"Well, he never married"

Ken Turino of Historic New England led a fascinating session at the recent AASLH conference about the expanding interpretation (or not) of gays in historic houses. Using examples from both Historic New England sites and others, he explored the ways various sites have grappled with the topic. The title of this blog evidently represents one comment some historic houses have used to deflect questions about their owners' sexual orientation. At Historic New England's Beauport, the summer home of interior designer Henry Davis Sleeper, the full life of the owner has been integrated into the story. At Hull House, in Chicago, the staff undertook the alternative labeling project, where visitors (and web visitors) could voice their own perspectives about labels for a portrait of Mary Rozet Smith, Jane Addams longtime companion. Check out for the weblog to see impassioned discussions, pro and con!

Ken's comments clearly discussed the difficulty of finding what was known, at some sites, and perhaps only surmised at others and the challenge of creating new interpretations. But to me, his most important point was that this work is not about classifying people but helping visitors to understand the whole person at that historic house. That seems to me what we want at almost all historic houses--we want to understand the people who lived there. We may or may not care about that chair they bought in 1853, but surely, most of us want to understand the emotions, the human-ness that connects us to those people who once inhabited those historic places.

Above: China Trade Room, Beauport, Historic New England photo

Hmm...What Do We Value?

While in Rochester, I attended a reception at the Strong National Museum of Play. I hadn't visited the museum in a very long time and I was curious to see the changes. I came away a little perturbed at what I saw in, what admittedly, was a fairly quick viewing, and one done without any kids there.

What bothered me? It really made me think about values. From what I can see, the Strong Museum values plastic and brand names. It felt like a giant temple to consumerism. When you looked at cases, you couldn't tell if they were exhibition or gift shop cases...they were all filled with brand name merchandise. I wanted some acknowledgement that, in American life, there are many, many, people who make do without giant piles of plastic toys to entertain their children. The corrugated cardboard box was inducted into the National Toy Hall of Fame at the Strong, but that sort of inventiveness and sense of unstructured play did not seem much on display here. I also wanted a greater recognition that there's an incredibly diverse America whose play traditions could be represented.



And that plastic...is there some way to do this differently, so we could teach kids a bit about recycling, or reusing, or saving...not just purchasing?

I'd love to hear from others about what they--and their kids--think of the Strong. I did hear from several people that their kids, when younger, loved it.



The Strong, to their credit, also values reading--books are everywhere, and cleanliness...the place is spotless. And in spite of, or perhaps because of, all these different values, the Strong Museum has done what few museums actually pull off. They said they were going to change the mission, change the way the museum does business, and change the audience--and that people would come. That's a familiar song, but this museum actually made it happen...but did they sell out to do so?



Above: No images from the Strong Museum, just images from the Norris family archive, of play, with little or no plastic or brand names.

Obstacles

I'm at the American Association for State and Local History conference this week in Rochester, and will try to blog a bit about what I'm hearing and seeing. To start, I just heard the end of keynote Bernice Johnson Reagon's talk...but she was telling a story about how, during the Smithsonian Folklife Festival, at one point, she wanted to present gospel music. Too loud, too intense, said people. She said, how about inside? We never do things inside? We could, she replied. I thought it was a great encapsulation of what's wrong with many institutions. There are all these obstacles we put up about why we can't do something new. And they're not really obstacles...they're excuses. Many places are trapped in the, but we have always done it that way syndrome... And, if we really care about change, about making meaningful museums and historic places, then we need to work to overcome those obstacles...and to work to not be one those people who are the excuse-makers.

A great reminder...and wow, I wish I could sing like that when I was doing a presentation. Amazing.

Above: Jubilee Singers sheet music, Library of Congress collection

In a Surprising Place

Sometimes you just don't know where you'll find interesting exhibits. In Peru, as we took a two day tour to the Colca Canyon, we made a stop at the Visitor Center of the Reserva Nacional Salinas y Aguada Blanca. The Reserve itself is an incredible, beautiful landscape...but one that, in a way, hides its secrets. The Visitor Center did a tremendous job at introducing the landscape and the people and animals that inhabit it, and at the same time, making us, as visitors, aware of how fragile this place is.

