

know if it had emanated from within the plastic or had been 

deposited onto it from some external source. A pattern of spots 

resembled the bubble wrap in which the sculpture had been 

wrapped at one time. Whether the white substance came from 

the sculpture, the bubble wrap, or a reaction of the two remains 

unanswered. The most common way to remove a surface haze 

is to wipe it off with a cloth and maybe some water or other 

solvent. However, CAB has an intrinsically soft surface that can 

be scratched by even gentle wiping, and it can swell in some 

solvents, which softens it further. It is particularly sensitive to 

water (Y. Shashoua, National Museum of Denmark, personal 

communication). I chose instead to try ablating the white surface haze with carbon dioxide (CO2

) snow (Hill, 1994; Sherman 

et al., 1999; Cano, 2001; Sherman, 2007). In this technique a 

FIGURE 7. Robert Morris, Model, 1967. Cellulose acetate butyrate, 23 1/8 × 19 3/8 × 1 1/4 in. (58.7 × 49.1 × 3.1 cm). 1971.84.86, 

Smithsonian American Art Museum. Photograph by author.

FIGURE 8. White haze on the surface of Model. Photograph by 

author.
114 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

high-velocity stream of dry ice microcrystals is blown onto the 

sculpture and lifts away small loose particles (Figure 9).The dry 

ice crystals sublimate into CO2

 gas on contact with the sculpture 

and leave no residue behind. This method worked well in initial 

tests, so the decision was made to move forward with treating 

Model (Figure 9). The carbon dioxide snow ablation was carried out at atmospheric pressure in a climate-controlled room at 

22°C (72°F) and 45% relative humidity.

The surface before and after cleaning was compared under a 

microscope (Figure 10). It is important to keep in mind that the 

goal of the treatment was to remove only the hazy white material 

without introducing—or removing—other surface deformations. 

The red oval in each panel highlights a scuff that was not affected by this treatment.

Nearly all traces of the haze were removed, and those that 

remain are visible only in a few areas under extreme lighting 

conditions (Figure 11). However, the haze no longer distracts 

visually, and the sculpture’s overall form and color have regained 

precedence (Figure 12).

Preamble: Moderate Intervention

Preamble is an assemblage of 51 polymer-coated automobile license plates mounted on a wood support that is covered 

with vinyl-coated fabric and edged with aluminum (Figure 13). 

The license plates are arranged alphabetically by state (plus the 

District of Columbia), and the plate codes phonetically spell out 

the Preamble to the United States Constitution. In an unfortunate incident this work was vandalized with what appeared to 

be a blue felt-tipped marker. 

The blue, solvent-based ink absorbed into and stained the 

polymer coating of the Georgia plate (Figure 14). My goal was to 

FIGURE 9. The CO2 snow ablation process in action. Photograph Susan Edwards.
number 7 • 115

FIGURE 11. Surface before treatment with white haze (top) and 

after treatment with the haze nearly entirely removed (bottom). 

Photographs by author.

FIGURE 10. Surface before treatment (top) and after treatment (bottom) as seen under a microscope. Scuffs on the surface, circled in red, 

were not removed. Photographs by author.
116 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

remove the ink with a solvent that would not affect the polymer 

coating or otherwise change the plate’s appearance.

I happened to have an old license plate with a similar surface 

that allowed me to test various solvent and application methods 

to determine which combination might work to remove the ink 

and avoid damaging the license plate (Figure 15).

The first approach was to apply a solvent poultice of kaolin 

clay wetted with a solution of diacetone alcohol (4-hydroxy-2-k

eto-4-methylpentane) and deionized water (1:1 by volume) that 

would dissolve the ink and on drying draw it out of the polymer 

film. This worked well on the test plate (Figure 15). However, it 

was too aggressive for the artwork’s Georgia plate. The solvent 

mixture swelled the polymer coating (Figure 16). This swelling 

was recorded with a Hirox KH-7700 digital microscope, which 

can help visualize subtle changes in transparent materials. It may 

be that the polymer coating on my old license plate had crosslinked chemically and had become more resistant to solvents 

after many years of exposure to sunlight and air. The Georgia 

plate of Preamble was never installed on a car and exposed to the 

elements, so the polymer coating might be more sensitive. This 

observation alone is worthy of note as it suggests the properties 

of a polymeric film that has become tougher yet appears to retain 

transparency with age.

Ultimately, the method that proved most successful was 

a solvent mixture of 1:1 by volume of diacetone alcohol and 

petroleum benzine (a blend of mixed-chain-length aliphatic hydrocarbons that evaporates quickly) that I dabbed on the inked 

lines with the sharp edge of a cut polyurethane cosmetic sponge. 

This removed much of the blue color but also slightly altered the 

gloss of the treated area. To unify the sheen, the entire plate was 

treated with two coats of water-soluble methylcellulose: the first 

by brush and the second sprayed to adjust the final surface. This 

coating can be easily removed with water, if necessary. Figure 17 

shows the license plate after ink removal and coating.

Untitled: Major Intervention

Frederick Eversley’s Untitled is a solid piece of cast pigmented polyester resin (Figure 18). Mr. Eversley is associated 

with the West Coast Light and Space movement, and this sculpture is a black parabolic mirror with a transparent center. The 

way the sculpture interacts with light is critical, and in the artist’s own words the surface should be “pristine” (F. Eversley, 

personal communication). Figure 19 shows two photographic 

exposures of the front of the sculpture before treatment. The 

photograph on the left was taken at the proper exposure, and the 

surface appears acceptable and without major blemishes. In fact, 

the surface is covered in scratches and is far from pristine, and 

these damages are visible in person and in the overexposed photograph on the right. The back of the sculpture was also deeply 

scratched. The thin front edge of the mirror was also marred by 

conchoidal chips (Figure 20). Grime had accumulated in these 

chips and made them more unsightly. 

Given the distraction of the damaged surface and the artist’s desire for it to be pristine, it was decided that the edge chips 

would be filled with a pigmented resin and the entire sculpture 

surface would be repolished. The first step was to clean the surface of dirt and grime, particularly in the chipped area, before 

filling it with resin. Cleaning was done with a 0.25% (volume to 

volume) solution of Triton XL-80N detergent in deionized water 

on nonwoven cotton linter pads. Detergent residue was removed 

with deionized water. 

The edge chips were filled in next. I contacted Mr. Eversley 

to learn more about the process he had used in the past, whether 

this had changed over time, and how he would suggest restoring 

his pieces (F. Eversley, pers. comm.). The artist provided enough 

information to devise a plan, and he even specified a specific polyester resin to use. Nonetheless, many mockups and tests were 

required before I felt I could reliably craft a fill that matched 

well in color and transparency and that had a repeatable cure 

time. A series of mockups with varying proportions of polyester 

resin, catalyst, and pigment were created. Ultimately, the fill was 

made with Silmar SIL95A-40 (batch 11250040F) polyester resin, 

tinted with North American Composites A-802 “Black Pigment” 

(batch 150), and catalyzed with methyl ethyl ketone peroxide. 

The resin and catalyst are toxic and flammable until cured, so the 

work needed to be carried out under good ventilation. 

FIGURE 12. View of the Model after treatment. Photograph by 

author.
number 7 • 117

The last step was also the most invasive. To reestablish a finish 

that resembled the artist’s original “pristine” surface, the sculpture 

was repolished with abrasive methods following a combination 

of the artist’s original and current polishing processes. The artist’s 

original process for this sculpture back in 1974 was to wet sand 

through to 600 grit followed by machine buffing with custom buffing compounds and applying a final coating of automotive wax. 

However, by the time I treated this sculpture his polishing methods 

for cast polyester resin sculptures had evolved to wet sanding sequentially through 12,000 MicroMesh grit followed by machine 

FIGURE 13. Mike Wilkins, Preamble, 1987. Painted metal on vinyl and wood, 96 × 96 in. (244 × 244 cm). Gift of Nissan Motor Corporation, 

U.S.A., 1988.39, Smithsonian American Art Museum.
118 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

FIGURE 15. Kaolin poultice on test license plate (left) and the plate after removal of the poultice (right). The ink stain is reduced, 

and the change to the plate surface is barely visible. Photographs by author.

FIGURE 14. Preamble vandalized plate with blue ink graffiti. Photograph by author.
number 7 • 119

FIGURE 16. Top: Photomicrograph of the Preamble Georgia plate in which bright dots circled in red 

are the polymer coating swelled by the applied solvent (140×). Bottom: Three-dimensional, digital, 

topographic rendering of the red circled area on the left. Here the slight increase in height of the swelled 

polymer is shown in lighter green. Three-dimensional digital technology can be very useful to help interpret subtle surface changes in transparent materials. Photographs by author.
120 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

FIGURE 17. The license plate after treatment. Photograph by author.

FIGURE 18. Frederick Eversley, Untitled, 1974, as 

exhibited. The optical effects of mirror and transparency dominate rather than the surface texture. 

Photograph by author.
number 7 • 121

FIGURE 20. Left: Detail of the chipped outer edge of the parabola. Right: The 

chipped edge as seen under the microscope at 50× magnification. Photographs by 

author.

FIGURE 19. Untitled as seen under normal lighting for exhibition (left) and an overexposed image in which scratches and other damages are 

evident (right). Photographs by author.
122 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

polishing up to 1 μm with MicroMesh fluid polish, and a final 

machine buff with 3M Perfect-It Machine Polish, a proprietary 

wax, microabrasive, and silicone solvent mixture for final surface 

finishing. These differences are important because no surface is 

without texture, and what looks smooth to the eye is relative. One 

could expect a 1974 Eversley surface would look ever so slightly 

different from a sculpture he would create today. I also was faced 

with a different surface from what Mr. Eversley started with, so 

my polishing sequence would necessarily be different. To honor 

his methods and restore the damaged sculpture sitting in front of 

me, I tried to combine elements of his processes with my own.

My first step was to measure the depth of damages I wanted 

to remove. For example, a gouge on the back surface is detailed 

in Figure 21. Viewed at 100× magnification, one can see that 

FIGURE 21. Top left: Detail of scratches on the back of the sculpture. Top right: At 100× magnification, a deep scratch is visible crossing the 

network of finer polishing marks. Bottom: Three-dimensional rendered image of the same area from which the gouge was measured to be 40 

μm. Photographs by author.
number 7 • 123

the deep scratch was surrounded by a finer network of scratches 

that were left by the artist’s polishing and finishing process, and 

these fine scratches constituted the sculpture’s original pristine 

finish. The depth of the gouge was measured by creating a threedimensional computed image with our Hirox digital microscope. Knowing the depth of the scratch was 40 μm helped me 

to select the most appropriate grit sandpaper to remove these 

scratches. Grit is a standard measure of the size of abrasive particles on a piece of sandpaper. Matching the particle size to the 

scratch depth was important to remove just enough material 

to make the scratch less evident but not cut too aggressively. 

Armed with an idea of how much surface I needed to remove to 

erase the most serious gouges, I decided on a polishing regime 

of wet sanding up to 2800 grit and then 3800, 4000, 6000, and 

8000 MicroMesh grits, followed by a machine polish with 5 μm 

and then 1 μm MicroMesh fluid compound. Figure 22 shows 

the sculpture, both front and back views after completion of the 

treatment.

CONCLUSION

It is my hope that this chapter offers others charged with 

the stewardship of culture’s plastic property a reference for considering the scope of restorative intervention. The use of polymers for the creation of art is certain, but their composition and 

durability are less so, which ensures an ongoing need for their 

care and periodic rejuvenation. The case studies presented here 

demonstrate how the current fundamentals of conservation decision making, treatment strategies used for traditional fine art 

materials, and new technological tools can be applied to the conservation of nontraditional artist materials. Wide variability in 

plastics demands that artworks be considered on a case by case 

basis, and professionals will often be confronted with no viable 

solution other than waiting to see if knowledge and technology 

eventually catch up with an answer. Our current understanding 

of the problems, processes, and products of preservation treatments is limited, partly because we have only just begun to wade 

into a growing tide of culturally significant plastic objects that 

demand something be done about their condition. Many current conservation practitioners are cautious about sharing techniques because of the specificity of the objects treated and the 

possibility of misappropriated protocol. I believe the climate for 

collaboration and information exchange will become more supportive as our experience with treatments for plastics grows and 

its terminology and technology become more broadly familiar. 

New conservation professionals will join the field with everbetter curriculum-based understanding of plastic materials. It is 

my opinion that we should move collectively toward fostering a 

more rapid buildup of knowledge that includes both successes 

and failures in the conservation of cultural materials made of 

plastics. 

FIGURE 22. Untitled front (left) and back (right) views after completion of the treatment. Photographs by author.
124 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

Acknowledgments

The author thanks Tiarna Doherty, Susan Edwards, Frederick Eversley, Helen Ingalls, Michael Mansfield, Carlos Parada, 

Craig Pittman, Courtney Rothbard, and Mary Tait for their support during the conservation treatments described here. 

REFERENCES

American Institute for Conservation. 1994. Code of Ethics and Guidelines for Practice. http://www.conservation-us.org/about-us/core-documents/code-of-ethics

-and-guidelines-for-practice#.Vy-QZeRRaPw (accessed May 6, 2016).

Cano, F. 2001. “Carbon Dioxide Dry Ice Snow Cleaning.” In Handbook for Critical Cleaning, ed. B. Kanegsburg, pp. 329–336. Boca Raton, Fla.: CRC Press.

Hill, E. A. 1994. Carbon Dioxide Snow Examination and Experimentation. Precision Cleaning, February, 36–39.

International Council of Monuments and Sites. 1964. The Venice Charter. http://

www.icomos.org/charters/venice_e.pdf (accessed May 6, 2016).

Sherman, R. 2007. Carbon Dioxide Snow Cleaning. Particulate Science and Technology, 25(1):37–57. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/02726350601146424.

Sherman, R., L. Hill, Y. West, and J. Sloan. 1999. Carbon Dioxide Cleaning, Going 

through Phases, a Panel Discussion of CO2

 Cleaning Technology. Precision 

Cleaning, July/August, 27–34.
ABSTRACT. Museum collections contain increasing numbers of plastic objects. Since the first production of plastics at the beginning of the twentieth century, a wide variety of plastics has been 

brought onto the market. Currently, there are hundreds of different types of plastics, each with 

specific properties to suit their purpose. Because of the unfamiliarity and complexity of modern 

plastics, recognition of modern plastics by their visual appearance is not very easy, and chemical 

analysis is often required.

S

cientific research plays a crucial role in the study, documentation, and conservation of modern and contemporary art, specifically by drawing in expertise from 

other disciplines. The problem is to strike the correct balance between technical studies and research into conservation treatments. At the Cultural Heritage 

Agency of the Netherlands (RCE) significant research has been carried out during the 

past 22 years into the conservation of plastics used for and applied in modern and contemporary art and design objects. However, before research into conservation of plastics 

can be beneficial, thorough research into the material plastic itself, its history, its manufacturing, and its degradation has to be performed. Only with thorough knowledge of 

the material and its properties and an understanding of how to solve problems that are 

encountered will conservation research be of value. Therefore, an introduction to plastics, identification, setting up reference collections, degradation, and the conservation of 

plastics will be included in a case study included in this chapter.

INTRODUCTION TO PLASTICS

Plastics are so intertwined in our daily life that a world without this material is hard 

to imagine. The majority of our present-day activities would not even be feasible without plastics. Think of the use of computers, telecommunications, packaging, domestic 

appliances, and modern design. Everyday plastic items from the past are now highly 

collectible. 

Plastics are materials that can be molded into required shapes by the application of 

heat and/or pressure. Most plastics are derived from organic starting materials such as 

oil, cotton, sugar cane, coal, and corn. Plastics have been classified in many ways. One 

scheme revolves around the origin of the raw material. Natural refers to a biologically 

synthesized material that can be molded in its natural form; examples include amber, 

horn, rubber, and tortoiseshell. Semisynthetic describes a chemically altered natural 

material, for example, casein, and cellulosic plastics. Synthetic plastics are created in 

Zuiderzeepark 49, 1024 ME Amsterdam, Netherlands.

Correspondence: T. van Oosten, vanoostenthea

@gmail.com

Manuscript received 19 August 2016; accepted 

13 February 2017.

Preserving Plastic: Challenges in the 

Conservation of Modern Art Objects

Thea van Oosten
126 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

laboratories from starting materials that are not polymers; examples include phenol formaldehyde, polymethyl methacrylate, 

and other polyplastics.

Plastics can also be described by their material properties, 

such as the terms thermoplastic, thermoset, and elastomer. Thermoplastics such as the cellulosic esters, polyamide, polycarbonate, polyethylene terephthalate, polypropylene, polystyrene, 

polyethylene, and polyvinyl chloride (PVC) are plastics that 

can be remelted again and again after molding and thus can be 

recycled by melting and reforming. Elastomers such as rubber 

(natural and synthetic), polyurethane rubbers, PVC rubber, and 

silicon rubber are elastic materials with specific (elastic) properties. Thermosets such as casein formaldehyde, glass-reinforced 

polyester, hard rubber, melamine formaldehyde, phenol formaldehyde, polyurethane foam, and urea formaldehyde are plastics 

that, on being heated and molded, set permanently and thus cannot be remelted and reformed (Plastics Historical Society, 2011). 

A more detailed discussion of what plastic is and how it degrades 

is offered in Appendix A.

Plastics have been recognized and appreciated by artists. 

One of the first to use them was Naum Gabo, who created his 

Head of a Woman, a three-dimensional construction of cellulose 

nitrate sheets, in the 1920s. Modern plastics like polyethylene, 

unsaturated polyester resins, polystyrene, polymethyl methacrylate, polyvinyl chloride, and polyurethane had already been 

developed before World War II but were at the time used only 

for military applications. 

In the 1950s and 1960s plastics were once again available 

for civilian use, and artists started working with them again. The 

development of new additives and compositions in the 1980s 

and 1990s improved the texture of plastics and presented new 

possibilities, which caused a boom in their application (Plastics 

Historical Society, 2011). Unfortunately, we are discovering that 

many of these plastics are chemically unstable in the long term, 

and many artworks are degrading more rapidly than other more 

traditional artists’ materials. Here we present two case studies in 

the preservation of polyurethane (PUR) foam.

INTRODUCTION TO CASE STUDIES

In the 1960s, Piero Gilardi was a young Italian artist nourished by American pop art, Italian Arte Povera, and European 

New Realism. These art movements were inspired by industrial 

production methods and growing consumption of industrial 

goods in daily life. Artists belonging to these movements, such as 

Giovanni Anselmo, Yannis Kounellis, Mario Merz, Pino Pascali, 

and Giuseppe Penone, used quick and easy techniques, and their 

materials were picked up from shelves of supermarket or from 

manufactured objects that they recycled. The work of art placed 

these objects in a new perspective and in some cases gave them a 

playful dimension. 

Piero Gilardi maintained an exceptional position within his 

movement. His use of synthetic and bright colors diverged from 

those of natural materials and minimum coloring in the work 

of the others (de Jonge, 1999). In 1965, Piero Gilardi began to 

make his Tappeti-natura (Nature Carpets) from polyurethane 

foam, playing with the concept of “artificial nature.” The polyurethane foam material enabled him to give shape to his visions 

very rapidly. The fruit and leaves arranged on Gilardi’s carpets 

were made in series, and he cut them from uncolored blocks or 

plates. The leaves were cut using templates, and the clump of 

grass was made of rolled strips of foam. 

In their finished state, the carpets are pieces of idealized 

nature and extremely colorful. The texture of the polyurethane 

foam that remains visible suggests an unreal lightness and softness. The sides of the carpet contrast with the upper part; they 

are straight and even surfaces coated with a thick black skin, suggesting that the carpet was a “cut” from nature (Lorne, 1999).

In the 1950s and 1960s, many artists and designers assumed 

that the works of art made with these new materials would always remain smooth, shiny, and flexible. It is now evident that 

they were wrong. In fact, these materials became matt and stiff, 

their elasticity disappeared, and splits and tears became apparent. Polyurethane foam eventually degrades, even when used in 

modern and contemporary art works and design objects, thus 

confronting curators, conservators, and conservation scientists 

with the consequences of the limited durability of this material: 

brittleness, crumbling, disintegration, deformation, cracking, 

delaminating, and discoloration. From 1990 onward, conservators have carried out consolidation of flexible PUR foam using 

various consolidating agents as a curative method on degraded 

objects in the hopes of retarding or inhibiting their degradation 

(van Oosten, 2011). 

Open (flexible) foams have a limited life span, and therefore, 

a research program was carried out at RCE to find a consolidation 

method to inhibit photooxidation and to prolong the life span of 

the works of art. In order to predict the longevity of polyurethane 

foam, the current condition and rate of decay of the object need 

to be ascertained. Better insight into the condition of polyurethane foam makes it easier to decide whether to consolidate or 

postpone consolidation treatment. As long as polyurethane foam 

has not lost its structural integrity, objects can in some cases be 

restored using traditional techniques whose suitability and reversibility have been proven. Objects that have degraded to such an 

extent that they will soon lose their significance require invasive 

treatments. For these objects there is simply no time to wait for a 

better treatment because the condition of the foam is so bad that 

the object will soon cease to exist altogether. Reversibility is not 

an issue when the chosen method is essentially a last resort. The 

research program into the application of a mixture of a consolidant and light stabilizer system (sunblock) onto degraded PUR 

foam included the following steps:

• research into the artist’s techniques, materials, and intent

• identification of the materials of the works of art and 

testing samples using Fourier transform infrared spectroscopy (FTIR)
number 7 • 127

• artificial light aging to observe degradation

• research into the best consolidant and the best application method to restore PUR foam works of art

• microscopic examination, measurement of cell strut 

thickness of the foam, and visualization of the consolidant

• monitoring consolidant behavior by examining the flexibility of the foam after consolidation

• condition assessment of the PUR foam by hydroxyl 

index measurements using FTIR and measuring cell strut 

thickness

• testing the consolidation method on (painted) polyurethane foam of works of art

• applying consolidant plus stabilizer (sunblock) mixture 

on real works of art

• dissemination of results and method

A key issue for conservation and restoration is the artist interview to get insight into the materials and techniques used by 

the artist and the artist’s intent. In an interview with Gilardi in 

1998, the artist demonstrated the techniques he used and donated 

materials to serve as test objects for experiments (Figure 1).

DEGRADATION OF POLYURETHANE FOAMS

Polyurethane foams undergo two types of degradation: 

(photo)oxidation and hydrolysis. Polyurethane ether (PUR-ether) 

foam is more prone to photooxidation, and polyurethane ester 

(PUR-ester) foam is more prone to hydrolysis. When it is unclear 

whether the polyurethane foam is of the ether or ester type, identification methods are required: FTIR analysis, requiring only a 

very small sample (about 0.6 mm2

), or a simple dissolving test of 

polyurethane foam in a 10% weight/volume KOH solution, requiring a sample of at least 1 mm2

. The PUR-ester foam dissolves 

in this solution, whereas PUR-ether does not; both methods are 

invasive. Noninvasive identification techniques that may be used 

are near-infrared spectroscopy, fiber-optic FTIR, and Raman 

analysis, none of which require taking a sample. 

