Are You Ready to Learn? How Can We Help?

We in the museum field always talk about lifelong learners, but I'm increasingly interested in the ways that we, as museum professionals, can cement our own lifelong learning status.  My participation as a lecturer at the Baltic Museology School this month provided me with some lessons about my own learning styles (and limitations) and about constructing a space for all kinds of learners.

The Baltic Museology School is 15 years old this year with "the aim to develop and strengthen museological thought in the Baltic States, by linking theory and practice, in order for Baltic museums to become more professional, contemporary and accessible to society."  It brings together 30 participants from Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia for a week of learning, conversation and yes, a bit of beer-drinking in Kaunas, Lithuania. My co-instructor, Jari Harju of the Helsinki City Museum and I took on the topic of opening up museums to new voices.

Participants' Learning
Jari and I, who had never met each other in person before, were both happy to discover that we shared a certain flexibility in how we approached the week.  I'm a huge believer in the concept of plussing, or "Yes, and,"  the process of building upon each other's ideas.  We adapted and shared ideas all along the way. That flexibility, I think, helped the participants' learning--they could see that we don't have all the answers, but we work towards them.

Our goals seemed almost contradictory:  we wanted participants to feel comfortable learning and we wanted to push them outside of that comfort zone.  We began with childhood stories of museum visits (good and bad, with family and with school, adventuresome and boring) as a way of shifting our perspective from museum worker to audience--and to learn a bit more about each other.  The week was jammed full (with a day of ICOM discussion on Wednesday and a broader conference on Friday) along with museum visits and yes, homework.

Anyone who has presented at workshops before has seen at least one person, sitting in the back, with their arms crossed, reluctant to participate.  One of the great joys of this week was that that person never appeared.  The participants, all working in English, dove in enthusiastically to whatever task we set them to.  Sharing your passion with a perfect stranger you've just met?  Sure! Small group work writing a label to bring out an emotion in objects, including mushrooms?  Sure!  Considering community participation in an exhibition on urban gardening and doing actual exhibit design?  Sure!  Making an audio stop to engender emotion?  Sure!  Designing an Arc of Dialogue around the issue of out-migration in the region?  Sure again!  Each day, it felt like they gained confidence in us as presenters, but more importantly, in their own perspectives, skills, and knowledge.  Another great joy?  So much laughter along the way.

On Thursday, we set them to the biggest challenge of the week:  leaving our supportive, protective museum envelope and going out to interview people on the street about museums.  I believe no one had ever done it, but both Jari and I believe that if you want to learn what people want from museums, you have to talk to them--and not in the museum.  Off they went, in tri-national teams to learn from Kaunas' residents.  They learned a lot--that museums are bullshit, said one interviewee;  that you would only go with family;  that museums are perceived to be only places of information; that museums should be open different hours.  Jari made a great point--that talking to visitors shouldn't be left to interns or front-of-house staff--that anyone involved in the museum should spend some time doing this.

Our favorite report from the on-the-street surveys came from the all-Lithuanian group.  Because there was no language barrier, Jari set them a bigger challenge:  to interview young workers.  The street in front of our hotel was fully under construction, so there were plenty of workers to be found.  But would they talk?  To our participants' surprise--they would!  (see above).

At the end of the week, we asked participants to map their journey, using their own hands as the template. Just a few of the responses are below. To see that journey from confusion, up and down through the week, to new-found confidence, was a wonderful thing.  That confidence-building came in some part from Jari and me, but it also came importantly it came from the School's organizers, and to the sense that building capacity in a region is a long-term responsibility that many people share.  The organizers from the three Ministries of Culture gave us as instructors both freedom and structure, using, I'm sure, all the lessons they have learned over 15 years. I'll use the knowledge I gained to continue to reflect on how that capacity-building and life-long learning can work in many different situations.

But my own learning--what about that?  I'll save it for another post.  In the meantime, my thanks and appreciation to everyone at the Baltic Museology School this year!  (plus, Lithuania is beautiful and fascinating.  Go visit).

