31/10/2025
There are many ways to destroy an old manuscript. Fire. Flood. Trying to help.
For a brief, misguided period in the mid-20th century, the world of archival conservation fell in love with a new miracle fix: Transparent Tape. Clean, modern, and self adhesive. No messy paste, no drying, no skills or training, just a light pressure. Anyone with thumbs could be a conservator.
Librarians and archivists used it to mend tears, reattach loose pages, reinforce fraying bindings, and across the world, centuries-old manuscripts were crisscrossed with shiny, glistening strips, each one a confident declaration that the future of conservation had arrived!
It hadn’t.
Today, tape is one of the most dreaded words in conservation. The damage it causes is chemical, invasive and, in many cases, irreversible. The clear film turns yellow and brittle. The adhesive – proudly described in mid-century brochures as “permanently tacky!” – begins to oxidise. It seeps, following the path of least capillary resistance.
And crucially, if the manuscript is written in iron-gall ink – as the vast majority of Renaissance music manuscripts are – it brings the ink with it, bleeding sideways into the parchment. In these cases, the damage is permanent. Entire motets reduced to a kind of smudgy emotional state where the music used to be.
We’ve seen it hundreds of times. Brown stripes running across a page like dark bruises. Noteheads bloated into dark, formless puddles. A long, slow disintegration of the music, triggered by the adhesive’s contact with the acid-sensitive ink.
It wasn’t a fringe practice either. From the 1930s to the 1970s, pressure-sensitive tapes were standard tools in libraries and archives. They were sold as document-repair tapes in ‘Librarians Monthly’ catalogues.
By the 1980s, the problem began to ooze back into view, and professional conservators quickly sounded the alarm. The adhesives were chemically unstable. The carriers were breaking down. Worst of all, the damage was accelerating in high-humidity conditions.
The field shifted hard. Tape repair was condemned. Manuals were rewritten. New techniques introduced.
* Kozo paper (light, strong, pH-neutral)
* Wheat starch paste (reversible, chemically inert)
* Solvent gels, suction tables, and microsurgical tools for removing adhesive residue without further damaging the ink.
Nothing permanent. Nothing too clever. Nothing that can’t, in principle, be undone.
Yet one can’t help but wonder, when the conservators of the year 2125 look back on our own delicate, careful, reversible tissue repairs, what will they say?
“How quaint. They thought they knew what they were doing.”
Preservation is always provisional. Every generation believes its methods are the final word. Every generation is wrong.
Today however, all major conservation institutes – from the British Library, to the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana – explicitly prohibit the use of pressure-sensitive adhesive on historical materials. The academic consensus is clear and non-negotiable: If you love something, do not stick tape to it.