FIGURE 1. Gilardi at work in his studio in Turin (1998). Photo by author.
128 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

STUDIES ON NEW POLYURETHANE 

ETHER FOAMS

As most PUR works of art are made of PUR-ether foam, 

research at RCE focused on this type of foam. Test samples of 

new PUR-ether foam were artificially light aged using a Xenotest 

Alpha High Energy (Atlas) chamber in which they were exposed 

to the radiation of a filtered xenon arc lamp (105 klx, 50°C, 40% 

relative humidity) to induce photooxidation. A 4-hour Xenotest is 

equivalent to one year’s exposure to museum conditions at 200 lx. 

Polyurethane ether foam is very sensitive to light aging, and 

because of the presence of aromatic structures in the polyurethane 

foam formulation, the artificially aged samples yellowed very fast. 

After 72 hours of artificial light aging (equivalent to 18 years of 

museum lighting at 200 lx), the surface of the foam began to lose 

its original characteristic surface. Moreover, after 96 hours of light 

exposure, wrinkles or cracks began to appear in the superficial 

layer of the foam. After 216 hours, wrinkles had developed all 

over the surface, and the foam had turned brittle and powdery. 

Underneath this damaged layer, the original color and structure 

properties of the foam remained unchanged (Figure 2).

Treatments Applied

The outcome of the first part of the polyurethane research 

project confirmed that PUR-ether foams are especially sensitive to 

oxidation, and therefore, further tests using consolidants to inhibit 

photooxidation were carried out. Various conservation and restoration methods for conserving flexible polyurethane foams have already been carried out and described elsewhere (van Oosten, 2011). 

Impranil DLV (Bayer Material Science, currently Covestro), 

an anionic polyester/polyether-urethane dispersion of aliphatic isocyanate in a 40% emulsion, was selected as the consolidant because 

it was easy to apply and had good aging behavior characteristics. 

Also selected for testing was Tinuvin B 75 (Ciba-Geigy, currently 

Novartis), a light stabilizing system. New PUR-ether foam test 

samples were consolidated with a mixture of stabilizer plus consolidant using a nebulizer with the help of an air compressor that 

turned the liquid into a thin mist (for concentrations and solution preparation details, see Appendix B). This process provided a 

deep and homogenous penetration of the consolidating agent (as 

was visualized when the mixture was tinted with methylene blue). 

When the mixture was nebulized for 5 minutes, a 20-mm-thick 

consolidation layer could be observed, whereas when it was nebulized for only 1–2 minutes, a consolidation depth of about 10 mm 

was reached and a very thin film of consolidant (10–15 μm) was 

deposited from the mist on the foam cell struts (Figure 3).

Artificial Light Aging

Three test sample sets were prepared from new PURether foam: untreated (i.e., control), treated with the stabilizer 

FIGURE 2. Yellowing and crumbling of the superficial layer of new polyurethane ether foam after 216 hours of artificial light aging. Photo by 

Olivier Beringuer, RCE, 2015.
number 7 • 129

Tinuvin B 75 (i.e., stabilized), and consolidated with the mixture 

of Tinuvin B 75 plus Impranil DLV (i.e., consolidated). These 

samples were subjected to artificial light aging tests. For this purpose the Xenotest Alpha High Energy (Atlas) chamber at RCE 

was used, and the samples were exposed to the radiation of a 

filtered xenon arc lamp (105 klx for 24 hours at 50°C and 40% 

relative humidity) for up to 1,100 hours to induce photooxidation. Aged test samples were examined after 48, 96, 144, 192, 

300, 400, 570, 594, 618, 666, 764, and 1,100 hours.

For both the control and the consolidated PUR-ether foam 

test samples, discoloration started after 96 hours of artificial light 

aging. The stabilized test samples showed significant protection 

against discoloration and retained their original flexibility after 

500 hours of xenon exposure. Even after 1,100 hours of artificial 

light aging, no crumbling of the upper layer of the consolidated 

PUR-ether foams was observed. The concentration of the stabilizer solution affects the time required to apply a given amount 

of product as well as the life span of the treatment: the higher the 

concentration of the solution, the shorter the nebulization time. 

The higher the amount of stabilizer spread into the foam, the 

longer the effectiveness of the treatment.

Microscopic Examination

The cell strut thickness of the polyurethane ether foam test 

samples before and after artificial aging was measured using a 

Zeiss Axioplan 2 imaging research microscope equipped with a 

digital camera (Zeiss Axiocam MRc with AxioVision software; 

Figure 4). Measurements of the width of the cell struts were 

made using the measurement tool after calibration scaling of the 

AxioVision software.

An average cell strut size of 95 μm was measured for the 

control samples, whereas after artificial light aging (192 hours), 

the strut size decreased to about 50 μm, a decrease of about 

FIGURE 4. Microscopic appearance of the control PUR-ether foam. 

Top: New, unaged foam. Bottom: Foam artificially light aged for 

192 hours. Note the decrease in the width of the cell struts after 

aging. Photo by Olivier Beringuer, RCE, 2015.

FIGURE 3. Consolidant mixture tinted with methylene blue to visualize the consolidant layer. Left: The new foam test sample after 5 minutes 

of nebulization. Middle: Detail of the cell foam structure at the edge of the consolidated layer. Right: Detail of the thickness of the consolidated 

layer on the cell structure wall after 2 minutes of nebulization. Photos by Olivier Beringuer, RCE, 2015.
130 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

40% in thickness. From this point onward, breaks in cell struts 

were visible under the microscope, and the foam was brittle 

and crumbly when touched. The decrease in cell strut size due 

to photooxidation is a result of chain scission and cross-linking 

of the polymer, resulting in a decrease in molar mass. Its “critical” molar mass means that at a certain point, the stress already 

imparted during the manufacture of the foam is higher than the 

strength of the polymer itself, resulting in breaking of the struts 

at their weakest point, which is generally located in the middle. 

After consolidation with the mixture solution, the cell strut 

widths increased from 90 to 105 μm, whereas the stabilized 

samples showed no changes on the foam skeleton widths. After 

artificial light aging, there was a significant decrease in the width 

of the cell struts due to photooxidation for all samples. 

After 192 hours of artificial light aging, the widths of the 

cell struts of the control PUR-ether foams reached a minimum 

value of about 55 μm, which represents a 42% decrease from the 

original width of 95 μm. In contrast, stabilized samples showed a 

decrease in cell strut width only after 1,100 hours of light aging; 

the decrease was from 95 to 75 μm, about 21%, and no brittleness or breaks were detected in the cell struts. The best result 

was achieved with the consolidated samples (with the mixture 

solution), for which the thickness decrease was 12.5%, with no 

breaking or crumbling after 1,100 hours of light aging (Figure 5).

The foam cell strut thicknesses of all PUR-ether foam test 

samples before and after artificial aging are plotted in Figure 

6. The unaged control samples had an average strut width of 

95 μm. This width did not change with the application of the 

stabilizer and increased to 120 μm after consolidating with the 

mixture solution. After artificial light aging, all test samples, control, treated, or consolidated, showed a decrease in the initial cell 

strut size due to photooxidation. These decreases were 42% for 

the control, 21% for the stabilized sample, and 12.5% for the 

consolidated sample. The samples stabilized with Tinuvin B 75 

showed a decrease in cell strut size from 95 to 75 μm (21%) after 

1,100 hours of light aging. No breaks were visible in the cell 

struts, and there was no brittleness. The consolidated samples 

(with the mixture solution) showed the smallest decrease in cell 

strut size, from 120 to 105 μm (only 12.5%) after 1,100 hours 

of artificial light aging (see Figure 5). 

Fourier Transform Infrared Spectroscopy

To verify the composition and study the molecular changes 

caused by artificial aging, the FTIR spectra of the test samples 

were recorded before and after consolidation as well as after artificial light aging. A PerkinElmer Spectrum 1000 FTIR spectrometer combined with a Golden Gate Single Reflection Diamond 

ATR unit (sample size 0.6 mm2

) was used to record the spectra 

from 4000 to 600 cm−1. 

Polyurethanes can be identified by the presence of three 

characteristic absorption bands corresponding to the amide II 

band (NH deformation) at approximately 1,538 cm−1, the amide 

FIGURE 6. Cell strut size in micrometers versus hours of light aging 

for control samples and samples treated with only the stabilizer 

(Tinuvin B 75) or the stabilizer plus consolidant mixture. The measured cell strut decreases for the samples at the end of the experiment 

were 42% (control), 21% (stabilized), and 12.5% (consolidated).

FIGURE 5. Artificial light aging behavior of PUR-ether foam. Top: 

Consolidated sample prior to artificial aging. Bottom: Consolidated 

sample after 1,100 hours of light aging. The average decrease in strut 

width is 12.5%. Photos by Olivier Beringuer, RCE, 2015.
number 7 • 131

I band (C=O stretch) at 1,724 cm−1, and the NH stretch around 

3,300 cm−1. The presence of polyether or polyester linkages in 

the polymer chain can be established by examining the relative 

intensity of the rather large bands around 1,100 cm−1 due to 

C–O–C (ether linkage) and O=C–O–C (ester linkage). In the case 

of PUR-ester foam, the ester linkage at 1,124 cm−1 is more intense, whereas the ether linkage at 1,088 cm−1 is more dominant 

for PUR-ether foams. Specific ester absorptions of PUR-ester are 

the carbonyl at 1,725 cm−1 and the O=C–C–O–C absorption at 

1,218, 1,170, 1,124, and 1,078 cm−1 (Figure 7).

Chemical changes in polyurethane foams due to degradation 

can be seen in the FTIR spectra by the increase in hydroxyl and 

carbonyl absorption bands. However, the increase in carbonyl 

absorption could not be used because of the obscuring effect of 

the infrared absorptions by the consolidating agent (Impranil 

DLV) and the light stabilizer (Tinuvin B 75). Therefore, only the 

hydroxyl absorption was measured. By measuring the height of 

the hydroxyl absorption peak at 3,450 cm−1 (A3450) and that 

of the peak at 1,850 cm−1 (A1850), where no organic infrared 

absorption occurs, the ratio of the relative absorbance (A3450/

A1850) can be calculated, that is, the hydroxyl index (HI), which 

can be used to evaluate photooxidation. The higher the HI is, the 

more oxidized the polymer is, and the more brittle and breakable an object is. The degradation due to photooxidation of both 

untreated and treated PUR-ether foams was expressed as the HI 

and plotted against artificial light aging in hours (Figure 8).

New PUR-ether foams, as they leave the factory, have an HI 

of around 1, whereas the 5-year naturally aged foam had an HI 

of close to 2. The foam used for the experiments had already aged 

5 years in the laboratory and therefore had an HI of around 2, 

FIGURE 7. The FTIR spectra of polyurethane ether (black spectrum) and polyurethane ester foam (blue spectrum), 

adapted from van Oosten (2011).

FIGURE 8. Changes in the hydroxyl index (A3450/A1850) for 

PUR-ether foam control samples and those treated with the stabilizer 

(Tinuvin B 75), the consolidant (Impranil DLV), or their mixture 

during artificial light aging.
132 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

reaching a maximum of 4 after 216 hours of artificial light aging. 

At this point the foam crumbled completely, with a total loss of 

flexibility. In keeping with previous research, it was observed that 

PUR-ether foam starts crumbling when an HI of 3 is attained. 

The PUR-ether foam treated with the stabilizer solution 

or consolidated with the stabilizer plus consolidant mixture 

(Tinuvin B 75 + Impranil DLV) showed no significant increase in 

the HI, even after more than 1,100 hours of artificial light aging. 

The exposure to 1,100 hours of artificial lighting (114,444 klx 

hr) is approximately equal to 275 years of exposure to museum 

light conditions at 200 lx. 

CONSOLIDATION OF DEGRADED AND/OR 

PAINTED POLYURETHANE ETHER FOAM

The applicability of the stabilizer plus consolidant mixture 

using a nebulizer was also tested on three different levels of 

degraded PUR-ether foam samples: discolored; discolored and 

stiff; and discolored, stiff, and brittle. Moreover, final testing on 

painted degraded PUR-ether foams was performed on some test 

pieces from the works of art by Piero Gilardi, who kindly donated them at the time he was interviewed by the author in his 

Turin studio in 1998 (Figure 9).

Test pieces of PUR-ether foam with yellow and green paint 

were nebulized with the stabilizer alone or with the stabilizer 

plus consolidant mixture solution. The latter showed the best 

results after artificial light aging for 320 hours. The PUR-ether 

foam showed no serious discoloration and no crumbling. Furthermore, the paint had not faded, and the flexibility of the foam 

had not changed. The nebulizing system of the mixture also 

worked well for the painted PUR-ether foam, not filling the cells, 

but only applying a layer of about 10–15 μm of consolidant on 

the surface of the painted foam cell struts. 

CONDITION ASSESSMENT OF PUR-ETHER 

FOAM IN WORKS OF ART

The condition of naturally aged PUR-ether artworks was assessed by comparing data acquired from naturally aged works of 

art (between 8 and 40 years) with the degradation indices of the 

artificially light aged test samples from research carried out at the 

RCE. For this purpose, the hydroxyl index values of naturally 

aged PUR-ether foams in works of art and artificially light aged 

test foam samples were compared. For example, nondegraded 

foam has an HI between 1 and 2, whereas artificially light aged 

foam with an index of 4 is totally crumbled. Foam that had been 

FIGURE 9. The PUR-ether test foam samples consolidated and artificially aged. Photos by author.
number 7 • 133

kept for 8 years in the dark had an HI of 1.7, whereas for foam 

from the chair Il Piede (from the collection of the Vitra Design 

Museum in Weil am Rhein, Germany) the HI was 3.4 after 32 

years of natural aging. When the HI of the foam from the chair 

from the Vitra Design Museum was remeasured three years later, 

it had increased to 4.2, and the foam was more degraded. In 

contrast, foam from a red Il Piede chair from the collection of the 

Kunstgewerbemuseum in Berlin showed an HI of 2.6 because the 

foam was protected by the red paint layer (Figure 10).

A difference between the condition of the outer surface and 

that of the inner foam exists. The outer layer has a higher HI, 

being more degraded than the foam directly under the surface because light penetrates only about 300 μm into an open-structured 

surface, leaving the layer underneath unaffected.

Examinations using strut size measurement with a Zeiss 

Axioplan 2 imaging research microscope and/or measuring the 

HI by FTIR could provide sufficient information to determine 

the condition of an artwork made of polyurethane ether foam. 

A three-category condition table of PUR-ether foam was set up 

using the data from the HI, the cell strut measurements, and the 

color change (Table 1). Condition 3 prescribes immediate consolidation, condition 2 recommends consolidation in due course, 

and condition 1 does not require consolidation but needs regular 

inspection. 

The stabilizer plus consolidant mixture solution gave the 

best results overall. Its success can be attributed to the properties 

of the mixture that has both a curative effect, repairing broken 

cells, and a preventive one, inhibiting oxidation, thus prolonging 

the service life of both new and degraded PUR-ether foam. Applying the consolidating agent by nebulizer results in the formation of a 10- to 15-μm-thick homogeneous layer on the cell struts 

of the foam without filling the cells of the foam, thus keeping the 

FIGURE 10. Hydroxyl index (A3450/A1850) of PUR-ether foam as a function of years in aging.

TABLE 1. Condition assessment of PUR-ether foam objects.

Condition of (C–OH) Cell

PUR-ether hydroxyl strut size

foam Category Color change index (μm) Recommendation

Good 1 Slight discoloration <2 96 Only general preservation required

Poor 2 Discoloration 2–3 75 Consolidation treatment recommended

Bad 3 Strong discoloration >3 55 Highly urgent consolidation treatment required
134 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

intrinsic flexibility of the foam. Application improves the mechanical properties such as flexibility and resilience of already 

aged and hence brittle foams and conserves new polyurethane 

ether foams (van Oosten, 2003, 2011).

In general, new and painted PUR-ether foams should be 

nebulized directly with a mixture solution of 5% Tinuvin B 75 

+ Impranil DLV to prevent oxidation (van Oosten, 2003, 2011). 

Crumbly, that is, degraded, PUR-ether requires a preliminary 

nebulization with 3% Tinuvin B 75 in isopropanol and, subsequently, a second nebulization with the 5% mixture solution of 

Tinuvin B 75 + Impranil DLV.

Case Study 1: Gilardi’s Zuccaia

The treatment of Zuccaia, part of the Tappeti-natura series, 

in which the artist created almost perfect copies of natural subjects utilizing an entirely synthetic material (PUR-ether foam), 

finally became possible in 2007 and was carried out by conservators Aleth Lorne and Ron Kievits at RCE. For several years, the 

carpet had been carefully stored in the dark. The condition of the 

polyurethane foam had remained reasonably stable (Figure 11).

The PUR Research Project had studied the degradation 

mechanisms of PUR-ether foam, and excellent consolidation results had been achieved with the consolidant plus stabilizer mixture solution discussed previously. Applied at an early stage of 

the oxidation process, the consolidant would prolong the foam’s 

life span by a considerable amount. The success of the method 

resulted from a combination of both the properties of the mixture itself and the nebulization application method. 

The consolidation of this large polyurethane foam object required a methodical approach. Good knowledge of the materials 

and manufacturing techniques of the artwork proved essential 

for the interpretation of the condition. The condition assessment of the polyurethane foam was a useful aid in designing a 

specific consolidation plan for the carpet. The mixture solution 

of consolidant plus stabilizer is a tool that can be combined in 

different ways, depending on the problems posed by the polyurethane foam object. The success in conserving polyurethane 

foam is related to its degree of oxidation. The turning point for 

the oxidation process is attained when the struts at the surface 

of the foam object begin to break. This breakdown may occur 

at variable moments during the lifetime of a polyurethane foam 

FIGURE 11. Zuccaia by Piero Gilardi as it appeared in 1993. Photo courtesy Aleth Lorne.
number 7 • 135

object, depending on the properties of the polyurethane, the artist’s technique, and the conditions to which the object was exposed. Consolidation of polyurethane foam can be carried out at 

the moment when the cell struts at the surface of the foam begin 

to break or even before this. However, very limited treatment 

possibilities exist for crumbled polyether urethane; for example, 

the removal of dust is no longer possible. Further, the consolidation process may alter the appearance of the object; for example, 

the surface may be flattened, and discoloration may occur. 

Therefore, the care of PUR-ether foam objects in collections 

involves three essential preventive measures of conservation:

• minimal exposure to light, both in time and intensity, no 

UV light, and total darkness during storage

• good protection from dust

• consolidation of the PUR-ether foam with the consolidant 

plus stabilizer mixture before surface damage occurs

Hopefully, the life span of Zuccaia can now be prolonged 

to a hundred years or more, provided it is kept under the proper 

conditions (e.g., low light levels of 200 lx and minimum dust 

exposure). 

Case Study 2: Gilardi’s Sassi

The artwork Sassi by Piero Gilardi forms part of a decorative interior and was completed in 1972. It also belongs to the 

Tappeti-natura series (Figure 12). In 2010 it was restored by Barbara Ferriani (Ferriani conservation studio, Milan, Italy). She had 

attended the “Working with Plastics” workshop at RCE in 2001 

and worked in close collaboration with RCE for this project. 

Some “sassi” (stones) had become detached from the base, 

and these were fixed and stabilized with an acrylic adhesive (Lascaux 360 HV, Lascaux, Switzerland) in relation to the base of 

the piece and its support, taking care not to force the object back 

to its exact original position so as not to further compromise the 

elasticity of the material. Since the consolidating solution contained a UV blocker and had been applied only to those areas of 

polyurethane visible to the eye, it was decided to apply the stabilizer to the entire surface. In this way an attempt was made to 

protect even the microcracking present in the paint by covering 

the entire surface to prevent further photooxidization and any 

resultant chromatic alteration. For this purpose it was important 

to find a solvent in which to dissolve the Tinuvin B 75, and as 

the microcracking in the paint surface would channel the solution into the underlying polyurethane layer, this solvent had to 

be safe for the polyurethane. The solubility of the stabilizer in 

various solvents was tested, including isopropyl alcohol (which 

had been used in the stabilizer plus consolidant mixture) and 

ethyl acetate. The former has the disadvantage of containing a 

high percentage of water, which can have a negative effect on 

the PUR-ether foam as it is retained longer. In order to avoid this 

problem, a more volatile solvent was needed, and ethyl acetate 

was found to significantly reduce the retention time in the foam. 

Once the solubility of Tinuvin in both solvents, isopropanol and 

ethyl acetate, had been verified, solutions at 2% and 3% concentration in both solvents were prepared. These solutions were 

applied to four samples and several original fragments by nebulization for different amounts of time. The cells of the samples 

did not display significant changes in any of the cases. Given the 

higher volatility of ethyl acetate in comparison to that of alcohol, it was decided that the Tinuvin should be dissolved in ethyl 

acetate at the 3% concentration. Upon conclusion of the project, 

no chromatic or tonal variations were noted in the paint layers, 

nor was there evidence of the polyurethane surfacing through the 

microfissures. 

On completion of the restoration process, the original aesthetic value and correct visual rendering of the work had been 

almost completely restored, whereas the small signs testifying to 

its history were toned down but left in place. Obviously, the work 

could no longer exist fully as a carpet with people walking or 

playing on it, and the few remaining stains testifying to its former life can at least remind us of its past use. Although it may 

have been prudent to protect the work from the adverse effects 

of UV radiation, the accumulation of atmospheric particles, and 

variations in humidity by placing it in a transparent case with UV 

protection, both the artist and the owner preferred not to do so. 

CONCLUSIONS AND 

RECOMMENDATIONS

The treatment developed for the PUR-ether foams at RCE 

was preceded by an extensive research phase of the PUR project 

led by the former Netherlands Institute for Cultural Heritage. 

FIGURE 12. Sassi by Piero Gilardi as it appeared in 1972. Photo 

courtesy Barbara Ferriani.
136 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

This research allowed students to trace and follow the deterioration processes and to identify appropriate treatment materials 

while also creating an opportunity to establish a comprehensive 

research methodology that provides procedure guidelines and 

control checks that are easy to apply throughout the process. 

It was found that simple methods, such as strut width measurement or instrumental analysis, for example, measuring the 

hydroxyl index (A3450/A1850), provide sufficient information 

to determine the condition of an artwork made of PUR-ether 

foam. Furthermore, it was established that consolidation with 

Impranil DLV in combination with the light-stabilizing system 

Tinuvin B 75 prolongs the service life of both new and degraded 

PUR-ether foam by repairing broken cells and by reducing the 

oxidation rate. The higher the amount of stabilizer distributed 

inside the foam is, the longer the effectiveness of the treatment is. 

The concentration of the mixture solution affects the time needed 

to impregnate the material with a given amount of product: the 

higher the concentration of the mixture solution is, the shorter 

the nebulization time needed is. However, although impregnated, 

discoloration of PUR-ether foam still occurs on aging, albeit at 

a slower rate. Eventually, both treated and untreated PUR foam 

test samples show the same extent of discoloration after 1,100 

hours of light aging (equivalent to about 275 years in a museum 

environment at 200 lx).

The final recommendation that can be made is that it is critical to study and document the object to understand its deterioration process. Only when that process is understood can a proper 

treatment be developed for it. Although the approach described 

here has worked well in the presented examples, it is fundamental that it be adjusted to the particular object to be treated. Art 

objects are unique, and therefore, they require unique conservation interventions. 