Thanks to Julija Tolvaišytė‎, Kristine Milere and Monika Oželytė-Žąsytienė‎ for some of the photographs above.

10 x 10: My Favorite Posts from the Last 10 Years

This week is the tenth anniversary of this blog. I couldn't have guessed ten years ago, that I would still be writing on a pretty consistent basis, nor could I have imagined all the places I would go, the experiences I would have, or the lessons I would learn (some easily, some definitely the hard way). To celebrate, I've gone back and chosen a favorite post from each year. These posts weren't necessarily the most-read, but the ones that speak to me still.

2007
My own lifelong learning and the chance to support learning through Donors Choose. On re-reading, an appreciation of my parents and of the chance to pay it forward.
Learning for a Lifetime

2008
This post, about a project for the Montgomery County Historical Society, is really about the power of listening to visitors and communities.  I still share this experience on a regular basis as it continues to resonate, particularly in these times.
The Story of La Guerra Civil or Why I Work in Museums

2009

I went to Ukraine for the first time this year, initially for four months as a Fulbright Scholar.  I blogged a lot this year--124 total posts.  Most posts were me trying to make sense of my time in Ukraine. In retrospect, I can see myself learning on the fly, even in some ways I didn't quite imagine. This year is also when my readership began to rise, as I was the museum person writing in English about museums in Ukraine and the post-Soviet world. This post, about a visit to Chernobyl, another experience that remains deeply with me.

My Day as a Disaster Tourist

2010

Upon re-reading this post, I was struck by the continuing importance of deep personal connections. One of the stories is about Crimea, more meaningful and poignant now.

What Does Meaning-Making Mean:  Two Stories

2011

Not much extra comment needed.  Not much has changed since this post except more sustained attention to the issue of gender in museums.

Want to Be a Museum Director? Evidently, Be a Man

2012

I'm lucky enough that my work takes me to all kinds of museums and I enjoy reporting back on work that surprises, intrigues and stimulates me.  Here, a Parisian museum totally took me by surprise, in the best way.

When Was the Last Time You Were Surprised at a Museum?

2013

An interview, as history was being made, with my dear friend and colleague, Ihor Poshyvailo, about museums and Maidan. It's fitting that he's now director of the new Revolution of Dignity Museum in Ukraine.

"Our History Museums will Include the Events of These Days"

2014

Over the last several years I've written often about the process of re-interpretation at the Harriet Beecher Stowe Center. In this one, we're encouraged to give up chronology in the service of more interesting interpretation.

Surrender the Chronology!

2015

Connected to #museumsrespondtoFerguson, this post reflects on the ways I view my own responsibility to work for change after attending an AAM meeting.

We Are Not Separate from Politics: AAM and Beyond

2016

Back to reporting on surprising museums--and tremendous labels.

Brilliant Labels in Dublin: Sweets, Nudes and U2

Here's hoping for another ten years of museum visiting, drinking coffee, meeting all of you, traveling, blogging and learning.

Surprise! Looking Back at 2015

Like most bloggers, I spent the last few weeks contemplating my year-end post. So much time, in fact, that the year ended! I was lucky enough to ring in the new with Drew, Anna and thousands of Romans and visitors to Rome overlooking the Coliseum. But now, time for some reflection. I visit lots of museums, so many in fact that I keep track on a google map (2014 and 2015 combined). I realized that the one thing I wanted most in a museum or historic site visit was to be surprised. So here, in roughly chronological order, are the museums, exhibits and historic places that surprised me or made me feel a sense of joy and importance in our work. I've written about some of these, but others are thought of and shared often in person but I just didn't find the time to write about.

Sherlock Holmes at the Museum of London
One of the smartest, most clever exhibits I'd seen in a long time, as befits the master detective. I loved the way historic objects and images were used to tell the story of Holmes in London. The place became real, but so did those 19th shoes used to explain Holmes' observation skills, and of course, that blue coat worn by Benedict Cumberbatch.

