Fabulous Italian Labels

I saw some amazing labels in Milan, Italy.  No, not the ones you expect, like Prada or Gucci, but real, live terrific museum texts.  In general, I've found that Italian museum labels are pretty bad--either containing the barest amount of text or deep into theoretical knowledge that the average museum-goer can't penetrate.  But evidently Milan is a place where engaging labels have taken hold--and even more of a feat, engaging labels in English.  I have a huge appreciation for museum label writers who engage all of us in a language not their own, making the labels sing with a kind of poetry.  I'll be writing another post with some further reflections on the ICOM conference, but before it's too far away in my mind, enjoy the labels!

First, at the Museo della Scienza e della Tecnologia.  An ICOM open night was also a public free night, so the museum was mobbed, but amidst the crowds, I found myself intrigued by labels like these.  I found many of the labels I liked more poetic than the usual.  Here's an opening label for the entire museum.  It says,

The museum is alive. It belongs and is open to all.  Today the world spins fast and we are all looking for explanations and opportunities. The museum is alive; it is the museum of the becoming of the world.

And an exhibit on clocks and watches, asked a philosophical question to begin:

I only had time for a few exhibitions, and those I saw quickly, but I found the exhibit Food People, a particular standout.  It looked at the future of food, and was very clear about the ways in which community feedback helped shape the project, as explained in this label.

The introductory labels helped us understand the theme, and why this exhibit was in a science and technology museum.

A hallway exhibit explored how we imagined the future of food, from 1900 to today and evidently there's a Trekkie at work at the museum, because one of the examples was this,  that food would be replicable and multi-cultural, with Star Trek dialogue as the text.

A very different museum is the Pinocoteca di Brera, a classic picture gallery, but with a new director, James Bradbourne, formerly of Palazzo Strozzi in Florence.  I loved that the gallery now explained its purpose with a quote from a former director, Franco Russoli.

"A museum is a place for participation, not for evasion or isolation or separation, that liberates its visitors by engaging them."

Also at the entrance and throughout the museum, new labels explained why museums do what they do and the changes they see in the galleries.   New family labels and labels written by artists and writers, encourage us to think in new ways about what we're seeing.

I love that this label connects St. Peter's expression in the art with the physical properties of the painting, conservation issues, and another way to look at all the other work in the room.

Here's a description devoid of art historical terms, yet getting us to think about the work's composition and thinking about what might have happened outside the frame, before and after the scene depicted in the painting.

At the Milan Triennale, which happens in venus indoors and out all over the city, I found the exhibit, Neo-Prehistory:100 Verbs curated by Andrea Branzi and Kenya Hara. The visitor wound through an exhibit of seemingly unrelated objects, one hundred tools, each identified by a verb that took us from pre-history to the present.  Rely:  an iPhone; Despair:  a bomb; Fascinate:  a bottle of Chanel No. 5. The verbs' definitions are the only label text in addition to the simplest object ID labels.  Yet I found myself puzzling and reading each one.  Sometimes I was drawn by the object to read the label, but sometimes vice versa.  How does the story end?  Regenerate, with a visualization of the human heart.

Is there a takeaway about these labels as a group?  I think it is that there is no one way to write a label and that each exhibit, each institution, must find their own voice, but it must be a voice that speaks to visitors and connects us emotionally, to our whole selves.

Milan-Bound: Exploring the Cultural Landscape

In a few days, I'm headed to my first-ever ICOM triennal conference, with the theme of Museums and Cultural Landscapes, joining thousands of museum colleagues from around the world in Milan, Italy. For most American museum professionals, ICOM is a bit out of our professional networks, but thanks to my German colleague Katrin Hieke, it entered my view in a more substantive way when we combined forces with two other colleagues to cover, in social media, the tri-national Museums and Politics conference in Russia in 2014.  I'm excited to expand my networks and meet and learn from colleagues around the world over the course of a week.

ICOM is organized by interest committees and I'll be presenting in two of them.  With Rainey Tisdale, I'll be talking about the Creative Cultural Landscape in the CAMOC section--that's the Committee for the Collections and Activities of Museums of Cities.  We'll be focusing on the way that museums can be players in building cities' creative capital.

I'll also be presenting a talk entitled, "Terra Incognita: Museums Studies Students and the Global Museum Landscape,"  at ICTOP, the International Committee for the Training of Personnel.  This talk is inspired by the course I taught last fall online for the Johns Hopkins University Museum Studies Program, where students worked with five museums from around the world to develop community engagement projects.  I'm curious about how we, particularly Americans,  can expand our understanding of museums around the world as a way of enhancing our own practice.

Plus, trying to get to as many other sessions as possible, meeting colleagues from around the world, recruiting new museum partners for this fall's course, exploring Milan's architecture and museums, and having an aperitivo or two.  I'll be tweeting and instagramming as @lindabnorris, from July 3-10, so if you want to see what's up, find me there!  If you're in Milan, I'd love to meet you and learn about what you do...so please be in touch for that aperitivo (to get you thinking, below, at Bar Basso).

Handmade

Over the last couple weeks of travel, I’ve encountered a wide spectrum of goods (and food) defined as local, or handmade, or artisan. It’s made me think about how and why we value such things, and how differing cultures seem, to an outsider, to consider them.

In Florence, Italy, I went on a Context Travel walk featuring the artisans of Oltrarno, the neighborhood across the river from the city center. Led by passionate advocate of all things local, Luca Santiccioli, we visited a metalsmith’s tiny basement shop, hidden in a courtyard; a woman paper marbler carrying on her family’s traditions; and a father and son team of etchers. As a city Florence is popular, really popular, and so not surprisingly, there are cheap, Chinese souvenirs in so many places but the love and care these craftspeople shared with us made their works sing. My small purchases will serve as beautiful reminders. What’s the future for workshops like these in Florence? It’s hard to say, and hard to say whether future generations will embrace the work. We noticed that as we passed one bespoke cobbler, that the owner was Italian, but the workers appeared to be Asian immigrants. There was something heartening in the fact that people from everywhere can become a part of local craft traditions as they adapt, change, but still retains spirit of place.

