Plastics within contemporary cultural collections: opportunities to discuss sustainability and challenges in their preservation
This paper explores the dual role of plastics in contemporary museum collections as both educational tools for promoting sustainability and complex preservation challenges due to their chemical instability and degradation, advocating for interdisciplinary collaboration to address these issues.
Original paper licensed under CC BY 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). This is an AI-generated explanation of the paper below. It is not written or endorsed by the authors. For technical accuracy, refer to the original paper. Read full disclaimer
Museum collections are changing. For centuries, these institutions have been guardians of stone, metal, wood, and ceramic—materials that have survived for thousands of years with relatively little fuss. Today, however, a new kind of object is filling the shelves: plastic. From the first semi-synthetic materials made from wood pulp and milk proteins in the 19th century to the ubiquitous synthetic polymers of the 20th and 21st centuries, plastic has become the defining material of modern life. It is found in everything from food packaging and clothing to medical equipment and art. But while the public often sees plastic as a durable, indestructible substance, museum professionals are discovering a different reality. Many of these items are fragile, chemically unstable, and prone to rotting in ways that traditional materials never are. This creates a unique dilemma for curators and scientists: how do you preserve a material that was often designed to be thrown away, or one that is literally designed to break down?
A team of researchers from the Open University and the Arts University Bournemouth has been investigating this exact problem, focusing on the Museum of Design in Plastics (MoDiP). Their work reveals that keeping plastic in a collection is far more complex than simply placing it in a glass case. The researchers found that plastics are not a single, uniform substance but a vast family of materials, each with its own chemical personality and its own way of failing. Some plastics, like those made from vegetable oils or corn starch, are bioplastics designed to decompose under specific industrial conditions. Yet, when stored in a museum, these same items can warp, discolor, or crumble in unpredictable ways, sometimes releasing gases that damage neighboring objects. Other plastics, like the polyethylene terephthalate (PET) used in water bottles, may look stable but can slowly turn yellow and brittle when exposed to heat and light, a process that accelerates over time.
To understand these changes, the researchers took everyday plastic items—such as soda bottles, cups, and packaging—and subjected them to controlled aging experiments. They heated samples of PET to 100 degrees Celsius, a temperature well above the point where the material begins to soften but below its melting point, to simulate years of aging in a matter of days. Using specialized tools that analyze light and color, they watched the plastic transform. The clear, transparent bottles turned cloudy and yellow. Chemical analysis showed that the material was oxidizing, breaking down at a molecular level. The researchers measured the color shift with precision, finding that the change was so significant it could be seen clearly by the human eye. They also used handheld devices to scan the chemical makeup of various items, discovering that many objects labeled with recycling symbols were actually misidentified. A black spoon marked with a symbol for "other" plastics was, in fact, polystyrene, a material that degrades differently than the label suggested. This highlights a critical gap: the symbols meant to help the public recycle often fail to tell the full story of what the object is made of, making it difficult for museums to know how to care for them.
The study also uncovered a hidden danger within museum storage. As plastics age, they often release chemicals. Some plastics contain softening agents called plasticizers, which can migrate to the surface over time, creating a sticky, weeping layer that attracts dust and dirt. In one striking example, a passport stored in acid-free tissue paper had become permanently stuck to the paper because the plastic cover had leached chemicals that acted like glue. Other plastics, such as those made from cellulose acetate, can release a vinegar-like smell as they break down, a sign that they are producing acids that can corrode nearby metals or damage other fragile items. This means that a plastic object is not just an isolated item; it is an active participant in its environment, capable of harming the very collection it is meant to be part of.
This reality forces a difficult conversation between designers, who create these objects, and conservators, who must keep them alive. Designers often choose materials for their sustainability credentials, such as biodegradability or the use of recycled content. However, these same properties can be a curse for a museum. A cup made from a bioplastic might be excellent for the environment because it will eventually rot, but that same rotting process makes it a terrible candidate for a permanent collection. The researchers found that many "sustainable" materials are actually composites, mixing different types of plastics or adding fibers to improve strength. These mixtures are incredibly hard to identify, clean, or recycle. For instance, a paper cup with a thin plastic lining might look like paper, but that lining prevents it from being recycled in standard streams, and it complicates the cleaning process because the plastic and paper react differently to water and soap.
The paper argues that the solution lies in collaboration. No single expert can solve the puzzle of plastic preservation alone. Curators need the chemical knowledge of scientists to identify what an object is and how it is changing. Scientists need the context of designers to understand why an object was made the way it was. And both need the public to understand that plastic is not a permanent material. The researchers suggest that museums should stop hiding the damage. Instead of trying to freeze plastic objects in a state of perfection that never existed, exhibitions should show the cracks, the yellowing, and the sticky surfaces. By displaying these signs of decay, museums can teach visitors that plastic is not indestructible. They can show how a material that seems so solid can actually be fragile, and how the choices we make about what to buy and how to dispose of it have long-term consequences.
The work also points to the need for better communication about sustainability. The public often believes that all plastics are the same or that all "green" plastics are easy to recycle. The researchers found that this is rarely true. A black plastic lid might be recyclable if it contains a special additive that allows machines to see it, but without that additive, it is often sent to a landfill. A bioplastic cup might be compostable, but only in a high-heat industrial facility, not in a home garden. By bringing these complexities into the museum, researchers hope to move the conversation beyond simple slogans. They want people to understand that sustainability is not just about the material itself, but about the entire lifecycle of the object, from its creation to its eventual disposal.
Ultimately, the preservation of plastic in museums is a test of our ability to care for the modern world. It requires accepting that some things are not meant to last forever, and that the act of preserving them is a delicate balancing act between keeping them safe and letting them tell the truth about their own fragility. The researchers conclude that the future of these collections depends on a shared effort. Scientists, curators, and designers must work together to develop new ways to identify, clean, and store these materials. They must also be honest with the public about the challenges, turning the museum into a place where the story of plastic is not just one of convenience and pollution, but one of complex chemistry, human ingenuity, and the difficult task of keeping the modern world in view.
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