Acknowledgments

The author thanks conservators Aleth Lorn, Ron Kievits, 

and Barbara Ferriani for their valuable help during the research 

project on the consolidation of PUR foams and Aleth Lorne and 

Barbara Ferriani for the conservation of works of art made from 

this material using the developed consolidant.

APPENDIX A. BACKGROUND 

INFORMATION ON PLASTICS

Manufacturing

The raw materials used for the manufacture of synthetic 

polymers are derived from petroleum and coal, whereas for 

semisynthetics, wood pulp and milk form the building blocks of 

the polymer. All plastics are polymers, but not all polymers are 

plastic. Polymers are rarely useful as such and are most often 

modified or compounded with additives (including colors) to 

form useful materials. At the processing point, plastics consist 

of granules, preformed tablets, powders, syrups, or pastes. The 

performance, appearance, and stability of a specific plastic can 

be modified by a mix of additives in its recipe. Additives are 

used for a wide range of reasons, for example, to provide additional strength or dimensional stability, to act as plasticizers 

or lubricants, to supply decoration or pigmentation, to improve chemical resistance, to act as fire retardants, to protect 

against ultraviolet degradation, and to act as fillers to reduce 

cost. Commonly found additives include calcium carbonate as 

filler, camphor and phthalates as plasticizers, pigments as coloring agents, gas and air as foam expanders, glass and other fibers 

as reinforcement, antioxidants as stabilizers, and talc and wood 

flour as strengtheners. It would be impossible to process most 

polymers into useful objects without additives. Additives can be 

added in different quantities and can affect the long-term stability of the plastic

Manufacturing techniques for plastics such as injection and 

blow molding and vacuum forming are commonly used, and 

plastic objects can be identified by the marks of those techniques. 

However, nowadays, developments of plastics include the application of new technologies such as 3-D rapid prototyping 

under fused deposition modeling, a manufacturing technology 

commonly used for modeling, prototyping, and production applications. This technology was developed by S. Scott in the late 

1980s and was commercialized in 1990 (Wikipedia, 2013). Furthermore, selective laser sintering is a manufacturing technique 

that uses a high-power laser to fuse small particles into a mass 

that has a desired 3-D shape (Deckard, 1989). Another innovative technique is PolyJet 3-D printing technology developed since 

2000. This technique works by jetting a photopolymer in ultrathin layers (16 μm) onto a build tray until the part is completed. 

Each photopolymer layer is cured by UV light immediately after 

it is jetted, producing fully cured objects. Because of these new 

technologies and techniques to fabricate plastic objects, many 

more new innovative fabricated plastic objects will turn up in 

museum collections, and it will become even more difficult to 

identify an object by the look and feel or touch and probing. 

Identifying Plastics in Modern Art Objects

Plastics in art objects need to be correctly identified to ensure 

any applied conservation treatment is safe and that collection records are accurate (Hummelen and Sillé, 1999). Identifying the 

composition of a plastic, that is, the polymer plus additives, such 

as plasticizers, is not so easy. Analysis can be unsuccessful if, 

for example, the level of a particular component is low or the 

available technique is limited in sensitivity. Therefore, additional 

information that will help the researcher to interpret the results 

is needed, including the following:

• when the object was acquired or when was it made 

• trade names or trademarks on the object 
number 7 • 137

• whether the object has been conserved or restored or any 

parts have been replaced 

• the recent and past storage and/or display conditions 

• the time degradation was first noticed, the signs of degradation, and whether similar objects are behaving the 

same way

Having some level of documentation on the type of plastic 

used in a work of art, either from the collection from which it 

came or the artist, is also not uncommon. Other useful information that can help with the (nonanalytical) identification process 

includes knowledge of the history of plastics, an understanding 

of a particular artist’s methods and materials, and knowledge 

of the plastic identification codes (SPI) on some objects (Coxon, 

1993). Sometimes the nature of the degradation itself can help 

to characterize an aged plastic. However, all these sources of information can be absent or incomplete and/or unreliable. It is 

also known that various plastics can show similar characteristics 

to each other, so that simple tests may give false answers (van 

Oosten, 2001; Shashoua, 2008; Waentig, 2009).

Fortunately, many scientific methods exist for identifying 

plastics more reliably. The most useful are those that reveal the 

chemical composition of a material from microscopic sample 

sizes or even via noninvasive, in situ techniques (van Oosten, 

1999). For this discussion, it is helpful to make a distinction between identification (i.e., the polymer class) and characterization

(additional information about a polymer’s makeup and behavior, 

including more quantitative analysis of all the components in a 

product, molecular weight distribution, polymer size, and physical properties) of plastics.

Spectroscopic and chromatographic techniques such as Fourier transform infrared spectroscopy (FTIR) and pyrolysis–gas 

chromatography–mass spectrometry (Py-GCMS) are extremely 

useful for the identification of plastics. Since the 1990s, spectroscopic techniques have improved significantly in terms of the size 

of sample required, the speed of analysis, the user interface, and 

portable and/or mobile instrumentation. The use of these spectroscopic methods has become widespread in conservation and 

is likely to increase further with the recent development of handheld instruments (FTIR, Raman spectroscopy, and near infrared spectroscopy [NIR]) for rapid, noninvasive, in situ analysis. 

Although Raman spectroscopy has improved regarding many 

of the problems it had initially with fluorescence coming from 

additives in the plastics and both NIR and ultraviolet-visible 

spectroscopy have become more sensitive and more useful, the 

most widely used technique for identifying plastics is still FTIR. 

The technique is highly versatile and also permits the analysis of 

surface-deposited degradation products, polymer bond changes, 

depth profiling, and the monitoring of polymer loss. For the identification of complex mixtures of plastics and additives, however, 

Py-GCMS offers many advantages over FTIR. The main disadvantages to this technique seem to be the lack of low-cost models 

and the additional resources needed for maintenance. 

Reference Collections of Plastics

In order to evaluate suitable analytical tools for the identification of plastics and to support these analyses, a reference collection of plastics has to be used. For this purpose, at the Cultural 

Heritage Agency of The Netherlands (RCE) over 600 plastic objects have been collected, described, and analyzed. All data have 

been put in FileMaker Pro (S. Conover, RCE, The VOC Collection 

Database, unpublished, 2011). This database is great help for the 

interpretation of the analyses of unknown plastic objects. 

Another database with references called SamCo has been 

set up for Preservation of Plastic Artefacts (POPART), a European project for the conservation of plastic artifacts in museums 

(Lavédrine et al., 2012). SamCo is a box containing a collection of well-characterized reference materials representing new 

and degraded plastics found in museum collections. SamCo consists of almost 100 plastic reference samples, corresponding to 

standard materials and documented and identified objects. Each 

standard represents the reference material of a “pure” plastic, 

whereas each object represents the reference of the same plastic 

as in the standards but compounded with pigments, dyestuffs, 

fillers, antioxidants, plasticizers, etc. 

Plastics Degradation and Durability

The most frequently asked question about a contemporary 

work of art containing plastics besides what is it made of is, 

How long will it last? Lifetime expectancy is often many years; 

however, service conditions may be complex, and definitive data 

on durability are scarce. The situation is complicated by the fact 

that there are a vast number of degradation agents, service conditions, important properties, and different plastics to consider 

before durability can be defined or understood (McGlinchey, 

1993; Feller, 1994; Rabek, 1995; Brydson, 1999). 

Polymer degradation is a change in the properties such as 

tensile strength, color, shape, etc., of a polymer or polymer-based 

product under the influence of one or more environmental factors 

such as heat, light, or chemicals such as acids, alkalis, and some 

salts. These changes are usually undesirable, such as cracking and 

chemical disintegration of products, but can be, more rarely, desirable, such as biodegradation or deliberately lowering the molecular weight of a polymer for recycling. Polymeric molecules are very 

large (on a molecular scale), and their unique and useful properties 

are mainly the result of their size. Any loss in chain length lowers 

tensile strength and is a primary cause of premature cracking. The 

changes in properties are often termed aging or deterioration.

Most assessments of the lifetime of plastics are made by considering some measure of performance, such as impact strength, 

and specifying some lower limit for the property, which is taken 

as the end point. These measurements require rather large test 

samples, which is not an option when dealing with works of art. 

The quality of plastics with regard to durability is not what museums would wish for. Plastic degrades, despite the fact that some 
138 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

believe that plastics are unbreakable and durable. Plastics in modern and contemporary works of art degrade, and curators and 

conservators are confronted with the phenomena of limited durability of these materials: brittleness, crumbling, disintegration, deformation, cracking, delaminating, discoloration, and chalking. 

When plastic ages, it often has an “induction time,” during which 

it shows hardly any sign of deterioration. The induction time is 

followed by a phase during which the object ages rapidly. 

Problematic plastics that suffer from degradation due to intrinsic properties are cellulosic esters such as cellulose nitrate, cellulose acetate, cellulose butyrate, plasticized PVC, polyurethane 

foams, and elastomers. Some plastics, for example, unsaturated 

polyesters, polyethylene, and polypropylene, suffer from degradation due to external circumstances such as outdoor exposure. 

To predict the longevity of plastics, the current condition and 

rate of decay of an object should be known. 

Photochemical Degradation

Plastics are highly sensitive to spectral radiation, especially 

high-energy UV radiation, and can absorb wavelengths above 

285 nm because of impurities, in particular oxygen-containing 

species and trace levels of metals and other species present, arising from production processes (Lemaire and Lacost, 1988). 

Moreover, degradation is initiated in the extrusion of plastics 

when carbon-carbon bonds in the polymer chains break because 

of high temperatures, and unstable radicals are formed. 

Photons react with the polymer surface to form radicals. 

These radicals react rapidly with atmospheric oxygen, and hydroperoxide is formed. The photooxidative degradation process 

of polymers is a free radical chain process characterized by three 

steps: initiation, propagation, and termination. Free radicals, 

which are formed during the initiation and propagation steps, 

may undergo further reactions such as chain scission and chain 

branching with atmospheric oxygen, which will lead to changes 

in the physical characteristics of the bulk polymer (Dolezel, 

1978; Vink, 1979; Lemaire and Lacost, 1988). The decomposition of the hydroperoxide groups produces oxygen functional 

groups on the surface, including C–OH, C=O, and COOH. The 

amount of oxidized materials created on the polymer surface increases with exposure to light. 

Hydrolysis

Ester-type polymers, such as unsaturated polyesters, polyamides, and polycarbonates, can be degraded by hydrolysis to give 

lower-molecular-weight molecules. The hydrolysis takes place in 

the presence of water containing an acid or a base as catalyst, and 

it is the reverse reaction of the synthesis of the polymer.

Plastic Damage Atlas

A plastic damage atlas is currently under construction at 

RCE. This database will be part of the International Network for 

the Conservation of Contemporary Art database to facilitate the 

search for plastics, degradation phenomena, and contemporary 

art, artists, and artist interviews. Another plastic damage atlas has 

been constructed for the POPART project (Lavédrine et al., 2012).

APPENDIX B. PREPARATION OF SOLUTIONS

3% Stabilizer solution in isopropanol

The solution is prepared by dissolving 3 ml of Tinuvin B 75 

in 97 mL of isopropanol.

5% Stabilizer plus consolidant mixture

For 200 mL of solution, the following mixing order should 

be followed to obtain a homogeneous solution:

1. Mix 10 mL of Tinuvin B 75 with 12.5 mL of isopropanol 

until the Tinuvin B 75 is dissolved. 

2. Mix 50 mL of Impranil DLV with 12.5 mL of isopropanol. 

3. Mix the two solutions and dilute carefully with 115 mL 

of demineralized water while stirring with a magnetic 

stirrer for several minutes.

10% Stabilizer plus consolidant mixture

For 200 mL of solution, the following mixing order should 

be followed to obtain a homogeneous solution:

1. Mix 20 mL of Tinuvin B 75 with 12.5 mL of isopropanol 

until the Tinuvin B 75 is dissolved. 

2. Mix 50 mL of Impranil DLV with 12.5 mL of isopropanol.

3. Mix the two solutions and dilute carefully with 105 mL 

of demineralized water while stirring with a magnetic 

stirrer for several minutes.

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the Twentieth Century: The Conservation of Modern Materials, ed. D. Grattan, pp. 395–409. Ottawa: Canadian Conservation Institute.

Deckard, C. 1989. Method and apparatus for producing parts by selective sintering. U.S. Patent 4,863,538, filed October 17, 1986, and issued September 5, 

1989.

de Jonge, P. 1999. “The Unexpected Life of a Total Loss.” In Modern Art: Who 

Cares?, ed. I. Hummelen and D. Sillé, pp. 137–142. Amsterdam: Foundation 

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Heritage.

Dolezel, B. 1978. Die Beständigkeit von Kunststoffen und Gummi [The stability of 

plastics and rubber]. Munich: Carl Hanser Verlag.

Feller, R., L. 1994. Accelerated Ageing: Photochemical and Thermal Aspects. Los 

Angeles: Getty Conservation Institute. 

Hummelen, I., and D. Sillé, eds.1999. Modern Art: Who Cares? Amsterdam: Foundation for the Conservation of Modern Art and Netherlands Institute for 

Cultural Heritage.

Lavédrine, B., A. Fournier, and G. Martin, eds. 2012. The Preservation of Plastic 

Artefacts in Museum Collections. Neuchâtel, Switzerland: Editions Cths.

Lemaire, J. A. R., and J. Lacost. 1988. The Prediction of the Long-Term Photo 

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ABSTRACT. Spontaneous fracturing of museum artifacts is undesirable. Historic injection-molded 

cellulose acetate artifacts have begun to disintegrate into small pieces after 60 years in museum 

collections. A compound mechanism of volatile component loss and recrystallization is suspected 

to contribute to the deterioration and is proposed as a potential pathway for volume reduction in 

plastic waste. These underlying mechanisms of deterioration that occur over decadal timescales may 

have applications for other industries, such as recycling and waste management. The critical components of the plastic are described, and methods for inducing self-disassembly over shorter timescales 

are proposed as seeds of inspiration for new plastic materials that can break down for disposal in 

either waste or recycling streams.

INTRODUCTION

In 2014, plastic solid waste (PSW) made up 12.9% of the total municipal solid 

waste stream, which measured 258 million tons, in the United States (U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, 2016).

1

 Made predominately of carbon and other light elements, 

plastics have relatively low density, can be formed into a wide range of shapes and sizes, 

and lend themselves to objects with a high volume for their weight. Increasing stress on 

landfills and the desire to reduce fossil fuel use and increase recycling are motivators for 

improved methods to break plastic objects into smaller pieces (Hopewell et al, 2009).2

Volume reduction allows for efficient transport and storage, both for landfill waste and 

for feedstock. Small, generally uniform shapes also facilitate effective combustion for 

energy recovery, as well as washing, recompounding, and extrusion steps in recycling. 

Currently, volume reduction of plastic waste is accomplished by thermal and mechanical processes. Thermoplastic polymers can be softened with heat into more compact masses (United Nations Environment Programme, 2009). Granulators, shredders, 

guillotines, and grinders cut and mill plastic waste into pieces or finer powder (Biddle et 

al., 1999; Rapra Technology Ltd., 2002; Goodship, 2007). Some chemical alteration to 

the plastic is inevitable in this processing. Thermal effects, either by intentional heating 

of plastic to its softening temperature or by friction with mechanical cutting and grinding surfaces, can cause oxidation, volatilization, and rearrangement of molecules that 

can bring about branching, cross-linking, and an increase in molecular weight (Rapra 

Technology Ltd., 2002). Introduction of cutting fluids to cool mechanical cutting equipment would introduce the need for an extra decontamination step that may not clean the 

plastics completely of these fluids. Mechanical breakage of plastics tends to cleave polymer chains, which reduces molecular weight and changes the softening temperature and 

strength of the processed plastic (Rapra Technology Ltd., 2002). It also seems likely that 

friction with metal cutting and grinding surfaces introduces some metallic contamination 

Museum Conservation Institute, Smithsonian 

Institution, 4210 Silver Hill Road, Suitland, 

Maryland 20746, USA.

* Correspondence: M. McGath, molybdenumart

@gmail.com

Manuscript received 19 August 2016; accepted 

13 February 2017.

Engineered Self-Disassembly: 

A Plastic That Turns into Gravel

Molly McGath* and Odile Madden
142 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

into the plastic scrap and that cutting surfaces become dull and 

require periodic sharpening, which incurs expense and temporarily halts work (Biddle et al., 1999).

It has been observed that some injection-molded cellulose 

acetate objects in museum collections spontaneously disintegrate into gravelly particles over decadal timescales (Tsang et 

al., 2009). The authors are studying the underlying mechanisms 

with the ultimate goal of avoiding this fate for other cultural 

heritage artifacts. We also recognize that what is catastrophic 

and irreparable damage in the museum could have value in contexts where a self-disassembling plastic is a desirable outcome. 

Mechanisms that we believe contribute to the disintegration 

of a collection of World War II era injection-molded cellulose 

acetate artifacts could suggest new methods of volume reduction 

in waste plastics made of cellulose acetate or other polymers that 

might reduce heat-induced alteration and contamination from 

cutting processes and obviate certain equipment maintenance 

procedures such as sharpening. Here we offer a thought experiment of how this might be accomplished.

CELLULOSE ACETATE PLASTICS

Cellulose acetate is a polymer that was developed in the 

early twentieth century, reached the height of its popularity at 

midcentury, and now is a common material in museum collections. Often called a semisynthetic substance, cellulose acetate 

is manufactured by modifying natural cellulose polymer obtained from vegetal sources with acetic anhydride and sulfuric 

acid (Schilling et al., 2010), which creates a material that can 

be reformed with organic solvents and heat. Because the polymer’s softening temperature range approaches and can overlap 

with the temperature at which it decomposes (Sata et al., 2004), 

external plasticizers often are added to create molding powders 

with lower, more reliable processing temperatures. The plasticizers also modify properties of the final product, for example, by 

improving impact resistance. Low-molecular-weight phthalates, 

including diethyl and dimethyl, have been popular, and many objects incorporate some proportion of triphenyl phosphate (TPP; 

Stannett, 1950; Sully, 1962).

By 1944, 309 million pounds of cellulose ester flake were 

produced, which was more than any other moldable polymer 

except phenolic resin. According to a bulletin from Arthur D. 

Little Inc., 66 million pounds of this flake were destined for 

molding powders, which represented 30% of the total molding 

powder produced (Sollenberger, 1945).3

 In the ensuing decades 

other polymers, such as acrylonitrile-butadiene-styrene (ABS), 

became more common for injection molding, although cellulose 

acetate, propionate, and butyrate esters have remained polymers of choice for certain items like eyeglass frames, screwdriver 

handles, and playing dice (Rustemeyer, 2004). Nearly 1.8 billion 

pounds of cellulose acetate were produced globally in 2008 and 

were destined for filter tow, textile threads, films, and molded 

plastic objects (Puls et al., 2010). Today, the polymer has the 

potential to increase its popularity as a renewable, plant-derived 

plastic that can be biodegraded under the right conditions (Puls 

et al., 2010; Laird, 2013; Solvay, 2013). 

Cellulose acetate plastics are known to be unstable in the 

short and long term and degrade by multiple mechanisms (Wilson and Forshee, 1959; Edge et al., 1989). In the short term, 

cellulose acetate (CA) is vulnerable to damage by ultraviolet light 

and biodeterioration, and one can expect CA to break down 

quite quickly in the environment relative to many other synthetic 

polymers (Buchanan et al., 1993; Puls et al., 2010). For CA that 

is not discarded outdoors but rather is protected in an indoor 

environment, acetate side groups grafted onto the cellulose during production of the polymer slowly are released as acetic acid, 

which drops the pH of the material, cleaves the cellulose polymer 

chain, and gives off the notorious “vinegar” odor of the deteriorating material. Loss of volatile plasticizers further contributes 

to weight loss, shrinkage, and warping. More dramatic deterioration has been observed in a subclass of injection-molded CA 

plastics that contain diethyl phthalate (DEP) and TPP (Tsang et 

al., 2009). The authors have observed that this composition has 

a tendency to shrink more drastically and fracture spontaneously 

into many smaller pieces, whereas objects of the same shape 

without TPP do not (Tsang et al., 2009). This subset of deterioration sparked an idea for plastics that disassemble themselves 

and reduce their volume for waste and recycling.

Triphenyl phosphate is a white crystalline solid at room 

temperature and is soluble in a wide range of organic solvents. 

The compound has a long history as a plastic additive and first 

was patented as a plasticizer for cellulose nitrate in 1901 (Sachs 

and Byron, 1921). It later was incorporated into cellulose acetate 

plastics but was unpopular in some quarters because it had been 

found to crystallize in cellulose acetate lacquer and make the 

film more brittle (Hofmann and Reid, 1929). By 1950 it was recognized that the solubility of TPP in CA was enhanced with the 

addition of a coplasticizer such as dimethyl phthalate (Stannett, 

1950). Triphenyl phosphate also can stabilize volatile plasticizers 

like dimethyl and diethyl phthalates, which are known to leave 

the plastic over time (Sully, 1962). 

THE MECHANISM: 

OBSERVATIONS OF CULTURAL HERITAGE

Since 2007, the authors have examined more than 210 examples of three-dimensional injection-molded cellulose acetate 

artifacts in Smithsonian collections and conducted laboratory 

experiments on prepared facsimiles. A study of 49 coupons of 

Lumarith brand cellulose acetate plastic that make up a 1940s 

era salesman’s sample kit was published in 2009 (Tsang, 2009). 

Forty-six coupons were in fine condition, but three exhibited extreme cracking and weighed 30% less despite having the same 

molded dimensions. All contained cellulose acetate and diethyl 

phthalate, but only the three deteriorated coupons also contained 

TPP. A collection of 160 World War II era aircraft recognition 
number 7 • 143

models in the National Air and Space Museum collection is deteriorating similarly (Figure 1).

Although it is assumed that all of the models have a similar composition of cellulose acetate, TPP, and DEP (plus black 

pigment and some other compounds), around 20% currently 

exhibit visible deterioration. Degradation of the model planes 

appears to progress as shrinkage that brings about distortion, 

particularly of the airplane wings, and formation of cracks that 

progresses until the planes disintegrate into gravel, sometimes 

with sufficient force that fragments are launched across a distance of a few feet. The broken plastic is very brittle and riddled 

with jagged, angular, and conchoidal fractures.

We believe the mechanisms that distinguish this kind of 

deterioration are a combination of volatile component loss and 

recrystallization. Over many years, acetyl side groups hydrolyze 

from the polymer as acetic acid, cleave the cellulose chain, and 

diffuse out of the plastic along with volatile, low-molecularweight phthalates. This weakens the plastic, causes it to shrink, 

and introduces internal stresses. The loss of phthalate plasticizer reduces the impact resistance of the plastic, which becomes 

more brittle. The resulting environment is less hospitable to TPP, 

which has lost much of its coplasticizer and is less soluble in 

the plastic. Ultimately, the TPP recrystallizes, and the force may 

shatter the embrittled, tensioned plastic. We also have evidence 

that solid particles within the plastic can act as nucleation sites 

from which the recrystallized TPP radiates.

Fragments of these shattered objects retain the original 

polymer, solid plasticizer (now in crystalline form), a reduced 

concentration of phthalate plasticizer, and the other additives. 