Dennis Severs House, London
Like magic. Entering at night, by candlelight, visiting in silence, voices rustle away as you enter a room. What is going on in this 18th century house? It was thrilling to see a historic house as an artistic creation by a single individual, with the ability to transport us to a different time with no more bells and whistles than candlelight, a room in disarray and a subtle sound track.

The Battlefields of the First World War, France
I would not have believed you if you told me one of my memorable historic site visits this year would be a visit to battlefields, on a chartered bus guided tour with college students, but it was. Why? First, a good, lively guide, with good knowledge and ability to judge his audience. Second, the people I was with. Watching students take in the enormity and waste of war in direct ways. Third, the physical places themselves. To walk in a trench now softened and green, to see a bomb crater, to read the names and names and names at a memorial. And lastly, to have a bit of meaning-making come full circle. We stopped at the Beaumont-Hamel Memorial, commemorating the first day of the Battle of the Somme when an entire Newfoundland regiment was virtually wiped out. The centennial is approaching and there are many commemorative efforts underway in Newfoundland. This summer, at a small outport town. I happened to have a conversation about visiting there. "You did?" said an older man, "my father lost an arm there." All of a sudden that battle was even more real, echoing down the years.

Museum Karel Zeman Prague
"Why do I make movies? I'm looking for terra incognita, a land on which no filmmaker has yet set foot, a planet where no director has planted his flag of conquest, a world that exists only in fairy tales." Karel Zeman

Pure joy. Just steps away from the Charles Bridge, the museum focuses on the work of pioneering Czech animator Karel Zeman. Using the hand-drawn early 20th century animations as a design starting point, combined with hands-on activities that explain the special effects, this museum turned our group of serious adults into a group deep into serious play. A perfect match of creative content, design and interpretation.

Context Travel Walks in Berlin, Prague and Budapest
Context Travel has been a great client for three years now and as result I've been on a number of their scholar-led small group deep dives into art and history. With them I've learned about art in the Vatican, Revolutionary Paris, the Golden Age of Amsterdam and even the food of Istanbul. But this year, four walks in these three Central European cities really stood out for me. The walks were on Jewish history and the Berlin Wall in Berlin, and the Communist era in both Budapest and Prague for three main reasons: a strong sense of place, even when some of the elements of a particular place had vanished. As I stood at the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin, a great docent helped us understand that the site had once been surrounded by the buildings in which the bureaucratic apparatus of Fascism functioned as a killing machine. Two, a sense of real people's history.

It was on the same walk that I first encountered artist Gunter Demnig's Stolpersteins, or stumbling blocks. The size of a cobblestone, these brass plaques are installed in front of the former homes of Nazi victims with just a simple name and date. You can now find them in many European cities-I saw them most recently in Rome last week.

But the most important factor in making these walks memorable were the docents' own stories. It always a fine line to work between over sharing and just right, but I'll long remember the story of one docent's brother participating in the 1968 protests, another sharing his story of being brought up in West Berlin when it seemed the height of teenage rebellion to go piss on the wall after a night of drinking. In Budapest, our docent, raised in Romania, helped us compare personal lives under regimes.

National Art Museum, Kyiv, Ukraine

Two exceptionally smart exhibits here last spring demonstrated the value of deep thinking about museum collections and the history of how museums have thought about the objects they hold. Heroes looked at art in the museum collection categorized as "hero" from Lenin to poets to heroic workers while another exhibit examined those works that had been blacklisted by various regimes and the roles (sometimes heroic and sometimes not) that museum staff played in categorizing and sometimes safeguarding such works. We have much to learn from examining our own histories. The museum's innovative director, Maria Zhadorzha, departed at the end of 2015; I only hope the Ukrainian Ministry of Culture has the initiative to name an equally talented director to lead the museum's exceptional team.

The Exploratorium, San Francisco and The Oakland Museum, Oakland
Paired together for two reasons: one, the same trip west, but two, places whose reputation precedes them. It's great to see that places you read about live up to their reputations. Great experiences both places but at the Exploratorium the surprises were how welcoming the exhibits were to adult experimentation and play and how they're expanding beyond the physical sciences to take on more complicated topics. In Oakland, the talk-back labels were genius, and visiting on a Friday community night showed that museums can attract broad segments of visitors, if they really make an effort.