What made the exhibits here engaging?



It's right outside. Nothing like gaining some knowledge that you can put to immediate use as you go outdoors.



Simple (and bi-lingual) labels. From this one, I know what the swamp is good for--and I want to learn more about what those subsistence products for humans are (and I did learn later in the exhibit). And labels (below) that effectively used questions.






Simple interactives. No computer touch screens, no holograms. This works because it so clearly ties problems and solutions together.


Easy to understand. This two-sided visual (this must have a technical name) allowed visitors to see the seasons.

Most importantly, this exhibit really connected us to the survival of this unique place. In informal conversations with guides and other people, for instance, the issue of global warming isn't theoretical, it's a problem that's happening now, where they live. These thoughtful labels made us think about the future. As a tourist, it's always difficult to be both a part of the problem and a part of the solution. Tourism helps develop a region, but it also irreparably changes the landscape and the lives of the people who live there. I appreciated the reminder of a deeper responsibility.



And what's the take-away for small museums? This was not an expensive exhibit. But the thought and care that went into its development is what mattered. It wasn't just a display of objects or images. It had a story to tell, and through a real commitment to visitor engagement, did so for me.

And, as my colleague Susie Wilkenning will appreciate, for many visitors there, the bathrooms, after a long, bumpy van ride, were clean and available--a plus for any museum or visitor center!

What I've Been Reading Online

A couple items from various places:

My friend and colleague Anne Ackerson has started a new blog, Leading by Design. She's one of the most thoughtful thinkers about museums and leadership I know, and her blog will share her reflections on a wide range of issues relating to museums and organizational development.

I heard a story on NPR about Cornerstones, a project exploring the history of New Orleans through place. As they put it, less "Andrew Jackson slept here," and more "this is the last mom and pop store in the neighborhood." Their site has a registry with a map and a nomination form. A new book, already in its second printing, shares the information in a different format. Places of note: The House of Dance and Feathers, Deutches Haus, and the Sportsmen's Corner Bar.

From the Cornerstones site, I linked to The Neighborhood Story Project. Their tag line? "Our Stories Told by Us." It's a project in collaboration with the University of New Orleans and their work has already resulted in seven books and numerous programs. Those books include: (descriptions from their website)

COMING OUT THE DOOR FOR THE NINTH WARD
by Nine Times Social and Pleasure Club
Beginning with their own childhoods in the Desire Housing Project, Nine Times take the reader on a journey through their world: Motown Sound at Carver games, DJ's in the courts, and sandlot football. Written by the members during the year after Katrina, Nine Times writes about their lives, their parades, the storm, and the rebuilding process. Through interviews, photographs, and writing, Nine Times brings readers into their world of second lines, brass bands, Magee's Lounge, and the ties that bind.

BETWEEN PIETY AND DESIRE
Arlet and Sam Wylie

In their book Between Piety and Desire, brother and sister team Arlet and Sam Wylie talk about their regular and irregular life living above a neighborhood store. They interview the people who hang out on the block, weaving the history of the street through their own history living upstairs.

These New Orleans projects are great examples of what local historical societies could and should be doing. It would be nice if more local history organizations stopped trying to own a building, just because it's there, stopped collecting objects just because someone donates them, and tried harder to really document and share the history of a place.

And by the way, in my own corner (more or less) of the world, Traditional Arts of Upstate New York (TAUNY) has a Register of Very Special Places in New York State's North Country, including locations such as Clare and Carl's, home of the "michigan" hot dog and the Italian American Civic Association in Massena. Citylore, a folk arts organization in New York City partners with the Municipal Art Society for Place Matters, a project designed to uncover places that "evoke associations with history, memory, and tradition."