It is expected that the polymer has a lower degree of acetylation 

because of the loss of acetic acid evidenced by the vinegar odor 

and that fracturing has shortened the polymer chains such that 

there is a wider range of molecular weights. It also is possible 

that deacetylation brings about cross-linking and increased molecular weight or crystallinity.

Crystallization-induced degradation of porous materials 

is well known in architectural heritage and archaeological materials that contain soluble salts (Plenderleith, 1956; Paterakis, 

1987; Cronyn, 1990; Scherer, 1999, Steiger et al., 2014). In porous materials (e.g., concrete, masonry, stone, ceramics, bones, 

teeth, and wood) that salts dissolved in water have penetrated, 

eventual evaporation of the moisture results in recrystallization 

of the salt, and the formation of this new phase exerts mechanical stresses on pore walls that can disrupt the material. This situation may be analogous to the authors’ observations of cellulose 

acetate plastics. The volatile plasticizer and cellulose acetate 

hold TPP in solution, but the diffusion of volatile plasticizer and 

acetic acid out of the material weakens, stresses, and embrittles 

the plastic and ultimately brings about recrystallization of TPP, 

which helps break apart the plastic.

HARNESSING THE MECHANISM FOR 

RECYCLING AND WASTE MANAGEMENT

We envision that deteriorated cellulose acetate artifacts could 

be inspiration for an intentionally engineered self-disassembling 

plastic that is composed of one or more polymers, a volatile 

plasticizer, and a crystalline solid that is soluble in the polymer 

plus volatile plasticizer system but less soluble in the polymer 

alone. Incorporation of particles that can act as nucleation sites 

FIGURE 1. Intact (top) and deteriorated (bottom) aircraft recognition models in the National Air and Space Museum collection, 

Smithsonian Institution. Photos by E. Keats Webb, National Air and 

Space Museum, top, and Odile Madden, Museum Conservation Institute, bottom.
144 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

for recrystallization also may be desirable. This discussion has 

focused on a specific polymer-plasticizer system, but the mechanisms conceivably could work with other polymers that require a 

volatile plasticizer for processing and impact resistance in the finished product. Plasticizers other than phthalates could be chosen 

that take into account properties like toxicity and environmental 

fate. Similarly, TPP has a relatively long history within the short 

timeline of plastics history but is only a potential first case for 

using recrystallization for size reduction in recycling and waste 

management.

Transferring this knowledge into a useful technology would 

have several challenges, the biggest of which is turning a process that has occurred naturally over a 60- to 70-year period 

into an industrially feasible activity. Unlike fine cheeses, wines, 

and scotch, for which aging increases the value of the product, 

plastic is famously inexpensive largely because of quick production cycles. Recycled material must be less expensive to compete 

with virgin feedstocks. Chasing off the volatile plasticizer more 

quickly with heat, rapid air exchange, and possibly solvation by 

plasma or high pressure potentially would speed this process. 

Because we believe formation of internal stresses is an important 

factor in disassembly, the process by which the volatile plasticizer is removed should not anneal the plastic and relieve its internal tension. 

A controlled process could be engineered to favor loss of 

volatile plasticizer but inhibit deacetylation of the polymer. The 

volatile plasticizer could be collected, and if the goal is to create 

a recycled feedstock, it could be reincorporated into the disassembled plastic gravel prior to extrusion. A shock event might 

be included to initiate crystallization, and once recrystallization 

has occurred, the brittle fragments could be broken further by 

crushing.

CONCLUSIONS

The materials science of cultural heritage offers some unique 

perspectives that might not be obvious in the research and development phase of manufacturing. Aging behavior has long been 

a feature of R & D for new materials, but the time horizon is 

limited to the intended service life of the finished product, which 

is tied to the first failures of the material. However, once an object is accessioned into a museum collection, its service life is 

redefined as indefinite. Ideally, the object will be stored in an 

environment that favors preservation, with controlled light, 

temperature, humidity, air quality, and air exchange and where 

handling of the object is limited. This careful storage extends 

the life of plastics to timescales in which we witness types of 

deterioration never seen before. For some years we have mused 

that disintegrating cellulose acetate artifacts are a disaster in the 

museum context, but a plastic that eventually turns to gravel 

surely would intrigue people involved in recycling. We offer this 

paper as potential inspiration for incorporating solid plasticizers 

and other particles into materials that can undergo controlled 

deterioration and contribute to an economy of sustainable and 

recyclable plastics. 

Acknowledgments

We thank Dawn Wallace for her research on the history of 

cellulose acetate objects in the National Air and Space Museum 

(NASM) collection. We also thank Chris Moore, Malcolm Collum, and Lisa Young of NASM and Emily Kaplan for her donation of personal objects to the Museum Conservation Institute’s 

study collection.

NOTES

1. Municipal solid waste consists of the everyday items that are found in trash 

or garbage and excludes industrially produced wastes or wastes that come 

from construction, demolition, and municipal wastewater treatment sludge 

(U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, 2013).

2. For another perspective on recycling plastic, see Biddle (this volume).—Ed. 

3. Although Sollenberger (1945) does not specify, the authors assume these values refer to plastic production in the United States.

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ABSTRACT. The author’s interest in photography and ecology serve as a brief introduction to a 

project he worked on from 2009 to 2012 in collaboration with artist Chris Jordan: a feature-length 

documentary film about the plight of the Laysan albatross on Midway Island. The film, along with a 

host of photographs, videos, and blogs produced during the project, was intended to raise awareness 

about the problem of the seabird’s ingestion of plastic garbage. Indeed, awareness raising is necessary since the negative effects plastic pollution in the oceans has on marine life have been known for 

more than half a century, yet little has been done to mitigate the problem.

MY INVOLVEMENT IN ECOLOGY

I have always been an environmentalist. From an early age my parents instilled in 

me an appreciation and love for nature. From countless camping trips and hikes into 

the forests of former Czechoslovakia, where I grew up, to the coastal mountains of lush 

British Columbia, where we moved when I was 12, I loved going to such places to find 

serenity from the hustle and bustle of city life. To this day, when I lay under a tree listening to the birds and the trees swaying in the wind, this is where I am most at peace. This 

is what I love.

My father also had a lot to do with my second love: photography and filmmaking. 

During our childhood adventures in the woods, I would borrow his Praktika camera and 

snap shots of our holidays. Once, when I was nine, we stumbled across a film set for a 

local sci-fi TV show. But did I care about the famous actors? No. All I could do was ogle 

that film camera and its operator. I knew that would be me one day.

MIDWAY NATIONAL WILDLIFE REFUGE AND 

THE GREAT PACIFIC GARBAGE PATCH

Six years ago, I met Chris Jordan, a world-renowned photographer and cultural 

activist, at a conference. Five months later, we were on a 1962 Gulfstream 1 prop plane, 

taking a harrowing five-hour flight from Honolulu, headed west to the almost geographic 

center of the world’s biggest ocean—a tiny atoll called Midway, a national wildlife refuge 

since 1988 (Figure 1). Our purpose for going was to document one of the world’s most 

devastating and symbolic environmental tragedies: the deaths of tens of thousands of 

baby Laysan albatross (Phoebastria immutabilis) from the accidental ingestion of disposable plastic trash. It was the Great Pacific Garbage Patch that had drawn our attention to 

this phenomenon a few months earlier. We wanted to create a body of visual evidence to 

raise global awareness about this silent issue.

4273 Turner Road, Kelowna, British Columbia 

V1W 2N5, Canada.

Correspondence: J. Vozenilek, jan@coppersky

productions.com

Manuscript received 19 August 2016; accepted 

13 February 2017.

Midway: A Message from 

the North Pacific Gyre

Jan Vozenilek
148 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

We had learned that our oceans are filling up with so much 

plastic pollution that in some places, scientists find more plastic 

particles than plankton (Kayser, 2012), which is the basic building block of the ocean’s food chain (see Wallace and Parker, this 

volume). We also learned that photographing and filming this 

kind of garbage patch was impossible because this marine pollution is diluted throughout the entire ocean and because a lot of 

the plastic is the size of fingernails or smaller (Aguilera, 2012). 

Yes, there are a few areas where smaller ocean gyres (Scripps 

Oceanography, 2010; Scripps Institution of Oceanography, 

2014) and currents concentrate this material, but if one were 

to go there on a boat, at first glance, it would just look like the 

crystal-clear Pacific Ocean. 

Only a few steps from where the plane landed on Midway, 

close to the breeding ground of the albatross (Figure 2), we saw 

the first albatross. It lay motionless, its bony remains and a 

few feathers still blowing in the wind, and directly in its center 

where its little stomach used to be were about two handfuls of 

bottle caps, cigarette lighters, and brightly colored plastic shards 

(Figure 3). We stood still in shock and in awe—we could not 

believe the amount of plastic inside that little body. It was truly 

hard to believe. What was even tougher was finding another one 

when we walked a few feet further, and a few steps away yet 

another. The island was covered with thousands of dead baby 

birds (Figure 4).

Witnessing this was life-changing for everyone on our team. 

Our cameras rolled and shutters snapped continuously for the 

full two weeks we were on the island. We wanted to document 

as much as we could so that people would get to know how the 

types of products we choose to use—from thousands of miles 

across the great ocean—can affect even the remotest of places. A 

place like Midway.

THE PROBLEM

Sea birds, including the albatross, do not differentiate between a piece of plastic, such as a bottle cap, or an equal-sized 

fish or squid. Thus, this mistaken identity leads to the tragedy 

(Laist, 1987). Whatever they find floating on the surface of the 

ocean, they assume might be food. Thus, they fill their bellies 

with both fish and plastic, one assumes proportionately to their 

presence near the surface of the sea, and fly back to Midway 

to feed their chicks. There they regurgitate this to their babies, 

who have been patiently waiting on their nests for their next 

meal (Figures 5 and 6). Whatever the parent feeds them, they 

trust is food. Unfortunately, a large percentage of what they are 

fed is plastic, most of it being the single-use items that we use 

every day. Thus, the babies slowly fill up with this material, and 

because they are too young to regurgitate it, their bellies eventually clog up, leading over time to their slow death, mostly by 

starvation, dehydration, choking, or the sharp shards of plastic 

puncturing their stomachs (J. Klavitter, U.S. Fish and Wildlife 

Service, personal communication). 

I was struck hard by the juxtaposition of this tragic horror 

against the incredible abundant beauty of Midway. Only a few 

feet from one of these dead albatrosses, on a little tree branch, 

was a tiny white tern (Gygis alba) chick, sitting there quietly, 

FIGURE 1. Left: Location of the Midway atoll, in the central north Pacific, northwest from Hawaii. Photo from Wikipedia Commons, http://

wikitravel.org/en/File:Midway_Atoll_in_its_region.svg. Right: Satellite view of the atoll, comprising three main islands, generally referred to as 

Midway Island(s), a larger island that subsided, leaving only the higher areas above water level. Photo from the National Centers for Coastal 

Ocean Science, https://products.coastalscience.noaa.gov/collections/benthic/e98nwhi/midway.aspx.
number 7 • 149

FIGURE 3. Body of a baby albatross showing the plastic objects collected in its stomach. Photo by the author.

FIGURE 2. The nesting ground of the albatross on Midway Atoll. Photo by the author.
150 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

waiting for its parents to come back with the next meal (Figures 

7 and 8).

These small birds are not as affected by the plastic presence 

because they eat smaller fish, and smaller plastic pieces do not 

seem to harm them the way larger ones do the albatross. Nonetheless, these smaller pieces, generally less than 1 cm in size, have 

the potential to transfer toxic chemicals, so-called persistent 

organic pollutants (POP) that certain plastics adsorb in the ocean 

(Andrady, 2011). Although these terns may not have the dramatic end of the albatross, they risk being slowly poisoned (Cole 

et al., 2011). However, we did witness the tiny pieces of plastic 

that wash up on Midway’s beaches being eaten by small crabs 

(Midway Journey, 2009a) and the pieces floating on the surface 

of the ocean being skimmed off by a school of fish (Midway 

FIGURE 6. Albatross feeding its chick. Photo by the author.

FIGURE 5. Albatross chick and its returning parent. Photo by the 

author.

FIGURE 4. Masses of dead young albatross covered the island. Photo by the author.
number 7 • 151

FIGURE 8. White tern feeding its chick. Photo by the author.

FIGURE 7. A White tern chick waiting for its parents to come and feed it. Photo by the author.
152 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

Journey, 2009b). So this material and the POP it carries are being 

ingested by many forms of marine life. The Laysan albatross is 

just the most obvious and dramatic example. 

RAISING AWARENESS

Although the Laysan albatross has been studied in particular (Auman et al., 1997; Safina, 2002), its plight on Midway 

Atoll was only slowly brought to public attention even though 

the changes on this island have been followed for years (Pala, 

2012). Using social media tools like Facebook (Midway Film, 

2012a), YouTube (Midway Journey, 2009a; Midway Journey 

2009b), Twitter (Midway Film, 2012b) and Vimeo (Midway, 

2011), we posted many short films of our findings right from the 

island. It was amazing to see the interest of viewers quickly grow.

The circle of life and death on this island goes round and 

round, as it does everywhere on our planet. But the thought that 

my personal habits contributed to these albatrosses dying, that 

those were, in fact, my bottle caps in their stomachs, and that 

symbolically, it was me who lay there was really overwhelming. 

We are slowly poisoning our oceans, the very foundation of life, 

where the world’s biggest food supply comes from. Where do we 

go from here? What does it mean for the future of our planet that 

one of the remotest places on earth is suffering this way?

It was the late Raylene Haʻalelea Kawaiaeʻa, a Hawaiian 

elder, who gave me another perspective. We had the honor of 

spending time with her prior to our trip to Midway, and she 

suggested that we not consider the albatrosses as victims, but 

rather view them as paradigmatic heroes. A paradigm for all the 

other sea life endangered by plastics, ranging from planktivorous 

organisms (Boerger et al., 2010) through gastropods (Aloy et al. 

2011) to sea turtles (Lazar and Gračan, 2011), dolphins (Denuncio et al., 2011), seabirds, including penguins (Brandão et al., 

2011), and marine mammals that are more prone to plastic net 

entanglement (Laist, 1987). The albatross are trying to convey a 

message to us that we need to heed.

Over three years, Chris Jordan and I, along with our respective teams, visited Midway Atoll eight times and created a featurelength documentary film about this symbolic phenomenon. The 

film trailer (Jordan, 2012a) has had more than 17 million views on 

the website, and awareness campaigns spread around the world. 

More than 60 short films were created and made available on social media (Jordan, 2012b; Vozenilek, 2012).

CONCLUSION

Plastic pollution in seas and oceans is now ubiquitous and 

affects all of us, as clearly described by Freinkel (this volume). 

For the paradigmatic Laysan albatross, ingestion of plastic is 

visible, and images of their plight alert the world to this global 

problem. Perhaps these noble messengers also will raise awareness that the problem begins thousands of miles away when we 

allow huge numbers of plastic objects that we decided are disposable to end up in the ocean, as if there are no consequences. 

I use my camera to spread their message because awareness is 

crucial to finding a solution. 

Acknowledgments

I am grateful to Dr. A. Elena Charola for her expert editorial 

guidance and valuable suggestions that made this a better essay.

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ABSTRACT. Marine debris is a global problem, and it is an everyday problem. There is no part of 

the world that is untouched by debris and its impacts. It is pervasive, it is an eyesore, and it harms 

our natural resources. Marine debris is a threat to our environment, navigation safety, the economy, 

and human health. Most of all, marine debris is preventable. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) Marine Debris Program leads national and international efforts to 

research, prevent, and reduce the impacts of marine debris. The program also spearheads national 

research efforts and works to change behavior in the public through outreach and education initiatives. Removing debris from the marine environment does not fully address the problem. More 

research is needed into debris and its impacts, including how plastics and the chemicals in them 

behave in the ocean. Prevention is also the key—individual responsibility must become a priority, 

and scientists, policy makers, and teachers must take action for the long-term health of our oceans.

INTRODUCTION

Ask anyone on the street to define “marine debris,” and they will probably say that 

it means garbage in the ocean—the kind that swirls in great “garbage patches” such as 

that found in the Pacific Ocean. That is partly right, but the marine debris issue is much 

more complex. 

Legally, marine debris is defined as “any persistent solid material that is manufactured or processed and directly or indirectly, intentionally or unintentionally, disposed 

of or abandoned into the marine environment or the Great Lakes” (Federal Register, 

2009). That definition covers quite a bit: plastics, textiles, rubber, paper, glass, metals, 

and processed wood—the list goes on. Marine debris is anything from cigarette butts, 

plastic bottles, or other litter that makes its way from land into the marine environment 

to derelict fishing gear and abandoned vessels. 

This debris is everywhere. It is on coastlines and in the water column; it is resting on 

reefs and seabeds and in the stomachs of wildlife. Marine debris is found near urban centers all over the globe and in remote, fragile places, such as the northwestern Hawaiian 

Islands. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) removes about 

52 metric tons of fishing nets from these islands each year, which is a massive amount of 

debris for an ecological paradise. 

THE PROBLEM

Marine debris is an international, ongoing problem that impacts marine life, the 

economy, navigation safety, and human health. Fortunately, there is a growing movement 

across the globe to address it, from the highest levels of government down to concerned 

individuals who depend on the ocean for recreation and sustenance. 

NOAA Marine Debris Program, 1305 EastWest Highway, Room 10201, Silver Spring, 

Maryland 20910, USA.

* Correspondence: N. Wallace, nancy.wallace

@noaa.gov

Manuscript received 19 August 2016; accepted 

13 February 2017.

Debris in the Marine Environment

Nancy Wallace* and Dianna Parker
156 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

In 2005 NOAA formed a Marine Debris Program to deal 

with this problem, when its Office of Response and Restoration 

received funds in its budget to address “Marine Debris.” The 

next year, the late Sen. Daniel Inouye of Hawaii and Rep. Sam 

Farr of California introduced and helped pass the Marine Debris 

Research, Prevention, and Reduction Act, which officially established the program. The act sealed into law NOAA’s responsibility to address marine debris and gave it a mandate “to reduce 

and prevent the occurrence and adverse impacts of marine debris 

on the marine environment and navigation safety” (Marine Debris Research and Reduction Act, 2006). Reducing and preventing the occurrence and impacts of debris has been no small task, 

given the scope of the problem, debris’ pervasive nature, and the 

complexities of determining sources.

Debris experts typically lump marine debris sources into 

two categories, land based and ocean based, but the line is blurry. 

There is no way to tell whether a plastic fork in the Caribbean 

Sea came from a storm drain in Miami or whether it was tossed 

overboard from a fishing vessel near Brazil. Marine debris moves 

with currents and can travel long distances, making it virtually 

impossible to trace.

Plastics, besides being a blot on the marine environment, can 

break down into smaller pieces called “microplastics” when they 

are exposed to the elements over long periods of time. Birds, fish, 

and marine mammals can mistake these plastic bits for plankton 

or other prey. They eat them, but they can’t digest them. 

Crab pots and lost fishing nets can scour, break, smother, or 

otherwise damage important coral reefs, sea grass, and other sensitive areas as they drift with currents. Many of these habitats serve 

as the basis of marine ecosystems, and they are critical to the survival of many species. Nets and pots indiscriminately tangle and 

kill countless marine mammals, seabirds, fish, and invertebrates. 

It is also an economic problem. Coastal communities often 

assume the burden of cleaning up debris that washes up on their 

shorelines every year, even with tight budgets. Fishing gear can 

“ghost fish” for years after it is lost or abandoned, depleting fisheries, reducing abundance or reproductive capacity of the stock, 

and causing untold economic losses for fishermen. Between 2008 

and 2012, the Virginia Institute of Marine Sciences pulled nearly 

40,000 derelict pots from the Chesapeake Bay, which contained 

more than 30,000 animals, including commercially viable blue 

crabs (Center for Coastal Resources Management, 2013), 

FINDING A SOLUTION

Because of these compelling impacts, the NOAA Marine 

Debris Program is moving on a comprehensive path forward for 

addressing debris that includes removal, research, reduction, and 

prevention activities. Each year, the program supports some efforts to remove debris from U.S. coastal waters and shorelines 

through local projects in order to mitigate immediate impacts. 

However, removal is not the ultimate solution. It is a temporary 

fix for a persistent problem that will continue unless we tackle it 

from all angles. That is why the program also places great emphasis on science and finding ways to head off debris at its source: us. 

Prevention is the key. The NOAA Marine Debris Program’s 

outreach and education initiatives focus on raising awareness in 

different communities about their choices. The three R’s—reduce, reuse, and recycle—are a timeless and important message, 

as is “don’t litter.” Our outreach also extends to the fishing industry and working with fishermen on finding responsible ways 

to dispose of gear at the end of its life.

Marine debris is a relatively new field of research, and there 

are many opportunities to advance our understanding of debris’ 

impact. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration 

is pursuing studies that will help us understand how fast debris 

degrades and whether or not plastics leach chemicals while in 

the marine environment. Are these chemicals affecting birds and 

fish that eat the plastic, and does that affect us in turn? We are 

also exploring the economic impact. Exactly how much does it 

cost coastal communities to clean up litter every year? Are there 

overlooked, indirect costs, such as hits to tourism? 

Having answers to these questions and sound data about 

debris, its source, and impacts will help us prioritize removal 

and prevention activities. What’s more, it will help us tell the 

whole story to the public—and help us measure the success of 

our efforts. The full extent of the damage marine debris is doing 

to our oceans needs to be part of the conversation, so that we 

can encourage behavior and policies that prevent debris in the 

first place. 

The marine debris problem did not happen overnight, and 

it will take time to solve this very public, global issue. We need 

everyone, including scientists, policy makers, and teachers, to 

make marine debris a priority and take action for the long-term 

health of our oceans.

Acknowledgments

The scientific results and conclusions, as well as any views 

or opinions expressed herein, are those of the authors and do 

not necessarily reflect the views of NOAA or the Department of 

Commerce. 

REFERENCES

Center for Coastal Resources Management. 2013. Marine Debris Location and 

Removal Project. http://ccrm.vims.edu/marine_debris_removal/index.html 

(accessed March 14, 2016).

Federal Register. 2009. Definition of Marine Debris for Purposes of the Marine 

Debris Research, Prevention, and Reduction Act. 74 Fed. Reg. 45555. https://

federalregister.gov/a/E9-21261 (accessed March 14, 2016).

Marine Debris Research and Reduction Act. 2006. Chapter 33A PL 109-449. 

http://www.gpo.gov/fdsys/pkg/STATUTE-120/pdf/STATUTE-120-Pg3333

.pdf; (accessed May 15, 2017).
ABSTRACT. Plastics have become ubiquitous because they are such a versatile material. They are 

easily formed into about any shape, and there are many types and grades of plastics with very different properties, which can be easily tailored to meet a wide variety of specific end use requirements. 