Then I went to Latvia. Although there are tourists in Riga, even in February, it’s not like Florence. I found different craft traditions, also shaped by both history and landscape. It was surprising to me how the craft traditions and design aesthetics also appeared to shape so many aspects of life. Exhibit designs often used natural materials and had a simplicity and clarity that seemed an inheritance.

And the mittens! Latvians are great knitters and there are hundreds of different intricate patterns for mittens, distinguished by region. In one workshop, I asked small groups to develop an interpretive label for mittens based on an emotion. And those mittens generated such great emotional content. One group had the emotion angry, and wrote a label from a child’s perspective, angry about itchy mittens and unable to go outside when mittens were wet; another group had joy, and talked about the trunk full of handmade mittens made by all the women in the family and community, that was a traditional bridal gift. Another group had sorrow, and talked about a grandmother, now passed away, whose memory lived on in mittens. And skepticism? One group wrote a label about mittens’ magic powers, encouraging a bit of skepticism—and laughter--in all of us.

I got quite a surprising answer when I asked a colleague about the strength of these craft traditions. “It’s fear, I think,” she answered and I looked at her surprised.. We are so small, she continued, that I think our traditions are one of the only things we have to hang on to. Needless to say, every part of the former Soviet Union continually found its traditions under siege, but this seemed to go even beyond that, to a sense that to be Latvian meant a responsibility to continue those traditions.

So what’s next? Italy is flooded by tourists, Latvia is losing its population to opportunities in Western Europe. Two sides of the same coin, in a way, in that the future is uncertain, and that dedicated craftspeople are continuing something that’s important for all of us.

And what can each of us do? As a tourist, bring home locally made souvenirs. As a museum worker, l, seek out these traditions in your community, both the ones practiced by longtime residents and those that new community members have brought from their new places. We don’t need to be a global village of chain stores, but perhaps we can be a global village of items that connect to place and people, that last a lifetime, and that remind us of the many beautiful places around the world.

 

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Upcoming: Creative Practice Meet-Up in Florence

Come meet me and hear about Creativity in Museum Practice at an informal meet-up at the Palazzo Strozzi on Tuesday, February 11 at 18:30 (Sala Ferri, Palazzo Strozzi, Piazza Strozzi 1, Florence, Italy)   I'll share some tips on creative practice, hopefully useful no matter your work in a museum or elsewhere,  a chance to learn from all of  you, and the opportunity to connect with other creative colleagues over an aperitivo.

The Strozzi's programs and exhibits are incredible examples of creative practice, from family kits to audience-friendly labels,  to contemporary art on issues of concern to the city, so I'm thrilled to join all of you at such a fascinating place.  Hope to see you there!

Surprised in Rome: Bravo Palazzo Massimo!

I'm discovering that traveling is not conducive to blogging, as I'm always trying to fit writing posts in along the way.  So hopefully a few more catch-up posts will be coming on what I've been seeing and thinking on this trip.  But first, Rome.  I often find Italian museums incredibly frustrating.  There is amazing art and culture, barely interpreted, and honestly, overseen by, at best, lackluster gallery staff.   I can understand the incredible resources that caring for this nation's cultural heritage must take, but at the same time, I often wish for a bit of imagination and care for the visitor.  But a week or so ago in Rome, I found it at the National Roman Museum, known more familiarly to most as the Palazzo Massimo.  It's just a stone's throw from Termini, the main train station, so easy to reach--and what I found there was an uncrowded museum,  incredible artifacts, and best of all,  a real sense of interpretation that helped me understand what I was seeing (and, even better, with generally very well written English language labels.)

In some of the galleries you got to understand a bit of what it must have been like to uncover these pieces in Rome.  In one gallery, there was not only this incredible bronze,  but an interpretive panel showing it in situ, as it was discovered by archaeologists. 

The intent of the new installation of sculptures is clearly stated at the opening.  "The Masterpieces of Ancient Sculpture shine now a new light in a new space which helps to understand their historical and their emotional value."   I love that the goal is not only an understanding of historical value, but of emotional value as well.   And this emotional impact is carried forward by not only a simple but beautiful installation with beautiful reflected lighting,  but by also by the use of quotes from Roman writers and poets such as Euripedes--"When upsoareth the sound of the melody fountain,  of the hallowed ringing of flutes far-flinging."

One room dealt with the looting and eventual return of a group of ivory sculptures, including the head at the top of the post.  It made the long process of recovery real through both the objects and interpretive text that explained the complex path from looters to this museum.  Almost everywhere in the museum, the interpretive panels helped you understand that these objects had been uncovered not far from where I was standing by combining historic and contemporary maps.

Upstairs,  the fresco fragments from the Villa Farnese had been installed as they had been found, so when you walked through,  you got a sense of not only the frescoes, but the way they were used in rooms and the way each of the rooms related to each other.  Simple but effective.  And finally--a first for me in an Italian museum.  Free wifi!

None of these interpretive techniques were ground-breaking.  But the museum displays a deft curatorial hand combined with a sincere interest in visitors, their interests and their knowledge.   I've come to think of Rome as a warm place,  where strangers help you make your way off a crowded tram car and waiters thoughtfully discuss (dare I say curate) your dinner.   But this is the first time I've seen a museum have that same warmth and depth.  It's a reminder that no matter how great your collection,  good interpretation can make it better for all of us. Bravo Palazzo Massimo!