The Hard Drive Doesn’t Remember for You: Making a Project Archive People Can Use
A private view ends with warm white wine, a bin bag of cable ties, and the slow realisation that the thing you spent months making now exists mainly as a camera roll and a group chat. The hire fee is paid. The thank-you post is up. And somewhere between the last guest leaving and the first invoice arriving, a project either becomes a useful record or a hard drive you will be slightly afraid of for the next five years.
At Gina Cross Projects we have made both kinds of archive. The ones we can open without flinching, and the ones that require a hunt through three email accounts to find out who took the installation shots. The difference is rarely money or software. It is a couple of hours of deliberate, collaborative care before everyone scatters. So here is the practical version: what we now do after the private view, the screening, or the last night of a live collaboration.
Credits are not a nicety. They are the spine.
Start with a credits document that lists every person who made the thing happen, not just the people whose names were on the poster. Performers, technicians, access workers, the person who drove the van, the workshop facilitator, the photographer, the neighbour who lent the stepladder. Write down their role, their preferred name, their pronouns if they have shared them, and the best way to reach them. Add a column for what they agreed to: images, quotes, future touring, nothing at all. This is not surveillance. It is a record of consent and labour, and it is exactly what a funder, a curator, or a future collaborator will need when they ask who did what. If you have Arts Council England project grant reporting to do, you will thank yourself. If you do not, you will still have a document that treats people as contributors rather than content.
Captions do the quiet work
An image without a caption is a rumour. Every photograph, clip, and audio file in the archive needs a short, plain description: who, what, when, where, and why it exists. Write it when you still remember. Include alt text as a matter of course, not as a favour. If the work is abstract, describe the materials and the scale. If the work is a performance, describe what happened rather than what it meant. The meaning can come later, in a separate note. The archive’s job is to give the next person enough to understand the work on its own terms, without having to phone you on a Sunday.
Rights notes should fit on one page
Every project has a permissions trail, and most of us keep it in our heads until the first awkward email. Make a one-page rights note that says what you can share, what you cannot, and who to ask. Mention the photographer’s licence, the music clearance, the performer release, the DACS registration if visual artists are involved, and any funder branding requirements. Keep it with the files, not buried in a thread. If you are unsure, say unsure and name the person who knows. A clear no is more useful than a vague yes.
Make the images travel
Choose a small set of hero images and a wider set of documentation shots. Rename them so a stranger can tell what they are: project-name, date, photographer, description. Keep the master files and make lighter web versions. Back the whole thing up in three places, because two is a rumour and one is a future apology. A contact sheet is still one of the most useful objects in an archive; it lets someone see the shape of the project in thirty seconds. And if you have moving image, include a short clip and a transcript. Transcripts are accessibility, but they are also search.
Keep the contact trail
A simple log of who agreed to what, when, and by which channel will save you from more disputes than any contract template. It does not need to be formal. A shared document with dates and bullet points is enough. This is especially important for co-produced work, where the archive may outlive the partnership. Write down the decision about where the work will live, who can reuse it, and how someone can object later. Consent is not a one-off signature. It is a relationship you maintain.
Build a folder structure a stranger can follow
Number the folders. Name them in plain language. Put a README at the top that explains what the project was, who made it, and where the important things are. Something like: 01_credits, 02_agreements, 03_images, 04_moving_image, 05_audio, 06_captions, 07_publicity, 08_finance. It is not glamorous. It is the difference between an archive and a junk drawer. And it means a collaborator can find the thing they need without asking you to be the human index.
Give it a home
An archive on a laptop is a private memory. An archive in a shared folder, a local library, a community archive, or a simple project page is a public resource. You do not need a bespoke platform. You need a stable link, a clear licence, and a contact address that will still work next year. If the project was place-specific, ask the local archive or library whether they want a copy. If it was a screening, ask the cinema if they will host a page. The point is not to preserve everything forever. The point is to make the useful parts findable.
The private view is not the end of the project. It is the handover. A good archive is how you hand the work to the next person without making them start from scratch. Book two hours before the final invoice goes out. Open a folder. Write the credits. Caption the images. Then close the laptop and go and look at something else. The work will still be there, and now it will be legible.