Furthermore, unlike steel or wood, plastics usually do not have to be painted or coated to change 

their color or protect them from the elements. Their low density offers important light-weighting 

benefits in a wide variety of products. Most plastics are derived from petrochemicals and natural 

gas. Ever more remote locations and drilling ever deeper wells are needed to extract these limited resources. These practices have significant economic and environmental implications that are already 

evident today. The recycling of plastics can save as much as 90% of the energy of making plastics 

using traditional chemical synthesis and polymerization routes and can save between 1 and 4 tons of 

CO2 per ton of virgin plastics replaced. But recycling plastics is more complicated and difficult compared to recycling metals, posing both technical and economic challenges. After decades of research 

and mostly small-scale commercial undertakings, solutions to these difficult challenges have begun 

to emerge in several locations around the world and demonstrate how societies can finally realize the 

consequent environmental and economic benefits of recovering this valuable resource and keeping 

it from polluting our environment.

MORE PLASTIC THAN STEEL

Most of us come into contact with plastics in the majority of the products we touch 

every day without realizing it. Plastics have become so ubiquitous because they are such a 

versatile material. They are easily formed into about any shape, and there are many types 

and grades of plastics with very different properties. And even these properties are easily 

tailored to meet a wide variety of specific end use requirements. Furthermore, unlike steel 

or wood, for example, plastics usually do not have to be painted or coated to change their 

color or protect them from the elements. Plastics also have a low density and thus offer 

important light-weighting benefits in a wide variety of products. 

By virtue of some of the properties noted above and other factors, plastics also provide economic and environmental benefits not provided by other materials. For example, 

many other materials consume considerable energy and generate commensurate CO2

emissions in their extraction, refinement, and manufacturing into shapes. Plastics Europe 

(2011) points out that “plastics are the true resource champions by saving more resources 

than they use, i.e., ‘more means less’. For example, substituting plastics with alternative 

materials would result in a 46% increase in energy consumption, a 46% increase in CO2

emissions and generate 100 million tons more of waste every year across the EU.”

Because of these benefits, worldwide production of plastics has averaged an impressive 6% annual growth rate since 1970 (European Plastic Converters, 2009). In comparison, the average growth rate of steel since 1970 has been about 2%. Although the 

weight of steel consumed worldwide is greater than that of plastics, if one divides each 

by its approximate specific gravity of about 8 for steel and 1 for plastics, the volume of 

plastics produced and consumed every year worldwide is actually greater than that of 

MBA Polymers, Inc., 610 Castle Rock Road, 

Walnut Creek, California 94598, USA.

Correspondence: M. Biddle, mike@evok

innovations.com

Manuscript received 19 August 2016; accepted 

13 February 2017.

Closing the Loop with Plastics

Mike Biddle
158 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

steel, or about 260 billion liters of plastics in 2007 compared 

to about 168 billion liters for steel (Plastics Europe Market Research Group, 2007).

“In NAFTA and Europe, the annual per capita consumption 

of plastics is about 100 kg and is expected to reach as high as 

140 kg/person by 2015. In the rapidly developing Asia region 

(excluding Japan), the per capita consumption is approximately 

20 kg and this is expected to grow dramatically, which suggests 

that the worldwide consumption of plastics will likewise grow 

rapidly given the large population in this region” (

Hieronymi et 

al., 2012:92). Even assuming a lower 4% average annual growth 

rate, the amount of plastics consumed in the world will grow 

dramatically in the next few decades. 

PLASTIC’S LOW RECYCLE RATES 

COMPARED TO THAT OF 

OTHER MATERIALS

Decades ago, it became clear that extracting metals from 

ever wider, deeper, and more remote mines around the world was 

not sustainable and that reusing metals via recycling made a lot 

of sense. As such, the recycle rates for most metals are well over 

50%. For example, about 60% of the steel used in the United 

States is made from electric arc furnaces that predominantly use 

recycled sources of material. U.S. recyclers processed over 74 

million metric tons of iron and steel in 2010 (Institute of Scrap 

Recycling Industries, 2011).

Most plastics are derived from petrochemicals and natural 

gas. The world goes to ever more remote locations and drills ever 

deeper wells to extract these limited resources. These practices 

have significant economic and environmental implications that 

we are already seeing today. 

The recycling of plastics can save as much as 90% of the 

energy used in making by traditional chemical synthesis and polymerization routes (Hutchison, 2008; Hopewell et al., 2009). 

Looking at it another way, the International Association of Plastics Distribution (IAPD) reports that recycling a single one-gallon 

plastic milk jug saves enough energy to power a 100-W lightbulb 

for over 11 hours (IAPD, 2017).

Mechanical recycling can also use less water and generate 

considerably fewer greenhouse gases than making plastics from 

chemical routes. For example, between 1 and 4 metric tons of 

CO2 per metric ton of plastic can be saved by using recycled plastics in place of traditional virgin plastics (Hieronymi et al., 2012; 

Wäger and Hischier, 2015).

However, we recycle only a very small fraction of the plastics 

compared to that produced each year. Europe probably has the 

best record of any region for plastics recycling. In 2012, Europe 

recycled about 6.6 million metric tons of plastics. This amount 

represents about 26% of the plastics that were estimated to be 

collected, or less than 15% of the plastic consumed in Europe 

(see slide 10 in Plastics Europe Market Research Group, 2007).

In the United States, the recycle rates are generally lower. The 

U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (2015:8) estimated that 

about 9% of the plastics waste generated was recycled in the 

United States in 2013.

Much of what is collected in both Europe and the United 

States and counted as recycling is simply baled and shipped to 

overseas traders, who often move it on to “informal recyclers” 

who lack the knowledge or the resources to recycle the materials 

in ways that protect the workers and local ecosystems. These 

recyclers are able to recycle only the plastics that can be easily 

sorted by humans or simple sink-float approaches, so much of 

the plastic is not recovered, and the actual recycling rates can 

therefore be considerably lower than reported. 

Many believe that the recycle rate for plastics is low because 

they are a “throw-away material” with very little value. Actually, 

plastics are several times more valuable than steel on a price per 

weight basis. 

WHY DOES SUCH A VALUABLE 

MATERIAL HAVE SUCH A LOW 

RECYCLING RATE?

Metals can be separated from other materials and from 

one another with straightforward available technology. Metals 

and most other materials have very different densities from one 

another (Figure 1). They have different electrical and magnetic 

properties, and they even have different colors. Therefore, humans and machines can exploit a variety of different properties 

and techniques to separate metals from one another and from 

other materials. 

Plastics, in contrast, have overlapping densities over a very 

narrow range. They have very similar electrical and magnetic 

properties, and any plastic can be any color. So the traditional 

ways of separating materials simply do not work for plastics. 

Because plastics are so plentiful and valuable, a growing 

number of people are trying to recycle this material, particularly 

in developing countries where virgin plastics are relatively expensive. Figure 2 shows just one example of a photo taken in one 

of the largest slums in the world in Mumbai, India. 

These recyclers store waste plastics on the roofs (Figure 3) 

and eventually bring them into small workshops where people try 

to separate the plastics by color, shape, feel, or any other property 

they believe will differentiate the many different types and grades 

of plastics (Figure 4). Sometimes they resort to what is known as 

the “burn and sniff” technique in which they burn the plastic and 

smell the fumes and pull at molten plastic fragments to try to determine the type of plastic, as shown in Figures 5–8. While many 

of the recycling practices taking place in developing countries put 

the health of workers and local ecosystems as risk, most of these 

recyclers care about the environment and certainly their health.

Recently, trade magazines and national news agencies have 

also discovered that recycling of plastics done improperly can 

result in risks to human health and local ecosystems (Minter, 

2009; Peng, 2011). Furthermore, these techniques seldom result 
number 7 • 159

in any significant amount of recycling because of the lack of scale 

and the typical low and inconsistent quality of the products. Although sending waste to developing countries might be the lowcost solution, it is certainly not the low environmental or human 

health and safety cost solution. This practice should be called 

environmental arbitrage. It’s not fair, it’s not safe, and it’s not 

sustainable. 

Figures 2–8 and the abovementioned reports show what can 

happen to the plastics that are not recycled or incinerated. Some 

end up littering the countryside or in streams that eventually feed 

into our oceans, which can lead to dire consequences for sea life. 

A number of organizations have started to make people aware 

of how discarded plastics, much of which floats in water, find 

their way into local streams that eventually lead out to sea. The 

Ocean Recovery Alliance (2011), for example, has even created 

a program called the Global Alert that enables people to “See, 

Share and Solve their floating trash problems.” 

Sometimes the plastics that humans are unable to sort is 

intentionally dumped into streams and rivers because they are 

continuously “self-cleaning.” These informal recyclers often do 

FIGURE 3. Plastics stored on roofs awaiting to be sorted out, 

Dharavi, Mumbai, India, 2007. Photo by the author.

FIGURE 2. Plastic waste stored on rooftops of slums before being 

processed by hand, Dharavi, Mumbai, India, 2007. Photo by the 

author.

FIGURE 1. Density and color differences between metals and plastics.
160 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

not have access to disposal alternatives and are also trying to 

save costs of disposing of the plastics responsibly so they can 

compete with the hundreds of other informal recyclers. The dramatic impact of these practices was documented by filmmaker 

Wang Juliang, who directed a film called Plastic China (Asia Society, 20164).

In summary, beyond the significant economic and local ecosystem benefits, recovering plastics responsibly is important to 

the health of people, our global ecosystem, and our seas.

WHAT CAN BE DONE TO RECYCLE MORE 

PLASTICS IN RESPONSIBLE WAYS?

Until recently, one of the primary reasons that plastics 

were not being recycled at scales similar to metals was a lack of 

FIGURE 5. Burn (top) and sniff (bottom) technique by a plastics 

recycler and broker in Ningbo, China, 2002. Photos by the author.

FIGURE 4. Top: Workshop in an Indian slum where plastics are 

hand sorted by shape, color, feel—a far from perfect separation but 

sometimes good enough to sort low-quality materials. Bottom: Detail of the sorted plastic, Dharavi, Mumbai, India, 2007. Photos by 

the author.
number 7 • 161

available, economic, and robust automatic separation and purification technologies. Fortunately, this situation changed rather 

quickly, and plastics can now be recovered from a growing number of waste streams (La Mantia, 2002; Goodship, 2007; Hieronymi et al., 2012). One step in the recycling process is to break 

the plastic to be recycled into smaller pieces, and a new way to accomplish this is discussed by McGath and Madden (this volume).

I personally took on this problem in my garage in 1992 and 

founded a company now called MBA Polymers. MBA Polymers 

sorts and recycle plastics from diverse waste streams and produces a recycled plastic feedstock that other companies purchase 

and make into new electronics, appliances, consumer goods, and 

even automotive products (Biddle et al., 1999). An overview of 

our process was presented in a TED Talk in 2011 (Biddle, 2011) 

IGURE 7. A piece of a bitten off plastic (left) and a Chinese recycler tasting the plastic pellets to determine type and quality (right), Shunde, 

China, 2012. Photos by the author.

FIGURE 6. Left: Pulling a strand of the molten plastic to determine its “quality.” Right: If it pulls before breaking, it is considered “good quality.” Shunde, China, 2012. Photos by author.
162 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

and in two documentaries, one carried as part of the Big SHFT 

project, which highlights 10 innovators changing the world, and 

another by CNN (CNN, 2014). 

Achieving plastics recycling on a large scale and in a commercially attractive manner requires the application and integration of many different types of technologies sometimes adapted 

from other industries and sometimes developed for this specific 

purpose. The wide-ranging technologies that are being used to 

tackle the many challenges of recovering value from complex 

mixed waste streams is discussed in a dedicated chapter on closing the loop with plastics in the book E-Waste Management: 

From Waste to Resource (Hieronymi et al., 2012). In short, the 

classes of steps usually follow these categories, with multiple 

technologies being used in each category and categories/technologies repeated as necessary to achieve the high purities required 

to be able to reuse these materials in demanding applications.

Plastics recyclers are also taking business model lessons 

from other more recycled materials such as steel (Biddle, 2015). 

It took steel recycling a number of decades to achieve the big 

three commercial requirements—purity, consistency, and volumes—necessary to move from low-value reinforcing bar (rebar) 

into more demanding applications like automobiles, construction, etc. As noted above, the majority of the U.S. steel demand 

is provided by recycled steel today. 

So if technology and business practices to recover plastics 

from waste streams are becoming more well known and demonstrated, then why aren’t more plastics being recycled? The 

primary reason has to do with the “first mile problem.” An analogy might be useful here. That most people don’t have access to 

extremely high speed Internet in their homes is often referred to 

the “last mile problem.” Getting technology to population centers is not so difficult, but delivering it to every single household 

becomes extremely expensive. For recycling, it is just the opposite. The most expensive part of any recycling system is getting 

the “waste” (or raw materials) from each and every household in 

ways that makes it accessible for recycling.

The first evolution of plastics recycling technology focused 

on the items that were easy for machines and humans to recognize and sort, which was predominantly polyethylene terephthalate (PET) and high-density polyethylene (HDPE) bottles. 

The waste and recycling collection schemes relied on consumers 

to deliver their “recyclables” to a recycling center or, if part of a 

curbside collection program, to provide some level of sorting of 

their garbage. 

In recent years, with the advances in automated sorting technologies augmented by hand sorting, more communities have 

moved to either single-bin collection or “single-stream” mixed 

recyclables collection processed at materials recovery facilities 

because it is less expensive (and more environmentally friendly) 

to pick up one or two different bins from each household than 

to make several trips to pick up different bins or use compartmentalized trucks in which one compartment always fills first, 

leaving the truck capacity underutilized for each trip. 

But because the embedded sorting systems at most recycling 

centers in the developed world still focus on bottles and mostly 

PET and HDPE, the rest of the collected plastics are mostly incinerated, landfilled, or traded to recyclers in the developing 

world, often with the consequences discussed above. Two things 

need to happen for the recycling rate of plastics to take the next 

leap forward and for it to be treated in safe and efficient manners: (1) investments need to be made in automated separation 

technologies, and (2) developed countries need to stop exporting 

their “recyclables” to the developing world unless they can be 

sure that these materials will be handled in a responsible manner. 

The second step not only protects people and the local ecosystems, it provides a level playing field that will allow recyclers 

to make the needed large investments in plant and equipment to 

recycle the materials safely. Therefore, the second step not only 

enables the first but also encourages it.

Consumers have increased their awareness and concerns for 

how their products are made. Why do we not have similar concerns for how the materials from our end-of-life products are recovered, especially when material processing can be riskier than 

product manufacturing if not done in a responsible manner? The 

answer is most people still largely view their end-of-life stuff as 

“garbage” rather than as valuable resources. 

Manufacturers will be consuming ever more resources to 

meet the demand from the expected 3 billion new middle class 

consumers around the world, and many leading business strategy consultants point to the need for a revolution in the way 

we think about consuming, conserving, and recycling resources 

(Dobbs et al., 2012). Communities have responded by increasing the amount of materials they collect for recycling, helping to 

solve the first mile problem. 

In summary, commercial-scale processing of mixed plastics 

streams has now been demonstrated. It is now up to communities 

FIGURE 8. Burn and sniff technique practiced by a recycler/broker 

in Dharavi, Mumbai, India, 2007. Photo by the author.
number 7 • 163

to demand responsible management of their waste streams because it is now clear that shipping mixed waste to processors 

ill equipped to process it has significant negative consequences. 

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.2015.05.043.

ABSTRACT. Plastic is the defining medium of modern life, touching all aspects of the way we live 

from clothes to cars, homes to hospitals, toys to technology. Yet its ascendance is recent, dating only 

to the late nineteenth century. This chapter traces the rise of plastics, from the early commercially 

produced plastics such as celluloid and Bakelite to modern commodity plastics such as polyethylene, 

polystyrene, and polyvinyl chloride. The early plastics held appeal as materials that promised to preserve scarce resources, democratize consumer goods, and improve standards of living. World War II 

transformed the industry, sparking a rise in production that continues to the present day. But proliferation, particularly of single-use disposable products, which are now half of all plastics production, 

has tainted the materials’ reputation. Today, significant problems are associated with dependence 

on plastic, including pollution, exposure to hazardous chemicals such as phthalates and bisphenol 

A, and lack of recycling. The metaphor of a love affair gone wrong is a useful one for describing the 

arc of our relationship with plastics—from infatuation to disenchantment to unhealthy dependence.

INTRODUCTION

When a French-American salvage expedition discovered the wreck of the Titanic, 

they found a treasure trove of early twentieth-century life. There were jeweled necklaces 

and rings, silver pocket watches, gold pince-nez spectacles, and leather goods. But what 

most impressed one member of the expedition was that in all those everyday items, there 

was not a single thing made of plastic. “That, if nothing else, shows how much times 

have changed,” he said at a press conference (Fenichell, 1996:4).

Of course, any modern ship that went down today would not only be filled with 

plastic objects; chances are the vessel itself would be mostly plastic. Just as the Titanic has 

become one of our defining metaphors, so has plastic. More than that, plastic is the defining medium of life today—touching every aspect of our lives: our homes, our workplaces, 

the ways we dress, eat, play, and transport ourselves. 

The extent to which plastic pervades modern life became clear to me when I tried 

to go an entire day without touching anything plastic. The futility of this experiment 

became apparent about 10 seconds into the appointed morning when I shuffled blearyeyed into the bathroom. The toilet seat was plastic, as was the sink, my toothbrush, the 

toothpaste tube. I quickly revised my plan. I would spend the day writing down everything I touched that was plastic. By the end of the day I had an enormous list comprising 

things that looked and felt very different and that seemingly touched every aspect of my 

life. Here’s a brief sample:

Pencil case; trash bag; glasses frame; glasses case; cell phone; patio chair; rayon; 

ball point pen; bubble wrap; underwear, bra; yogurt tub; steering wheel; brush; 

backpack; stove knobs; flip-flops; bike helmet; balloon; twist tie; lunch case; 

1291 29th Avenue, San Francisco, California 

94122, USA.

Correspondence: S. Freinkel, susanfreinkel

@gmail.com

Manuscript received 19 August 2016; accepted 

13 February 2017.

Falling in and out of Love: 

Our Troubled Affair with Plastic

Susan Freinkel
166 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

Tupperware; tail light; hair band; barrette; dental floss; 

chewing gum; candy wrapper; thermos; travel mug; car 

seat; golf ball; bike lock; garden hose; compact disc; 

contact lens; carpet; DVDs; audio tape; scotch tape; 

keyboard; printer; telephone; radio; doll; Legos; chair; 

binder; computer mouse; mouse pad; lotion bottle; lipstick tube; underwear; bra; spandex; acrylic nails; comb; 

bungee cord; Velcro; recycling bin; seat belt; Tencel; 

pantyhose; six-pack ring; take-out clamshell; syringe; 

detergent bottle; extension cords. (Freinkel, 2011:2)

What happened between the sinking of the Titanic and my 

failed day without plastic? How did plastic become so utterly 

ubiquitous in fewer than 100 years? How has that change transformed both the planet and us?

One way to think about our history with plastic is as a long 

love affair gone wrong. At first, we were enthralled and rushed 

headlong to embrace synthetics. Over time, we became disenchanted and yet continued to deepen our involvement. Today, 

we are completely reliant on plastic even as we recognize that 

aspects of that dependence are not healthy for the environment 

or us. Such unhealthy dependence is the classic definition of a 

dysfunctional relationship. But it’s not an irreparable relationship. In fact, it has to be fixed because plastics are going to be 

more, not less, important to the future. 

HISTORIC OVERVIEW

Humans have been using natural plastics such as rubber, 

amber, and horn for millennia. But the creation and commercialization of man-made plastics dates only to the mid-nineteenth 

century. Victorians were growing restless with the existing palette of materials (Friedel, 1983), frustrated by the physical limitations of traditional materials such as metal, glass, and wood and 

also increasingly aware that many natural materials were starting 

to be in short supply. One of the biggest sources of worry was 

ivory. Ivory was then being widely used for an array of everyday 

conveniences—buttonhooks, cane heads, handles, trays, combs, 

piano keys, and especially billiard balls. At least 1 million pounds 

of ivory were being consumed each year, prompting fears of an 

impending shortage (New York Times, 1867:2). In 1863, so the 

story goes, a New York billiards supplier ran a newspaper ad 

offering $10,000 to anyone who could come up with a suitable 

alternative (Fenichell, 1996:39). That ad caught the eye of an amateur inventor in Albany, New York, named John Wesley Hyatt. 

He spent several years tinkering with the natural polymer, 

cellulose. Eventually, he found a way to combine it with alcohol 

and camphor to create a malleable substance with the consistency of shoe leather; he called it celluloid. This invention was 

the start of the romance because here was a wholly new material 

with life-changing possibilities. 

Celluloid had amazing properties. It was waterproof and 

oilproof. It was malleable but could harden into a fixed shape. 

One of its most winning features was its capacity for imitation: 

it could be made to look like any number of natural materials, 

including luxurious substances such as ivory and tortoiseshell. 

Celluloid made possible “counterfeits” so exact that they deceived “even the eye of the expert,” Hyatt’s company proclaimed 

in one pamphlet (Meikle, 1997:15). It “has given the elephant, 

the tortoise, and the coral insect a respite in their native haunts; 

and it will no longer be necessary to ransack the earth in pursuit 

of substances which are constantly growing scarcer,” another 

brochure touted (Meikle, 1997:12). Today, plastic is often portrayed as a threat and menace to nature, but Hyatt’s creation was 

seen as a valuable savior of the natural world. Unfortunately, it 

wouldn’t replace ivory billiard balls, in part because it was highly 

volatile. The first balls Hyatt made produced a loud report, like 

the crack of a shotgun, when they knocked into each other. One 

Colorado saloonkeeper wrote Hyatt that “he didn’t mind, but 

every time the balls collided, every man in the room pulled a 

gun” (Fenichell, 1996:41).

Celluloid was also important because it could be mass manufactured, albeit in a much slower, more labor intensive process 

than later plastics. Now things that had once been luxury items 

were affordable for common folks. As Hyatt’s company boasted, 

a “few dollars invested in Celluloid” equaled “hundreds expended in the purchase of genuine products of nature” (Meikle, 

1997:15). Combs, a common celluloid product, exemplified the 

effect. With celluloid, anyone could afford a comb and brush set 

that looked as if it were carved from finest ivory; any shop girl or 

secretary could pin up her hair with exquisite decorative combs 

that looked like tortoiseshell. As historian Jeffrey Meikle notes, 

“By replacing materials that were hard to find or expensive to 

process, celluloid democratized a host of goods for an expanding consumption-oriented middle class” (Meikle, 1997:14). Like 

other plastics that followed, celluloid leveled the playing field for 

consumption. 

One of the next significant breakthroughs came in 1907 

when Belgian émigré Leo Baekeland created the first fully synthetic molecule—a substance that he dubbed Bakelite. Like 

Hyatt, Baekeland was seeking a substitute for a scarce natural 

material: shellac, which is made from the sticky secretions of 

the lac beetle (Laccifer lacca). Demand for shellac had begun to 

skyrocket because the country was in the midst of electrifying, 

and shellac, it turned out, was a fabulous electrical insulator. 

Trouble was, it takes 15,000 beetles six months to make enough 

of the resin needed for a pound of shellac (Fenichell, 1996:87). 

To keep up with the rapid expansion of the electrical industry, 

clearly something new was needed (Fenichell, 1996:87). The answer Baekeland cooked up in his homemade lab was a material 

so unlike any other that the company advertised it as representative of the new “fourth kingdom,” (as in animal, mineral, and 

vegetable).