In all these efforts, the decisions about what to document, share and register, is made by community members, with open nomination forms, a process that opens up a community's history to everyone.

Above: New Orleans Street Scene, 1935, by Walker Evans, FSA/OWI Collection, Library of Congress

Sustainability

Sustainability--it's a much used buzz-word these days, but my trip to Peru encouraged me to think about it other ways as well. In the Andes, generations of weavers have created incredible works, using natural dyes and simple hand looms. However, that work is vanishing. So to communities, sustainability isn't a question of adequate financial support for an organization's work, it's really a question of how families and communities can both sustain traditions and, at the same time, make strides to improve education, health care, and a host of other issues.


We visited the Center for Traditional Textiles of Cusco, a non-profit dedicated to supporting the work of local weavers. The center includes a large retail store, where a large percentage of the sale of textiles goes directly to the weavers themselves, rather than a middle-man. In addition, each piece is made with natural dyes and local wool or alpaca, unlike many pieces in tourist markets with their neon colors and acrylic fibers. Each piece at the center comes with a hang tag that usually includes a picture of the weaver, along with their name, age and village. This reminded me of projects done by Native American basket makers in Maine and northern New York by the Akewsasne Museum to highlight the work of their traditional craftspeople.


The center also included a beautiful thoughtful exhibit on traditional textiles, both their manufacture and their meaning.

Poverty in the Andes is a critical issue and changes in Andean lives mean many things. We were told that few young people want to farm anymore and that they are emigrating to cities to make their fortune. It's the same story the world over. Tourism itself is a mixed blessing, bringing money into small villages but at the same time, placing stress on the environment and changing the lives of those who live there.



The mission of the Center for Traditional Textiles of Cusco is to "recapture the history of, spread information about, and stimulate the production of traditional textiles as well as to provide support and assistance to the communities of weavers with which the Center works."

As tourists, it was both a responsibility and a pleasure to purchase textiles at the center, works that will remind us of both Peru and of the challenges of sustaining a culture for years to come.



Top to bottom:
Weaving on a hand loom, Cusco, photo by Drew Harty
Weaver at the Center for Traditional Textiles, Cusco, photo by Drew Harty
Exhibit at the Center for Traditional Textiles
Elderly woman coming home from the terraced fields, Colca Valley, photo by Drew Harty
Textiles from the Center for Traditional Textiles

Why Can't Guided Tours be Optional?

I'm just back from two weeks in Peru and hope to spend a little time blogging about the time I spent there. To start, I was particularly struck by the options in ways to visit historic sites. At the Cathedral in Cusco, you could just wander on your own, you could take a tour with a guide, use an audio tour, or, just read the simple, informative, bi-lingual labels as you wandered around. At many historic sites, including Machu Picchu, the fortress at Ollantaytambo and the Monasterio Santa Catalina in Arequipa, you had the option of taking a guided tour. At some of the sites, this was clearly the way guides made their living, and you paid them. At others, they were employed by the site and your responsibility was a tip. Some wore uniforms, others did not.

Earlier this summer, I took a tour at a new historic site here in the United States and was totally turned off by the other participants on the tour. In every room, "is this original?" and a whole host of other questions that were interesting to them, but not to me. It turned a tour from what I hoped would be an evocative, memorable experience to a painful one. By making the tours optional as in Peru, it meant that you could persue your area of interest with the guide (and bore only your traveling group, not others!)

I realize that many factors may make this kind of optional tour difficult for historic sites here in the US: these were highly visited sites, so it made sense for a number of guides to be on hand; the economics of pay are very different; and it appeared that no site worked with volunteer guides.

The experiences did reinforce for me the sense that we need to allow visitors many options for their experiences. And a confession: we didn't take a tour at any of the locations, although did lurk around the edges of several tours.



Top: Monasterio Santa Catalina, Arequipa, Peru
Bottom: The view from Machu Picchu