Although Baekeland’s goal was a new electrical insulator, 

Bakelite was soon deployed for many more uses, from industrial gears and bushings to jewelry, telephones, ashtrays, radios, 

and even billiard balls. Its market impact was even stronger than 
number 7 • 167

that of celluloid. Bakelite served as “a mechanical multiplier” 

capable of making the comforts of the rich available to everyone, 

one contemporary admirer wrote. It exemplified how synthetic 

chemistry would deliver “democratic luxury” to middle-class life 

(Meikle, 1997:70).

Whereas celluloid allowed us to emulate nature, Bakelite 

became the medium for an entirely new aesthetic, one that celebrated the modern, man-made world. This tough, durable, dark 

plastic spoke “in the vernacular of the twentieth century . . . the 

language of invention, of synthesis,” wrote furniture designer 

Paul Frankl (Meikle, 1997:108). Bakelite also introduced designers to how freeing synthetic materials could be. Plastics, New 

York Times art critic Hilton Kramer later wrote, were “the answer to an artist’s dream”—an “entire family of materials that 

can be made to assume virtually any size, shape, form, or color 

the mind of man may conceive” (Kramer, 1968:D39).

Hyatt and Baekeland were lone entrepreneurs, trying to 

solve a specific problem. But by the 1910s, major petroleum and 

chemical companies had begun to get into the plastics business. 

Companies such as Dow, DuPont, Industrial Chemical Industries, and I.G. Farben recognized that there might be a use for the 

vast amounts of waste and by-products, such as ethylene, generated in the processes of oil refining or manufacturing chemicals. 

And they had whole departments of industrial chemists working with these by-products or doing basic research to create new 

molecules for which new markets and products would have to 

be found. The result was a burst of polymer innovation; indeed, 

many of the major commodity plastics we know today—polyethylene, polystyrene, polyvinyl chloride, nylon, acrylic—were 

developed in the 1920s and 1930s. 

Some were accidental discoveries. Polyethylene, for instance, was the product of a lab accident; a reactor vessel leaked, 

and the chemists found a white waxy substance at the bottom 

that was “so unlike the polymers known at the time . . . no 

one could envisage a use for it,” one of the researchers recalled 

(Meikle, 1997:189). It was the same story with Teflon—at first 

no one knew what to do with this super slippery new material 

that seemed impervious to acids, solvents, or other damaging 

agents (Fenichell, 1996:221). 

DuPont, on the other hand, knew exactly what it was after 

when it developed nylon. The world had been searching for an 

alternative to silk for a long time, so headlines crowed the news 

when DuPont announced it had achieved that breakthrough. 

The company worked that excitement masterfully. It unveiled 

the first nylons at the 1939 World’s Fair, but then waited a year 

before releasing them for sale and then only in limited supplies 

at a select group of stores. On the first day, nylon stockings 

went on sale, May 15, 1940, women thronged the hosiery counters, and in some cities there were actual nylon riots (Fenichell, 

1996:145–149).

Nylon was not the only polymer to inspire such admiration. 

Cellophane was another: Cole Porter sang its praises, and people 

told pollsters they considered cellophane the third most beautiful word in the English language, behind mother and memory

(Nunberg, 2004:4–5). The love affair with plastics was heating 

up. In his book American Plastic, historian Jeffrey Meikle describes the utopian promise some saw in plastics. Nowhere was 

this clearer than in the vision laid out by two British chemists 

writing just before the outbreak of World War II: 

Let us try to imagine a dweller in the “Plastic Age.” 

This “Plastic Man” will come into a world of colour 

and bright shining surfaces, where childish hands find 

nothing to break, no sharp edges or corners to cut or 

graze, no crevices to harbor dirt or germs. . . . It is a 

world free from moth and rust and full of color . . . 

a world in which man, like a magician, makes what 

he wants for almost every need. (Yarsley and Couzens, 

1941:154–158)

Much of this excitement was anticipatory, because in actuality there was still relatively little plastic in most people’s daily 

lives. And with the outbreak of World War II, that would remain 

the case. The military monopolized many of the newly developed plastics, pressing the still nascent industry to supply substitutes for strategic materials such as rubber, brass, steel, and silk. 

Plastics were used for parachutes, aircraft components, antenna 

housing, bazooka barrels, enclosures for gun turrets, helmet liners, bugles, whistles, and countless other applications. The industry’s first million-dollar order was for a mortar fuse (DuBois, 

1972:198). Polyethylene found a place during the war when it 

was discovered the polymer had the capacity to shield high frequencies and high voltages. The British took advantage of that 

property to build the first airborne radar systems, which gave 

them a critical advantage over German fighter planes since the 

Germans did not have polyethylene (Fenichell, 1996:201–202). 

Teflon was also pressed into wartime service when scientists realized its power to withstand the most corrosive substances because that power could be useful for handling the volatile gasses 

used to develop the atomic bomb (Emsley, 1998:133). 

As so often happens in wartime, the romance deepened. 

Newspapers and magazines described plastic’s heroic performance on the battlefield, and those feats became selling points 

after the war. The war not only showed what plastics could do; 

it helped build the industry. Production nearly quadrupled from 

213 million pounds in 1939 to 818 million pounds in 1945 

(Meikle, 1997:125). This huge production capacity coupled with 

nearly two decades of pent-up consumer demand meant that 

once the war ended, plastics exploded into consumer markets. 

Production skyrocketed on the order of 400% to 500% in the 

decade after the war and continued to steadily rise for the next 

60 years, with just one minor bump in 2008, when the global 

markets crashed. As one plastics executive recalled, in 1946, 

“virtually nothing was made of plastic and anything could be” 

(Meikle, 1997:180). 

Just months after the war’s end, the industry held its first 

national tradeshow. Some 87,000 people lined up for blocks in 

midtown Manhattan to see the new kinds of products made possible by the plastics that had proven themselves in the war. For 
168 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

a public weary of two decades of scarcity, the show offered an 

exciting and glittering preview of the promise of polymers. There 

were window screens in every color of the rainbow that would 

never need to be painted; suitcases light enough to lift with a 

finger, but strong enough to carry a man; clothing that could be 

wiped clean with a damp cloth; fishing line as strong as steel; 

clear packaging materials that would allow a shopper to see if 

the food inside was fresh; flowers that looked like they had been 

carved from glass (New York Times, 1946:31). Here was the era 

of plenty that the hopeful British chemists had envisioned. 

At first, the main markets for plastics were in durable goods: 

appliances, electronics, household furnishings, textiles, and cars. 

Toys were a major market thanks to the baby boom and the 

sheer low-cost availability of some of the new plastics. In the 

early 1950s, for instance, eight different chemical companies 

quickly built factories to start producing polyethylene, widely 

viewed as the most promising of the new plastics. Prices plunged 

to less than a dime a pound. The low cost stimulated scores of 

new applications; these absorbed supplies of the plastic and in 

turn stimulated more production. Suddenly, toy stores filled with 

a host of new cheap toys, like dime-store cowboy and Indian sets 

or snap-together Pop beads (which at one point were absorbing 

40,000 pounds of polyethylene a month; Freinkel, 2011:57). 

THE TURNING POINT

At a certain point it became clear that there were only so 

many cars and refrigerators and stereos people would buy, and 

the industry began casting about for other markets to expand. 

One obvious answer was disposables. As an industry executive 

told attendees at a 1957 conference, “Your future is in the garbage wagon” (Modern Plastics, 1957:93). 

Soon all those durable long-lasting materials developed for 

the hardships of war were being turned to ephemeral conveniences of peace. The vinyl-based compound Saran, which had 

proved so useful in protecting military cargo, was redeployed 

to the short-term protection of leftovers, and polyethylene’s extraordinary capacity to insulate high frequencies was sidelined 

for a new career bagging up sandwiches and dry cleaning. Styrofoam, once used for lifeboats, now was deployed for cups and 

coolers (Freinkel, 2011:121).

Initially, such products were a tough sell. The ethos of reuse 

was so deeply ingrained that when vending machines began dispensing coffee in plastic cups in the mid-1950s, people at first 

tended to save and reuse them (Modern Plastics, 1957:96). They 

would have to learn—and be taught—to throw away.

The lesson was quickly absorbed, driven home by an everexpanding array of new disposable products from lobster bibs 

to diapers (which some pundits suggested were responsible for 

the rise in postwar birth rates), pens, razors, and lighters. Life

magazine celebrated what it dubbed “Throwaway Living” with 

a photo that showed a young couple and child with their arms 

raised in exultation amidst a downpour of disposable items: 

plates, cutlery, bags, ashtrays, dog dishes, pails, barbecue grills, 

and more. Cleaning them once would have taken 40 hours, 

Life calculated, but now “no housewife need bother.” No wonder the young mom looked so happy (Life, 1955; Freinkel, 

2011:121)! 

Plastics did not create the throwaway lifestyle. There were 

a lot of cultural and economic forces behind it: the rise of suburbia, the development of self-serve grocery stores and fast food 

restaurants, and women’s entry into the workforce. The building of the interstate highway system was a major factor in the 

death of refillable beverage containers because bottlers no longer were limited to regional distribution networks (Ackerman, 

1997:124–135).

Plastic may not have been responsible for the shift to throwaways, but because they are lightweight, versatile, malleable, and 

cheap, they helped facilitate it, especially as we got better and 

better at making polymers do exactly what we need them to do. 

For instance, disposable bottles arrived when in 1973 Nathaniel 

Wyeth, brother of artist Andrew Wyeth and a chemical engineer, 

found a way to harness explosively carbonated beverages in a 

polyethylene terephthalate (PET) bottle. Soon PET bottles were 

being made by the billions, and more than 200 billion were sold 

in 2010 (Container Recycling Institute, 2013).

THE PROBLEM

As we have grown increasingly addicted to the convenience 

of disposables, the amount of plastics dedicated to one-time uses 

has steadily risen. Today, half of all plastic produced goes into 

single-use applications (Hopewell et al., 2009), and about a third 

of that is for packaging (American Chemistry Council Plastics 

Industry Producers’ Statistics Group, 2012).

This is where the romance began to go seriously astray. Plastic’s role in throwaway living is arguably partly why the word 

plastic started to take on pejorative meanings in the 1960s. Its 

widespread use for throwaways and low-value goods encourages 

people to look at plastics as worthless junk when they are actually valuable concoctions of hydrocarbons that were hundreds of 

millions of years in the making and excavated from the earth at 

great effort and cost. 

Plastic’s reputation is not helped by taking molecules engineered for long life and durability and putting them into products destined for the briefest of uses, such as coffee cups and 

plastic bags. Often as not, these become prefab litter because we 

have made few provisions for recapturing those single-use items 

at the end of their useful lives. Nearly all plastic can be recycled, 

but less than 10% actually is recycled—a lower rate than glass, 

paper, or metals (U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, 2011). 

The rest is either landfilled—an incredible waste of precious hydrocarbons—or it ends up in the environment, where it can persist for decades or longer. 
number 7 • 169

All too often plastic litter winds up in the ocean, the downhill of everywhere and the terminus of all inland waterways (Andrady, 2003; Thompson et al., 2004). Plastic debris is now found 

on beaches around the world in even the most remote places. 

British biologist David Barnes described his crew going ashore 

on a tiny outcropping deep in the Antarctic Ocean, aptly called 

Inaccessible Island, and finding fishing buoys, plastic bottles, 

and disposable lighters (David Barnes, British Antarctic Survey, 

personal communication). Each of the five major oceans is now 

host to a “garbage patch,” an area where plastic debris collects, 

trapped by the currents. The largest and best known, deep in 

the north Pacific, collects plastic trash from both North America and Asia. According to a recent study the debris there has 

grown 100-fold since the early 1970s, and the proliferation of 

all that plastic may be altering the pelagic ecology by expanding 

the available habitat of sea insects that lay their eggs on flotsam 

(Goldstein et al., 2012). 

There is no question: plastic pollution in the ocean poses 

a risk to marine wildlife. Consider the case of the Laysan albatross, a bird that nests on Midway Atoll and forages for food in 

stretches of open ocean including the area of the north Pacific 

garbage patch. The birds mistake floating debris for food and 

over the last several decades have increasingly been returning to 

Midway with bottle caps, lighters, toothbrushes, broken pieces 

of plastic, and other trash that they feed to their young (Auman 

et al., 1997; Vozelinek, this volume; Wallace and Parker, this volume). Wildlife biologists on Midway now estimate that almost 

all of the 1.2 million albatrosses on the atoll have some quantity of plastic in their guts (John Klavitter, U.S. Fish and Wildlife 

Service, personal communication). And the albatrosses are not 

alone: more than 260 species of animals have been documented 

to have been killed or injured by plastic debris, including nearly 

all sea turtles and almost half of sea birds and marine mammals 

(Derraik, 2002).

But there is another danger to marine debris as well. Plastic 

does not biodegrade in the ocean—it photodegrades, typically 

into tiny fragments. Researchers have found those fragments absorb toxins already present in seawater, such as polychlorinated 

biphenyls (PCBs), dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane (DDT), and 

other persistent organic pollutants (Ogata et al., 2009). Fish at 

the bottom of the marine food chain, such as the deep-sea lantern fishes (Myctophidae) and others that live on plankton, can 

ingest these tiny poisonous bits. In one recent study, some 9% 

of these mesopelagic fish sampled had plastic in their stomachs 

(Davison and Asch, 2011). Researchers are now investigating 

whether the toxins contained in those plastics are sorbing into 

the fish’s tissue; in other words, whether the toxins can enter the 

food chain and wind up on our dinner plates. 

The billions of pounds of plastic in the oceans cannot be 

easily cleaned up. Although it is possible to collect large pieces of 

debris, such as ghost nets, and recycle them into diesel fuel, there 

is no feasible way to gather the blizzard of plastic confetti suffusing the water column in the North Pacific garbage patch (Laist, 

1997). The only solution is preventing litter at the source, which 

means resolving the end-of-life issues for plastic: creating better 

infrastructures for collecting, reusing, and recycling used plastics. 

The other problem that is becoming clear about our dependence on plastics is the fact that many are made with or contain hazardous chemicals. As biomonitoring studies are finding, 

chemicals contained in plastic products or packaging are winding up in us (Koch and Calafat, 2009; Muncke, 2011). Most 

Americans now harbor traces of plasticizers, bisphenol A, flame 

retardants, Teflon, and other industrial chemicals.

What are the risks? It is difficult to know for sure because 

we cannot do controlled experiments with people. But animal 

studies and epidemiological studies suggest that there is cause to 

be concerned about some of our chemical exposures. Bisphenol 

A (BPA), which is used to harden polycarbonate plastic and for 

the epoxy that lines food and beverage cans, was invented as a 

synthetic estrogen and seems to mimic estrogen in the body. Researchers have found associations between low-level exposures 

to BPA and heart disease, diabetes, breast and prostate cancer, 

behavioral issues, and other disorders (Vom Saal and Hughes, 

2005; Vandenberg et al., 2012; Vogel, 2012). Phthalates, a 

widely used family of chemicals, are another source of concern, 

especially di(2-ethyl-hexyl) phthalate (DEHP), which is used as 

a plasticizer to make vinyl flexible and soft and found in such 

common products as blood bags, flips flops, garden hoses, flooring, shower curtains, and toys. Studies suggest it can interfere 

with testosterone and have found associations between DEHP 

exposure and changes in the male reproductive system, impaired 

sperm quality, thyroid dysfunction, and behavioral issues (Swan, 

2008; Meeker, 2009; Freinkel, 2011).

These chemicals do not work like classic toxins where the 

poison is in the dose. They act more like hormones, interfering 

with the endocrine system, the network of glands that govern 

growth and development. There is increasing evidence that they 

may therefore have significant impacts at very low doses, depending on when someone was exposed. During certain critical 

windows of development, very tiny amounts of a compound like 

BPA may have very big impacts that do not show up for years 

(Vandenberg et al., 2012).

We have reached a crossroads in our long marriage to 

plastics. We have produced nearly as much in the first decade 

of this century as in the entire twentieth century (Thompson et 

al., 2009), and all signs suggest production will only continue to 

grow. The boom in shale oil gas is triggering new investments in 

the American plastics industry; experts predict a 25% increase 

in production of polyethylene, the most commonly used plastic 

(Howard Rappaport, HIS Chemical, personal communication). 

Experts also envision rising plastics consumption in China, India, 

Africa, and other parts of the developing world, which to date 

have lagged far behind the United States and Europe (Freinkel, 

2011:69), yet at the same time, we are seeing more clearly than 

ever that there are serious downsides and dangers to our dependence on these materials. 
170 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

OUR FUTURE

Divorce is not an option. Even if it were possible, it would 

not be desirable. We need synthetic materials to feed, clothe, 

house, heal, and sustain a population of 7 billion people and 

growing. Medicine would grind to a halt without plastic, as 

would our efforts to develop more fuel-efficient cars and planes. 

Plastics are critical in harnessing solar power and other renewable forms of energy. These lightweight materials are essential 

for protecting, preserving, and transporting food in a global supply chain, especially in an era when carbon calculations are a 

primary consideration.

The issue is not the material. It is what we do with it, the 

ways we produce, use, and discard plastics. And that has to 

change. We need to wean ourselves from the casual single-use 

habit and deploy green chemistry techniques to make polymers 

we know will be safe for our health and the environment. We 

need to build end-of-life considerations into the design of polymers and plastic products. We need to develop a recycling and 

composting infrastructure to deal with plastics at the end of their 

useful lives. And over the long term we will have to shift from 

fossil fuels as a basis for plastics. Currently, about 4% of global 

oil and gas supplies are used as feedstocks for plastics, and another 4% are used in energy to actually produce them (Andrady 

and Neal, 2009). 

Already, there is a vigorous movement to create plastics 

from various renewable sources, including food crops such as 

corn and sugar cane, nonfood crops such as switchgrass and 

algae, bacteria, and waste from both agriculture and human activity. Although bioplastics currently make up only about 1% of 

all plastic production, the field is expected to grow at doubledigit rates in coming years (Ramani Narayan, Michigan State 

University, personal communication; Freinkel, 2011:208). 

Yet bioplastics will be no panacea for our plastic woes unless they are developed with a more holistic, cradle-to-cradle approach. A biodegradable trash bag made from corn plastic is no 

great bonus without a composting facility where it can be taken 

to biodegrade. Otherwise, it goes to a landfill where it can be 

more of a problem than conventional petrobased plastic: a recent 

study suggested biodegradable plastics breaking down in landfill 

could generate methane, an even more potent greenhouse gas 

than carbon dioxide (Levis and Barlaz, 2011). Bioplastics are 

certainly the future of our ongoing love affair with plastic, but 

unless we approach them with greater awareness and foresight 

than in the past, it will be as problematic a relationship as the 

one we currently have. 

So far, I have been using the metaphor of a love affair to describe our relationship with plastic. But there is another way to 

think about it: Plastic is us; we are plastic. We have created these 

materials. They comprise our material reality, and they have, in 

turn, shaped us. Plastics reflect and tap into both our best and 

worst impulses. Depending on how we go forward into the age 

of plastic, it could be an era that reflects carelessness, greed, and 

shortsighted thinking. Or it could reflect our ingenuity, wisdom, 

and willingness to safeguard the planet for future generations. 

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Index

Page numbers in italic text indicate illustrations and tables

Aarnio, Eero, 20, 23

acrylic, 167

acrylonitrile-butadiene-styrene (ABS)

carbon fiber texture imitation with, 30–31, 30

cellulose acetate replacement with, 14, 142

marine radiotelephone, 28, 28

office telephone, 29, 29

stacking chairs made using, 20, 22

television design prototype, 25, 27

Valentine typewriter and case, 31, 32

Adaptive Eyecare eyeglasses, 29–30, 30

Aeron Office Chair, 21, 23, 25

The Age of Plastic symposium, v, 2, 15n15

Agerite White antioxidant, 68

agriculture/agricultural products

agricultural utopian promises, 87–88, 88, 89

bioplastics from, 11–12, 170

chemurgy and creation of industrial products from, 12

decline during Great Depression, 39

Ford philosophy of use of, 99–102, 105

industrial agriculture, dependence on, 94

Ontario BioCar Initiative and use of products in automotive parts, 105

petroleum prices and benefits of using domestic agricultural products, 12, 101

raw materials to make fibers and plastics, 8, 35, 40, 89, 89, 105, 107n4

surplus crops use and patriotic self-sufficiency, 46

See also azlon textiles/regenerated protein fibers; food; specific products

Air Chair, 19, 20

aircraft models, 14, 142–43, 143

albatross

ingestion of plastic by chicks, 14, 148–50, 149, 152, 169

nesting ground of, 148, 149

plastic as imitation of food for, 9, 148, 169

American Science Service (ASS), 43–44, 46

animal species

effects of toxicity of plastics on, 78–79, 81, 169

field conservation and captive breeding management, 77–78, 79, 81–82, 82

ingestion of plastic by, 79, 81, 148–50, 149, 152, 156

natural habitat preservation, 77–78, 79, 81–82

natural selection and variety of, 77

role of plastics in conservation biology, 10, 78, 79–82, 80, 82
174 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

animal species (continued)

threats to wildlife and their habitats from 

plastic, 10, 14, 79, 81, 156, 169

Apollo program

Apollo 1 fire, 68

Apollo 11 mission suit, 9, 10

Apollo–Soyuz Test Project, 72

space suit advertisement, 62, 62, 66, 66

space suit development and design for, 9, 

61, 66–72, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 73, 

75, 76

Apple

designers at, 19

iMac computers, 31, 31

Aralac, 36, 37, 39, 40, 42, 44–45, 45

Ardil, 37, 41, 42, 46, 47

Armstrong, Neil, 10

Arrowhead Rubber Company, 61

arsenic, 2, 15n2

Arthur D. Little Laboratories, 39

artifacts

databases and reference collections for 

plastic identification, 137

identification of types of plastic used, 

136–37

plastic damage atlas database, 138

rubbish theory and value of, 36, 47

service life of plastics in, v, 13–14, 137–38, 

144

in Smithsonian collections, v, vi, 8, 

142–43, 143, 144

artificial heart, v, 9, 11

artwork

identification of types of plastic used, 

136–37

instabilities of plastics used for, 109, 126

plastic damage atlas database, 138

risks associated with display of, 112

service life of plastics in, v, 13–14, 137–38

types of damage to, 112

use of plastics for, 126, 167

See also sculptures

Astbury, William, 40–41

Atlantic Research Associates (ARA), 36, 37, 

39, 44

Atwood, Francis, 36, 39

Atwood, Margaret, 47

autarchy (self-sufficiency), 42–43, 46

automotive industry

challenges associated with bio-based materials implementation in, 106–7, 107n5

material performance requirements for, 

106–7, 107n5

Ontario BioCar Initiative and use of agricultural products in automotive parts, 

105

plastics use by, 101, 103

service life of plastics used in, 106, 107, 

107n5

sustainability and environmental responsibility technologies in, 101–2

See also Ford Motor Company

azlon textiles/regenerated protein fibers

attitudes toward, 8, 36, 40, 46–48

decrease in interest in, 39

definition of, 36

development of, 8, 12, 35

examples of in museum collections, 47

failure of, 8, 35–36, 46–48

intellectual and economic investments in 

development of, 42, 48

patent applications for, 38, 39, 42

production of, 36–41, 37, 38

promotion and marketing of, 42–46, 44, 

45, 47–48, 48

properties and qualities of, 36, 40, 41–42, 

46–48

protein raw materials to make, 8, 15n12, 

35, 36

suits and hats made with, 35, 40, 46, 101, 

101, 107n3

wartime shortages and substitution of, 8, 

35–36, 40, 42–48

Baekeland, Leo Hendrik, 101, 166–67

Bailey, Kenneth, 41

Bakelite, 15n13, 52, 57, 101, 166–67

Baldwin, James Mark, 8–9

Barthes, Roland, 3, 19

Bayer, 13

beads (nurdles), 3, 4, 14, 15n9

beanbag chairs, 20–21, 23

Béhar, Yves, 25, 25

Belasco, Warren, 85, 89

Berry, Wendell, 89, 94

Beta cloth, 69–70, 69, 71, 72, 75

B. F. Goodrich, 61, 62–63, 64

billiard ball, Celluloid, 6–7, 7, 166

biochemical engineering (chemurgy), 12, 35

biodegradability, 10, 15n16, 78, 78, 169, 170

bioplastics

agricultural inputs, 11–12, 170

biodegradability of, 170

challenges associated with implementation 

of, 106–7, 107n5, 170

concept and definition of, 11, 15n16

concerns about plastic waste and development of, 11–12, 97, 170

degradation of, 106–7, 107n5

economic advantages of, 12

economic challenges related to use of, 107, 

108n6

history of Ford Motor Company use of, 12

infrastructure and technology to support 

production of, 107, 108n6, 170

natural fiber composites performance, 106

postplastic research and new technological 

paradigm, 12

recycling of, 14, 15n16

service life of, 106–7, 107n5

sustainability and use of, 12, 14, 106–7

See also agriculture/agricultural products

bisphenol A (BPA), 79, 81, 169

blood bags and transfusion equipment, 9–10

boots, lunar, 72

Boyer, Robert, 39, 40, 46, 47

bronze and the Bronze Age, v, 1, 2, 15nn2–3

carbon dioxide ablation technique, 113–14, 114

carbon fiber texture imitation, 30–31, 30

carbon polymers, 4, 15n7

Carothers, Wallace, 62

Carver, George Washington, 35, 39–40

casein fibers. See milk/casein

casein formaldehyde, 126

Celanese Corporation, 39

Cellit, 13

cellophane, 88, 89–93, 91, 92, 93, 167

Celluloid (brand name)

billiard ball made with, 6–7, 7, 166

commercial success of, 6–7, 166–67

invention of, 2, 6–7, 15n10, 166

preservation of, 3

terminology use, 7, 15n6

celluloid (cellulose nitrate plastic)

acceptance and adoption of, 8–9, 166–67

advantages of over biological materials, 8, 

166

aesthetic identity of, 8, 15n13, 52–54, 

56–60, 57, 58, 59, 60, 166–67

appearance of, 56–57, 60

artwork created with, 126

attitudes toward, 57, 60

color and texture of objects made with, 8

degradation of, 138

design and good taste, affects on, 60

devices with practical applications, 55–56, 

57, 58, 59–60, 59, 60

economic advantages of, 8, 166

flammability of and fires hazards related 

to, 12–13, 13, 166

invention of, 2, 6–7, 15n10, 166

ivory simulant use of, 6, 8–9, 51–53, 52, 

53, 55–60, 57, 58, 81, 166

mass production of objects made with, 

54–55, 166–67

molecular structure of, 5

novelties made from, 54–60, 55, 56, 57, 

58, 59, 60

paper simulant use of, 59, 59

pioneer plastic name for, 51

plasticizers used in, 142

printing on, 54–55, 55, 56

properties and qualities of, 8, 51, 166

public health hazards related to, 12–13

regulations and licensing requirements to 

prevent fires related to, 13

substitutes for, development of, 13

terminology use, 7, 15n6

tortoiseshell simulant use of, 8, 9, 51–53, 

53, 81, 166

Celluloid Manufacturing Company, 6, 15n6

cellulose

degradation of, 138

meltable and dissolvable forms of, 5, 106, 

126

modified forms of, 2, 5–6, 125

molecular structure of, 5, 5

naturally occurring, 2, 15n5, 125

properties and qualities of, 5–6, 15n5, 106

regenerated cellulosic fibers, 36, 39

types of objects made with, 15n5

wartime use of, 8

cellulose acetate (CA)

ABS as replacement for, 14, 142
number 7 • 175

deterioration of objects made with, 14, 

138, 142–43, 143, 144

development and production of, 13, 142

mechanisms of degradation, 142, 143

modifications to produce, 2, 5

plasticizers used in, 142–44, 144n3

production statistics, 142

properties and qualities of, 2, 142

service life of, 144

types of objects made with, 142

cellulose acetate butyrate (CAB)

carbon dioxide ablation technique for, 

113–14, 114

degradation of, 138

modifications to produce, 2

names of plastics, 109

properties and qualities of, 2, 113

sculpture made with, 111–12, 113–14, 

113, 114, 115, 116

cellulose nitrate. See celluloid (cellulose 

nitrate plastic)

cellulose triacetate, 13

Cernan, Eugene, 65–66, 67

Chadwick, Don, 21, 23

Chaffee, Roger, 68

Chairs (Nelson), 7

chairs, plastic

design innovation and advances in plastic 

manufacturing, 7–8, 9, 19–25, 20, 21, 

22, 23, 24, 25, 33nn1–4

ghost chair design as parody, 9, 21, 24

recycled plastic to make, 25, 33n4

successful designs and features, 7

Chandelle (Safer), 111, 111

chemical utopian promises, 87–88, 87, 88, 

89, 167

chemurgy, 12

chemurgy (biochemical engineering), 35

Chibnall, Albert C., 41

chromatographic techniques, 137

Chromel-R fabric, 71, 71

Clough, G. Wayne, 32, 33n6

coal processing, 2, 101, 125

coffee cup lid collection, 94, 95

Colombo, Joe, 20, 22

comb factory fire, 12–13, 13

computer-aided design (CAD), 8, 29

computers

computer modeling and evolution of 

plastics, 6

Moggridge workstation design, 28, 28

conservation and preservation

challenges presented by plastic, v, 2–3, 

111–12, 111, 112, 113, 123

collaboration and information sharing 

about techniques for, 123

composition of plastic and techniques for, 

110, 123

consolidant solution preparation, 138

consolidant treatment to inhibit photooxidation research, 128–32, 128, 129, 

130, 131, 132, 135–36

consolidation treatment of degraded and 

painted PUR-ether foam, 132, 132

context, quality, and preservation decisions, 3

instabilities of plastics, v, 3, 13–14, 126, 

137–38

interpretation and stewardship of artifacts, 

2–3

knowledge about plastics and methods for, 

125

migration of substances out of plastic, 111

polyurethane foam conservation, 126–36

preventative preservation methods, 113

research to improve, v, 125

service life of objects accessioned into collections, v, 13–14, 137–38

types of damage to plastic artwork, 112

conservation and preservation case studies

Model minimum intervention, 113–14, 

114, 115, 116

Preamble moderate intervention, 114, 116, 

117, 118, 119, 120

Untitled major intervention, 116–17, 120, 

121, 122–23, 122, 123

conservation biology

aim and goal of, 77–78, 79

field conservation and captive breeding 

management, 77–78, 79

plasticizer migration and degradation of 

plastic, 78–79, 78, 81

positive and negative roles of plastic in, 

78–79, 78, 81–82

role of plastics in, 10, 78, 79–82, 80, 82

strategy for survival or recovery of species, 

77–78, 79

toxicity of plastic and, 78–79, 81

Conservation Biology Institute, v

containers, v, 13, 93

Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum, vi, 7, 19

copper and copper alloys, 1, 2, 15n2, 68

corn/zein

fiber and materials made from, 35, 36, 37, 

39

industrial goods made with, 89, 89

patent applications for fibers made with, 

38, 40

plastic raw materials from, 125

production and trade names of fibers made 

with, 37, 40

promotion of fibers made with, 45–46

properties and qualities of fibers made 

with, 42

Vicara, 37, 40, 42, 45–46

cotton fiber and cloth, 5, 15n5, 36, 42, 43, 

45, 63, 69, 125

Courtaulds, 36, 37, 39, 40, 42

cross-linking bonds, 4–5, 15n8

Cultural Heritage Agency of the Netherlands 

(RCE), 14, 125, 135–36, 137, 138

culture

changes and implications related to plastic, 

v–vi, 2–3, 9–12, 15, 101, 165–70

dependence on plastics, 165–70

disposable convenience and single-use 

items, 10–11, 15, 93–97, 94, 95, 96, 97, 

168–70

expectations for and relationship with 

plastic, 14–15

innovation and transformation through 

plastic, 3, 12

plastic as basis for relationship with the 

material world, 93–94, 95, 97

postwar consumer culture, 10–11, 167–68

rubbish theory and value of artifacts/objects, 36, 47

throwaway lifestyle, 168–70

cutlery, v

Dacron, 9

space suit gloves use of, 71, 71

space suit helmet use of, 70

space suit use of, 62, 65, 66, 69, 70, 73, 75

David Clark Company, 64

degradation/deterioration

biodegradability, 10, 15n16, 78, 78, 169, 

170

bioplastics properties and, 106–7, 107n5

cellulose acetate objects, 14, 138, 142–43, 

143, 144

hydrolysis, 73, 127, 138

instabilities of plastics and, v, 3, 13–14, 

126, 137–38

photochemical degradation, 138

photooxidation, 127, 128–32, 128, 129, 

130, 131, 132

plastic damage atlas, 138

plasticizer migration and degradation of 

plastic, 6, 78–79, 78, 81

polyurethane foam degradation, 126–27

properties of plastic and, 126, 137–38

design

chair design innovation and advances in 

plastic manufacturing, 7–8, 9, 19–25, 

20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 33nn1–4

computer-aided design, 8, 29

film about industrial design, 19, 33n1

form and function of plastic objects, vi

industrial design experience of Moggridge, 

8, 19, 25–29, 26, 27, 28, 29

ingenuity and use of plastics, 29–31, 30, 

31

properties of plastic and, vi, 25, 166–67

Deutsche Kunstseidenfabrik, 37, 38–39

diethyl phthalate (DEP), 4, 142–43

dimethyl phthalates, 142

dioctyl phthalate (DOP), 67, 72

Dow Corning, 9

Drackett Company, 37, 40, 47

DuPont

advances in fiber and materials development by, 61–62, 167

Apollo space suit advertisement, 62, 62, 

66, 66

Beta cloth development by, 69–70

casein fiber patent filed by, 39

cellophane advertisements, 90–91, 91, 92

corn-based fiber research by, 40

Dacron development by, 9

Nomex development by, 65

Tyvek fabric from, 111

Eames, Charles, 19–20

Eames, Ray, 19–20
176 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

Eastlake, Charles, 53, 60

Ecovative Mushroom Materials, 31–32, 

33n5, 33

egg whites, fiber and materials made from, 

36, 37, 38, 39, 40

elastomers, 126, 138

Elephant Chair, 20, 22, 33n2

Endless Chair, 25, 26

Endless Flow collection, 8

environment

automotive industry sustainability and 

environmental responsibility technologies, 101–7

bioplastics development and environmental 

sustainability, 12, 14

effects of plastic debris on, 79

impact of plastics on, 2, 3

plastic waste and concerns about, 11, 

94–97, 96

See also marine debris; pollution, plastic

epoxy Solid C2 Chair, 21, 24, 25

ersatz products, 8, 12, 36, 46–47

ester urethanes, 73

ether urethanes, 73, 75

ethylene vinyl acetate copolymer (EVA resin), 

72–73

Ettlinger, Steve, 88

Eversley, Frederick, 4, 110, 110, 116–17, 

120, 121, 122–23, 122, 123

eyeglasses, 29–30, 30

Farr, Sam, 156

feathers, fiber and materials made from, 36, 

37, 38, 39

Ferretti, Antonio, 39, 41, 42

fiberglass/glass-reinforced plastic (GRP)

Elephant Chair, 8, 20, 22, 33n2

natural fiber composites performance 

compared to, 106

Pastil Rocking Chair, 20, 23

properties of, 69, 126

RAR Rocking Chair, 19–20, 20

sculptures, 109, 110–11, 110, 111

space suit helmet use of, 70

space suit use of, 73, 74, 75

terminology use, 33n2

Fiell, Charlotte, 7

Fiell, Peter, 7

fillers, 3

film, motion picture and photographic

Celluloid as common name for, 7

celluloid use for, 57

flammability of and fires hazards related 

to, 12–13

regulations and licensing requirements 

for projectors, projection rooms, and 

projectionists, 13

first mile problem, 162

Fish Bait Necklace (Glover), 111, 112

flame retardants, 78, 169

food

Army rations, 88, 88

convenience and overconsumption of, 86

freshness of and marketing of plastic packaging, 89–97, 90, 91, 92, 93

industrialization of production of and 

parallel to trajectory of plastics development, 10, 86–90, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90

ingredients in, knowledge of, 88–89

media portrayal of abundant food system, 

86, 86, 92–93, 93

shelf life on and, 88

size and speed of production operations, 

86–87, 87

study of and food as a system, 85–86

Twinkies, 88–89

Food and Wine History Project, 85

food packaging

benefits of plastic for, 78

cellophane, 88, 89–93, 91, 92, 93, 167

coffee cup lid collection, 94, 95

disposable convenience and single-use 

items, 10–11, 15, 93–97, 94, 95, 96, 97, 

168–70

environmental and health concerns about, 

95, 169

guilt over single-use items, 94–97, 96

innovation and transformation through 

plastic, 10–11, 86–90, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90

marketing of benefits of, 89–97, 90, 91, 

92, 93

plastic housewares, 93

food sculptures, 9, 31

Food: Transforming the American Table 

exhibition, 85, 94, 95

Ford, Bill, 101

Ford, Henry

chemurgy interests of, 12, 35

farm and tree plantations of, 100

innovative thinking of, 99

patents held by, 99

plant-based materials, interest in, 12, 99–102

promotion of soybean-based fibers by, 46

soybean-based materials research by, 

39–40, 100–101, 100, 107n3

soybean/wool suit worn by, 35, 46, 101, 

101, 107n3

sustainability and reuse of materials philosophy of, 99, 100–102, 107n1

Fordite, 100, 107n2

Ford Motor Company

bio-based materials challenges faced by, 

106–7, 107n5

history of plant-based plastic use by, 12, 

99–102

imported wool for car upholstery, goal to 

reduce use of, 40

Model U concept, 101, 102

plastics technology research program at, 

11–12, 99, 107

plastics use in automobiles, 101, 103, 

106–7

Recycling Action Team at, 101

soy-based polyurethane foam development 

by, 12, 103–5, 103, 104

soybean-based fiber exhibit at World’s 

Fair, 46

soybean-based fiber production by, 40

soybean-based materials research by, 35, 

37, 39–40

Soybean Car, 100–101, 100

sustainability and environmental responsibility philosophy at, 101–7

wheat straw–reinforced polypropylene 

development by, 12, 105–6, 105

fossil fuels. See petroleum/fossil fuels

Fourier transform infrared spectroscopy 

(FTIR), 126, 127, 130–32, 131, 137

fridges, chair made from plastic from, 

25, 26

Gabo, Naum, 126

Galalith, 15n12, 41

game controller, 30–31, 30

Gatti, Pietro, 21

gelatin, fiber and materials made from, 36, 

37, 38, 38, 39, 40

Gemini program space suits, 64–66, 65, 68

General Foods, 92

Gerard, Marie-Paul Emile, 38

Gilardi, Piero, 4, 126, 127

consolidant testing on works of art from, 

132, 132

Sassi, 135, 135

Tappeti-natura series, 126, 134–35, 134, 

135

Zuccaia, 134–35, 134

glass-reinforced plastic. See fiberglass/glassreinforced plastic (GRP)

Glover, Robly, 111, 112

gloves, space suit, 70–71, 71, 73, 75

Goodyear, Charles, 2, 15n4

Goodyear Tire and Rubber, 61

Gore-Tex, 75

Gould, Stephen P., 39, 41

Grandi, Dino, 35

Grissom, Gus, 68

Ha’alelea Kawaiae’a, Raylene, 152

Harpman, Louise, 94

Hayward, Nathaniel, 2, 15n4

Head of a Woman (Gabo), 126

health concerns related to plastics, 6, 10, 

12–13, 95, 158–59, 169

heart, artificial, v, 9, 11

heat stabilizers, 3, 78

helmet, space suit, 70, 70

Herman Miller chairs, 20, 21, 23, 25, 25

high-density polyethylene (HDPE), 162

Hitchcock, Alfred, 13

Horowitz, Roger, 91

H. Timpe Nammlooze, 39

Hustwit, Gary, 19

Hyatt, Isaiah Smith, 6

Hyatt, John Wesley, 6, 166, 167

hydrolysis, 73, 127, 138

ILC Industries/International Latex Corporation, 61, 64, 66, 68, 72, 73, 75, 76

imitation

ABS imitation carbon fiber texture, 

30–31, 30

acceptance and adoption of celluloid, 8–9

attitudes toward azlon textiles, 8, 36, 40, 

46–48
number 7 • 177

celluloid use instead of biological materials, 8–9, 51–53, 52, 53, 55–60, 57, 58, 

81, 166

ersatz products, 8, 12, 36, 46–47

ghost chair design as parody, 9, 21, 24

imitative plastic versus plastic-as-plastic 

aesthetic, 52–53, 166–67

innovation process and, 9

plastic as imitation of albatross food, 9, 

148, 169

plastic simulation of real materials, prevalence of, 30–31

rubbish theory and value of artifacts/objects, 36, 47

Imperial Chemical Industries (ICI), 37, 

40–41, 42, 46

Impranil DLV, 4

induction time, 138

Industrial Chemical Industries, 167

industrial eater, 89

ingenuity and use of plastics, 29–31, 30, 31

injection molding

gas-assisted injection molding, 33n1

gas-injected polypropylene chairs, 19, 20, 

33n1

material performance requirements for 

automotive industry, 106–7, 107n5

natural composites used in, 105

polycarbonate Louis Ghost Chair, 9, 21, 

24, 33n3

production process with, 3, 4, 136

recycled plastic for, 14

reinforced thermoplastic composites, 106

Sayl Chair injection-molded polyurethane, 

25, 25

stacking chairs made using, 20, 21, 22

wheat straw–reinforced polypropylene 

products, 105–6, 105

innovation

balancing innovation and transformation 

with social responsibility, 15

chair design innovation and advances in 

plastic manufacturing, 7–8, 9, 19–25, 

20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 33nn1–4

complexity of innovation trajectory, 15

cultural innovation and transformation 

through plastic, 3, 12

food packaging development, 10–11, 

86–90, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90

imitation and process for, 9

incremental innovation, 9

medical devices and equipment transformation, 9–10

transformation through plastic adoption 

and innovation, 3, 9–12, 101, 167–68

Inouye, Daniel, 156

Inouye, Ryohei, 39

International Network for the Conservation 

of Contemporary Art, 138

intravenous equipment, 9–10

iron and the Iron Age, v, 1, 2

Ive, Jonathan “Jony,” 19, 31, 31, 33n1

ivory

celluloid as substitute for, 6, 8–9, 51–53, 

52, 53, 55–60, 57, 58, 81, 166

financial constraints associated with, 8

limitations on objects made from, 8

Jimenez, Luis, 109, 110

Jordan, Chris, 147, 152

Jouin, Patrick, 21, 24, 25

Kapton

discovery of, 62

space suit use of, 62, 62, 66, 69, 70, 75

Karp, Haskell, 9

Kaufman, Glen, 111, 112

Kennedy, John F., 9

Kevlar, 75

King, Perry, 31, 32

The Knights (Kaufman), 111, 112

Kodak plastic sheeting, 89, 90

Lactofil, 37, 39

Lanital, 37, 39, 41, 42, 43, 44, 44

last mile problem, 162

Laysan albatross. See albatross

Levenstein, Harvey, 92

license plates artwork conservation, 114, 

116, 117, 118, 119, 120

Liotta-Cooley artificial heart, 9, 11

liquid cooling and ventilating garment 

(LCVG), 72–73, 72

liquid cooling garment (LCG), 67, 67, 72

Logitech game controller, 30–31, 30

Louis Ghost Chair, 9, 21, 24, 33n3

Louis XV/Louis XVI chair styles, 9, 21, 24, 

33n3

Lucite

appearance of, 57

Chandelle, 111, 111

names of plastics, 109

purses made using, 31

Lycra, 62, 66

Manock, Jerry, 19

marine debris

awareness of pollution problems, 147–48, 

152, 156, 158

benefits of floating plastic, 79

cultural solutions to, 14, 152, 155–56

definition of, 155

economic losses from, 156

federal response to, 14, 155–56

films about, 142, 152

fragmentation of debris, 79, 148, 156, 169

prevention of, 156

problems caused by, 14, 79, 155–56, 169

sources of, 79, 156, 158–59

threats to wildlife and their habitats from, 

14, 79, 81, 147–52, 149, 150, 156, 169

types of plastic and debris, 79, 155, 156

Marine Debris Research, Prevention, and 

Reduction Act, 156

marine radiotelephone, 28, 28

Marinetti, Filippo, 43

material ages, v, 1–2

MBA Polymers, 14, 161–62

McArdle, Claire, 45

McCracken, John, 110, 111

McDonald’s foam clamshell, 13, 95, 97

McInnerney, Thomas, 35, 39

medical devices and equipment

benefits of plastic for, 78, 79–81, 80

innovation and transformation through 

plastic, 9–10, 11

service life of plastics in, v

Meikle, Jeffrey, 52, 87, 167

melamine formaldehyde, 126

Mercury program space suits, 63, 64, 64

methyl cellulose, 5

Midway Atoll, 14, 148

albatross nesting ground on, 148, 149

location of, 148

plastic ocean pollution in area around, 

147–50, 152, 169

plastic-related dangers to albatross population on, 148–50, 149, 150, 152, 169

tern population on, 148, 150, 151

milk/casein

Aralac, 36, 37, 39, 40, 42, 44–45, 45

casein plastics development, 41

fiber and materials made from, 35, 36, 37

Galalith, 15n12, 41

Lactofil, 37, 39

Lanital, 37, 39, 41, 42, 43, 44, 44

patent applications for fibers made with, 

38, 39, 42

production and trade names of fibers made 

with, 37, 38–39

promotion of fibers made with, 43–45, 44

properties and qualities of materials made 

with, 42, 126

semisynthetic plastic classification, 125

Millar, Adam, 37, 38, 41, 42

Model (Morris), 111–12, 113–14, 113, 114, 

115, 116

model aircraft, 14, 142–43, 143

Model U concept, 101, 102

Moggridge, Bill, vi, 6, 7–8, 9

industrial design experience of, 8, 19, 

25–29, 26, 27, 28, 29

molding powder, 3, 15n9, 142, 144n3

Monsanto, 88

Moody, Freda, 42, 47

Morris, Robert, 111–12, 113–14, 113, 114, 

115, 116

Morrison, Jasper, 19, 20

Museum Conservation Institute (MCI)

The Age of Plastic symposium, v, 2, 15n15

mission of, 2

sustainability plan role of, 32

Mushroom Materials, 31–32, 33n5, 33

Mylar

Adaptive Eyecare eyeglasses, 29–30, 30

discovery of, 62

properties of, 75

space suit gloves use of, 71

space suit use of, 62, 62, 65, 65, 66, 69, 

70, 75

Mythologies (Barthes), 19

NASA, 9. See also space suits/pressure suits

National Air and Space Museum, 72

model airplane collection at, 14, 142–43, 143
178 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

National Dairy Products Corporation, 35, 

39, 40, 42, 44–45, 45

National Museum of American History, 8, 9

coffee cup lid collection, 94, 95

Food and Wine History Project, 85

Food: Transforming the American Table 

exhibition, 85, 94, 95

Perlov Collection, 51, 53, 53

National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration

Marine Debris Group, 14, 156

removal of marine debris by, 155, 156

National Soybean Research Laboratory/

Regional Soybean Industrial Products 

Laboratory, 39

National Zoo, v, 1

near infrared spectroscopy (NIR), 137

Nelson, George, 7, 20

neoprene, 9, 62, 63, 70–71, 71

neoprene-coated nylon, 62, 65, 66, 68, 68, 

69, 70, 71

Netherlands Institute for Cultural Heritage, 

135

nitric acid, 6

Nomex (HT-1), 62, 62, 65, 65, 66, 68, 68, 

72, 75

novelties

aesthetic identity of, 52–60, 54, 55, 56, 57, 

58, 59, 60

definition of, 54

devices with practical applications, 55–56, 

57, 58, 59–60, 59, 60

historical background of, 54–60, 55, 56, 

57, 58, 59, 60

mass production of, 54–55

nurdles (beads), 3, 4, 14, 15n9

nylon

corn-based nylon research, 40

development of, 62, 167

space suit gloves use of, 71, 71

space suit use of, 9, 62, 62, 65, 66, 67, 68, 

68, 73

Objectified (Hustwit), 19, 33n1

Ocean Recovery Alliance, 158

office telephone, 29, 29

1000 Chairs (Fiell and Fiell), 7

Ontario BioCar Initiative, 105

Ortho-Fabric, 75

Owens Corning, 69–70

Pacific Ocean gyres/garbage patches, 147–48, 

155, 169

Panton, Verner, 20, 21

Panton Stacking Side Chair, 20, 21

Paolini, Cesare, 21

Parkes, Alexander, 6

Parkesine, 6, 8

Pastil Rocking Chair, 20, 23

patents, 6, 15n10, 38, 39, 40–41, 42, 99

peanuts

Ardil, 37, 41, 42, 46, 47

fiber and materials made from, 35, 36, 37, 39

patent applications for fibers made with, 

38, 40–41

production and trade names of fibers made 

with, 37, 40–41

promotion of fibers made with, 46

properties and qualities of fibers made 

with, 42, 47

Perlov Collection, 51, 53, 53

persistent organic pollutants (POP), 150, 152

petroleum/fossil fuels

development of alternatives to materials 

made using, 101

plastic raw materials from, 2, 12, 101, 125

price of and the plastics industry, 12, 101, 

102

service life of plastics made with, 107

phenol formaldehyde, 15n13, 126. See also

Bakelite

phenolic resin, 27, 27

photochemical degradation, 138

photooxidation, 127, 128–32, 128, 129, 130, 

131, 132

phthalates, 4, 6, 10, 67, 79, 81, 136, 142–44, 

169

Pincher, Chapman, 46

Pioneer Plastic (Friedel), 8, 9

plant-based plastic. See bioplastics

plant species, 77

plastic

advantages and benefits of using, 78–79, 

78, 81–82, 157

analysis to determine types of, 3

as basis for relationship with the material 

world, 93–94, 95, 97

bronze similarities to, 2, 15n3

computer modeling and evolution of, 6

consumption rates, 158, 169

cultural changes and implications related 

to, v–vi, 2–3, 9–12, 15, 101, 165–70

databases and reference collections, 137

dependence on, 165–70

expectations for and relationship with, 

14–15

experimentation and development of 

early plastics, 3, 6–9, 15nn10–14, 101, 

166–68

growth rate and volume produced compared to steel, 157–58

identification of types of, 136–37, 158–60, 

160, 161, 162

importance of to modern life, 85, 101, 

165–66, 170

markets for, 167–68

material properties and qualities of, 3, 4–6, 

125–26, 136, 157

negative roles of, 78–79, 78, 81–82, 86, 

165–70

raw materials similarities to final product, 2

raw materials to make, 2, 3–6, 4, 5, 12, 

15nn4–9, 78, 101, 107n4, 125–26, 136, 

170

service life of, 137–38

shortcomings of, 3

technological changes and implications 

related to, v–vi, 2–3, 9–12, 101

transformation through plastic adoption 

and innovation, 3, 9–12, 101, 167–68

types of and names for, 109–11, 125–26

understanding of, 3

Plastic: A Toxic Love Story (Freinkel), 14, 85

Plastic China, 160

plastic damage atlas, 138

plasticizers

cellulose acetate additives, 142–44, 144n3

function of, 6, 78, 136

migration of and degradation of plastic, 6, 

67, 72, 78–79, 78, 81

migration of and health concerns, 6, 10, 169

nurdles use of, 3, 4

toxic effects of, 79, 81, 169

plastic utopias, 87–88, 87, 88, 89, 167

Plexiglas, 57

Plunkett, Roy, 62

pollution, plastic

concerns about and problems related to, 

11, 14, 94–97, 96, 168–70

cultural solutions to, 14, 152

fragmentation of, 79, 148, 156, 169

individual solutions to, 14

service life of plastics and, 14

threats to wildlife and their habitats from, 

10, 14, 79, 81, 147–52, 149, 150, 156, 

169

See also marine debris

polycarbonate

helmet made using, 70, 70

Louis Ghost Chair, 9, 21, 24, 33n3

properties and qualities of, 126

polyester, 9, 62, 69, 109

polyester resin

availability of, 126

sculptures made with, 4, 110–11, 110, 111

Untitled conservation intervention, 

116–17, 120, 121, 122–23, 122, 123

polyethylene

availability of, 126

conservation biology uses for, 78

creation of from gases, 2

degradation of, 138

development of, 167

high-density polyethylene, 162

market for products made with, 168, 169

molecular structure of, 4, 4

production of, 168

properties of, 4, 126

recycling of, 14

uses for, 78

polyethylene terephthalate (PET), 5, 62, 70, 

105, 126, 162, 168

PolyJet 3-D printing, 136

polylactide/polylactic acid (PLA), 106–7. See 

also soy-based polyurethane foam

polymers

additives to and blending of to tailor properties to applications, 5–6, 15n3, 78, 78, 

136

bonding, interstrand attractions, and plastic properties, 4–5, 15n8

compounding and interstrand attractions, 

5, 6, 15n9, 136

conservation of polymer coatings, 114, 

116, 117, 118, 119, 120
number 7 • 179

degradation of, 137–38

experimentation and development of 

early plastics, 3, 6–9, 15nn10–14, 101, 

166–68

modification of side groups, 5–6

naturally occurring materials, 2, 8, 12, 

15n1, 15n5, 125–26

plastic raw materials from, 2, 3–6, 4, 5, 

15nn4–9, 78, 78, 136

properties and qualities of, 3–6, 4, 5, 

15nn7–9, 136

service life of, 137–38

solubility of, 5–6

synthetic materials, 9, 15n1, 15n4, 125–26

See also cellulose

polymethyl methacrylate, 57, 111, 111, 126. 

See also Lucite

polyolefin resins, 105, 106

polypropylene

conservation biology uses for, 78, 80, 81

creation of from gases, 2

degradation of, 138

gas-injected polypropylene chairs, 19, 20, 

33n1

prevalence of waste and debris in marine 

environment, 79

properties of, 126

recycling of, 14

uses for, 78

wheat straw–reinforced polypropylene 

products, 12, 15n9, 105–6, 105

polystyrene

availability of, 126

beanbag chairs, 20–21, 23

conservation biology uses for, 78, 80, 81

development of, 167

molecular structure of, 4

prevalence of waste and debris in marine 

environment, 79

properties of, 4, 126

recycling of, 14

uses for, 78

polyurethane

availability of, 126

Sayl Chair injection-molded polyurethane, 

25, 25

polyurethane (PUR) foam, 127

artificial light aging, 128–32, 128, 129, 

130, 131, 132

artwork created with, 126

chemical formulation of, 104

condition assessment of artwork made 

with, 132–33, 133

conservation of artwork made with, 14, 

126–36

consolidant treatment recommendations 

and case studies, 133–36

consolidant treatment to inhibit photooxidation research, 128–32, 128, 129, 130, 

131, 132, 135–36

consolidation treatment of degraded and 

painted PUR-ether foam, 132, 132

degradation of, 126–27, 138

FTIR analysis of, 126, 127, 130–32, 131

identification of types of, 127

Moggridge workstation design, 28, 28

properties and qualities of, 126

PUR-ether foam, 127, 128–36, 128, 129, 

130, 131, 132, 133

sculpture made with, 4, 14

soy-based polyurethane foam, 12, 103–5, 

103, 104

Tappeti-natura series, 126, 134–35, 134, 

135

television design competition and prototype, 25, 27

polyurethane rubber, 126

polyvinyl chloride (PVC)

availability of, 126

blood bags and transfusion equipment use 

of, 10

conservation biology uses for, 78, 80, 81

degradation of plasticized PVC, 138

development of, 167

HCI outgassing from, 67

leaching and outgassing of, 67

molecular structure of, 4, 4

names of plastics, 109

plasticizer migration/leaching from, 6, 

67, 72

properties of, 4, 6, 126

space suit use of vinyl tubing, 9, 62, 66, 

67, 67, 72

Tygon tubing, 67, 67

uses for, 78

polyvinyl chloride rubber, 126

Post, Wiley, 62–63, 63, 64

Preamble (Wilkins), 114, 116, 117, 118, 119, 

120

Preservation of Plastic Artefacts (POPART), 

137

pressure garment assembly, 68, 68

pressure suits. See space suits/pressure suits

printers and mass production of novelties, 

54–55, 55, 56

production and manufacturing

azlon textiles production, 36–41, 37, 38

chair design innovation and advances in 

plastic manufacturing, 7–8, 9, 19–25, 

20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 33nn1–4

computer modeling and evolution of 

plastic, 6

cross-linking bonds and plastic properties, 

4–5, 15n8

end-of-life considerations, 170

experimentation and development of 

early plastics, 3, 6–9, 15nn10–14, 101, 

166–68

growth rate and production volume, 

157–58, 169

infrastructure and technology to support 

production of bioplastics, 107, 108n6, 

170

machines for, 3

mass production of objects, 10, 54–55, 

101, 166–67

plasticizers use during, 6

polyethylene production, 168

process and techniques for, 136

See also injection molding

proteins

development of plastics made with, 8, 

15n12

suitability as fiber source, 36–37

See also azlon textiles/regenerated protein 

fibers

pyrolysis–gas chromatography–mass 

spectrometry (Py-GCMS), 137

Raman spectroscopy, 137

Rancillac, Bernard, 8, 20, 22

RAR Rocking Chair, 19–20, 20

rayon, 36, 42

recycling

benefits of, 14

challenges related to plastic recycling, 14, 

78, 78, 158–63

color palette of recycled plastics, 25, 33n4

consumer behavior and, 97, 162

cultural obstacles to, 14

economic viability of, 144

energy savings from, 158

first mile problem, 162

Ford Motor Company activities, 101

health and ecosystem risk from improper 

recycling, 158–59

identification of types of plastic, 158–60, 

160, 161, 162

informal recyclers, 158–60, 159, 160, 161, 

162

metal recycling, 14

natural scheme for, 15n16

percentage of recycling by material, 14, 

158

plastic waste recycling, 14, 144, 158–63, 

170

programs for, 32

rates of, 158–60, 168

recommendations to increase, 160–63, 170

self-disassembling plastic advantages, 142, 

143–44

sorting and separation of materials, 162

steel recycling, 14, 157–58, 162

value of plastic compared to steel, 14, 158

Recycling Action Team (RAT), 101

refrigerators, chair made from plastic from, 

25, 26

regenerated protein fibers. See azlon textiles/

regenerated protein fibers

Regional Soybean Industrial Products Laboratory, 39

responsibility/social responsibility

automotive industry sustainability and 

environmental responsibility technologies, 101–7

balancing innovation and transformation 

with social responsibility, 15

biodegradability, 15n16, 169

disposability issues, 10–11, 15, 168–70

plastic-related implications, 3, 12–15

plastic waste, concerns about, 11, 31–32, 

33, 94–97, 96

sustainability and, 25, 32

See also recycling

reuse, ethos of, 93, 168
180 • SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS TO MUSEUM CONSERVATION

robot printing, 25, 26

rubber

degradation of, 68, 72

goldenrod source as replacement for, 100

importance of, 12

as natural plastic raw material, 2, 8, 125

properties and qualities of, 12, 56, 126

space suit use of, 61, 68

vulcanization of, 2, 12, 15n4

rubbish theory, 36, 47

Ruskin, John, 53

Sacco Chair, 20–21, 23

Safer, John, 111, 111

salts, soluble, 143

SamCo database, 137

sanding and sandpaper, 117, 122–23

Sassi (Gilardi), 135, 135

Save America’s Treasures program, 67, 68, 

72

Sayl Chair, 25, 25

Scott cups, 93, 94

sculptures

conservation of plastic, 14

food sculptures, 9, 31

instabilities of plastics used for, 109, 126

plastic types and compositions used for, 

109–11, 123

polyester resin sculpture conservation, 

116–17, 120, 121, 122–23, 122, 123

polyester resin sculptures, 4, 110–11, 110, 

111

polyurethane foam sculptures, 4, 14, 126, 

134–35, 134, 135

types of damage to, 112

use of plastics for, 126

Seddon, Robert, 41

self-disassembling plastic, 142, 143–44

semisynthetic plastics, 2, 125

Sever, William, 41

Shapiro, Laura, 88

Silastic, 9

silicon polymers, 4, 15n7

silicon rubber, 126

silk

development of substitutes for, 8, 9, 38, 42

fiber and materials made from waste from, 

36, 40

properties of, 69

protein-based substitutes for, 35

rubberized silk for space suits, 63

Silver, Joshua, 30

Simpson, George, 41

Skylab space suits, 72

Smithson, James, 2

Smithsonian Institution

mission of, 2

plastic artifacts in collections of, v, vi, 8, 

142–43, 143, 144

Smithsonian American Art Museum 

(SAAM), 14, 109

Suited for Space exhibition, 72

sustainability plan at, 32

snack utopians, 89

SNIA Viscosa, 37, 39, 43

social responsibility. See responsibility/social 

responsibility

Solid C2 Chair, 21, 24, 25

solution-coated fabrics, 73

Sottsass, Ettore, 31, 32

soy-based polyurethane foam

awards and honors for creation of, 104

challenges associated with implementation 

of, 106–7

commercial success of, 12

development of for car seats, 12, 103–5, 

103

expansion of applications for, 104–5

properties and qualities of, 12

technical challenges in development of, 

104, 104

soybeans/soy

fiber and materials made from, 35, 36, 37

Ford soybean-based materials research, 35, 

100–101, 100, 107n3

industrial goods made with, 89, 89

patent applications for fibers made with, 

38, 39

production and trade names of fibers made 

with, 37, 39–40

promotion of fibers made with, 46

properties and qualities of fibers made 

with, 46

research to develop products from, 12

Soybean Car, 100–101, 100

suits and hats made with fabric from, 35, 

40, 46, 101, 101, 107n3

space heater, 27–28, 27

Space Shuttle/Space Station pressure suits, 9, 

63, 72–76, 72, 74, 75

space suits/pressure suits

Apollo 11 mission suit, 9, 10

Apollo program suits, 66–72, 66, 67, 68, 

69, 70, 71, 73, 75, 76

Apollo space suit advertisement, 62, 62

development and design of, 9, 61–64, 62, 

63, 76

fit and sizing of, 63–64, 73, 76

Gemini program suits, 64–66, 65, 68

gloves, 70–71, 71, 73, 75

hard upper torso, 73, 74

helmet, 70, 70

incremental process of development of, 9

intravehicular activity suit, 63

joints in, 68

liquid cooling and ventilating garment, 

72–73, 72

liquid cooling garment, 67, 67, 72

lunar boots, 72

materials for, 61–63, 62, 64–75, 65, 66, 

67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 75

Mercury program suits, 63, 64, 64

modular design of, 73, 74

pressure garment assembly, 68, 68

protection from hazards of space from, 

63–64, 76

service life of plastics in, v, 13, 67, 68, 73, 

75, 76

Space Shuttle/Space Station suits, 9, 63, 

72–76, 72, 74, 75

Suited for Space exhibition, 72

thermal micrometeoroid garment, 67, 

68–70, 69, 75

waist subassembly, 73, 74

Wiley Post suit, 62–63, 63, 64

spandex, 62, 67, 67

Specht, Scott, 94

Spectra, 73, 75

spectroscopic techniques, 137

Spill, Daniel, 6

stabilizers, 78

Staley Manufacturing Company, 89, 89

Starck, Philippe, 9, 21, 24, 33n3

steel, 2, 14, 157–58, 162

Stone Age, v, 1–2

Strasser, Susan, 94

Stumpf, Bill, 21, 23

Styrofoam clamshell boxes, 13, 95, 97

Suited for Space exhibition, 72

Swallen, Lloyd, 40

Swan Leg Chair, 20, 21

Tappeti-natura series (Gilardi), 126, 134–35, 

134, 135

Tarantino, Quentin, 13

technology

advances in plastic technology, 2–3, 6, 

9–12, 101

automotive industry sustainability and 

environmental responsibility technologies, 101–7

changes and implications related to plastic, 

v–vi, 2–3, 9–12, 101

experimentation and development of 

early plastics, 3, 6–9, 15nn10–14, 101, 

166–68

infrastructure and technology to support 

production of bioplastics, 107, 108n6, 

170

postplastic research and new technological 

paradigm, 12

transformation of materials with to make 

usable object, 1–2

Teflon

development of, 62, 167

migration of and health concerns, 169

space suit use of, 62, 62, 65, 66, 69–70, 69

television design competition and prototype, 

25, 27

Teodoro, Franco, 21

terns, 148, 150, 151

textiles, 8. See also azlon textiles/regenerated 

protein fibers

thermal micrometeoroid garment (TMG), 67, 

68–70, 69, 75

thermoplastic polymers, 4–6, 126

thermosetting polymers, 4–5, 15n8, 126

Thompson, Michael, 36, 47

Thomsen, Christian Jürgensen, 1

three-age system, v, 1–2

3-D printing

Endless Chair, 25, 26
number 7 • 181

identification of plastics used for, 136

medical devices and equipment, 9

throwaway lifestyle, 168–70

Timpe, Hermann, 39

tin, 1, 2

Titanic, 165, 166

toaster, 25, 27, 27

Todtenhaupt, Friedrich, 37, 38–39, 41, 42

Tornatore, Giuseppe, 13

tortoiseshell

celluloid as substitute for, 8, 9, 51–53, 53, 

81, 166

limitations on objects made from, 8

as natural plastic raw material, 125

toy trades, 54

tradeshows, 167–68

Traill, David, 41

triphenyl phosphate (TPP), 142–44

Tupperware, 93

Twinkies, 88–89

Tygon tubing, 67, 67

typewriters, 31, 32

Tyvek, 111

Union Carbide, 88, 88

Untitled (Eversley), 110, 110, 116–17, 120, 

121, 122–23, 122, 123

Untitled (McCracken), 110, 111

urea formaldehyde, 126

urethane-coated fabrics, 73, 75

Valentine typewriter and case, 31, 32

Vander Kooij, Dirk, 8, 25, 26, 33n4

Vanduara silk, 37, 38

Vanduara Silk Company, 37, 38

Vaquero (Jimenez), 109, 110

Vectran, 75

Vectran TurtleSkin, 75

veterinary medicine, 79–81, 80

Vicara, 37, 40, 42, 45–46

Virginia-Carolina Chemical Corporation, 

37, 40

viscose, 69

The VOC Collection Database, 137

vulcanized rubber, 2, 12, 15n4

waste and waste management

cultural solutions to, 14, 152

individual solutions to, 14

percentage of plastic in municipal waste 

stream, 138, 144n1

plastic-related implications, 3, 14

public attitudes toward garbage, 14

self-disassembling plastic advantages, 142, 

143–44

volume reduction of plastic waste, 141–42, 

143–44

See also recycling

wheat straw–reinforced polypropylene 

(WSPP)

applications for, 105, 105

awards and honors for creation of, 105–6

challenges associated with implementation 

of, 106–7

commercial success of, 12

compounding and formulation of, 15n9, 

106

development of, 12, 105–6

environmental sustainability and use of 

straw, 12

properties and qualities of, 12, 105, 106

White, Ed, 65, 68

Whitehead, A. N., 94

Whittier, Earle O., 39, 41, 43

Wilkins, Mike, 114, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120

William Cross, 38

woodstock, 105

wool

development of substitutes for, 8, 9, 42

fiber and materials made from waste 

from, 36

imported wool for car upholstery, Ford 

goal to reduce use of, 40

protein-based substitutes for, 35

word processor system, 29, 29

World’s Fair, New York, 43, 46

World War I, 8

World War II

Army rations, 88, 88

azlon textiles use during, 8, 35–36, 40, 

42–48

blood bags and transfusion equipment during, 10

frugality during, 10

plastics made during, 8, 167

postwar consumer culture, 10–11, 167–68

Wormell, R. L., 36, 38–39, 40, 47

Wyeth, Andrew, 168

Wyeth, Nathaniel, 168

X-15 aircraft, 64

Xylonite, 6, 8

zein. See corn/zein

zinc ore, 2

Zuccaia (Gilardi), 134–35, 134
SUMMARY OF REQUIREMENTS FOR SMITHSONIAN CONTRIBUTIONS SERIES

For comprehensive guidelines and specifications, visit https://scholarlypress.si.edu. 

ABSTRACTS must not exceed 300 words. 

TEXT must be prepared in a recent version of Microsoft Word; use a Times font in 12 point for regular text; be double 

spaced; and have 1” margins. 

REQUIRED ELEMENTS are title page, abstract, table of contents, main text, and references.

FIGURES must be numbered sequentially (1, 2, 3, etc.) in the order called out; have components lettered consistently (in 

size, font, and style) and described in captions; include a scale bar or scale description, if appropriate; include any legends 

in or on figures rather than in captions. Figures must be original and must be submitted as individual TIF or EPS files.

FIGURE FILES must meet all required specifications in the Digital Art Preparation Guide. Color images should be 

requested only if required. 

TAXONOMIC KEYS in natural history manuscripts should use the aligned-couplet form for zoology. If cross referencing 

is required between key and text, do not include page references within the key, but number the keyed-out taxa, using the 

same numbers with their corresponding heads in the text.

SYNONYMY IN ZOOLOGY must use the short form (taxon, author, year:page), with full reference at the end of the 

manuscript under “References.”

REFERENCES should be in alphabetical order, and in chronological order for same-author entries. Each reference should 

be cited at least once in main text. Complete bibliographic information must be included in all citations. Examples of the 

most common types of citations can be found at SISP’s website under Resources/Guidelines.