The New Founde Land pageant, Trinity, Newfoundland
This seemed possibly hokey to me, and parts of it were. But the other hand, a musical theater production that moves the audience from place to place within a historic village while providing us all with a bit of Newfoundland's complicated history, proved unexpectedly moving.

Scandale:  Vice, Crime and Morality, 1940-1960,  at the Montreal History Center
This shouldn't have been a surprise to me because the exhibit Scandale was curated by one of my 2014 mentees, Catherine Charlebois, and our conversations that year often ranged widely over the issues of developing creative exhibitions. The exhibit uses oral histories as a framework, installed in all sorts of ways: a nightclub tables, in mug shots, at a card game. There were not many objects in the exhibit so, purposefully so, the oral histories and photographs do the storytelling work. Most surprising: walking in a recreation of a prostitute's room and seeing a downward video projection of a couple on the bed!

Lessons Learned
The lessons for me in all these surprises? Experimentation, a sense of humor, a deep commitment to place, and most of all, the sense in exhibit and historic site interpretation that our complicated human natures can make almost every story compelling and moving. I'm grateful to my clients, old and new, who embrace our creative process together.

What will surprise me in 2016? I've already got a few museum visits already completed this year and it's only the first week of January, so I know there will be surprises coming. In your work, consider making a resolution that surprise and joy are a part of your next project. Surprise me! What could you do differently?

(And please forgive the somewhat wonky posting and formatting. There's a learning curve on my new iPad!)

Posted with Blogsy

How's Your Audience Feeling? Here's One Answer

This past week, I was in St. John's, Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada, beginning a new project for the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary.  They've opened a new headquarters with dedicated space in the lobby area for a history exhibition. The RNC is the oldest police force in North America, with a proud history.  They've put together a volunteer committee of retirees and working policemen and raised funds to do the exhibit, highlighting a fascinating collection of objects and images. It wasn't surprising to me when I asked who the exhibit was for, getting responses like: constables, school groups, maybe tourists who wander over from The Rooms, the provincial museum next door.  Just what I expected.

But then I got a response I've never heard any museum person give anywhere.  Our audience, said one committee member,  "is people under stress.  We see good people here on their worst days."  At most museums, I think, we see people on their good days, not on the day their car was stolen, for instance.  What a challenge for designer Melanie Lethbridge and me.  We have to tell a complicated story--one of labor strikes, of sectarian violence, of devastating fires and more--in ways that connect both with those who have a deep pride in this particular history--and at the same time--reach out to those people who are perhaps bored, mad or more, waiting in a police lobby.   It's a different experience than a memorial museum and it's one I think we'll puzzle at for a while, to find a successful approach.

My other surprise?  I floated the idea of some sort of talkback board, envisioning that police would not be about letting people write whatever they want.  Again, surprise!  "We're big on social media" they said--"If we let people comment on our Facebook page or tweet to us, of course they could do it here."  How many times have you been in a room where someone said, "Oh no,  we could never let people just write what they want!"  whether it be online or in an exhibition.  Not these folks.

Big on social media?  25,000 Twitter followers--that's almost 5% of the population of the province. So big on social media that they were just featured on a Social Spotlight website analyzing social media campaigns.  My favorite element of their ongoing work?  They're funny:  they sent out an all points bulletin for summer last July when it was cold all month;  they checked out a Delorean for speeding on Back to the Future Day.

My Newfoundland lessons from last week?  Understand your visitors emotional selves, be open, and have fun.  Thanks RNC.

Do You Wave at Your Visitors? Island Lessons

I'm spending this week vacationing on Vinalhaven, an island in Maine.  It's a place where we spent summer vacations more than a decade ago, but our return has reminded me of a local habit that is one perhaps we all should adapt at the museums we work in.  Here on the island, no matter who you drive by, you always wave.  When you're driving, it's never a big wave, sometimes just a couple fingers lifted off the wheel.   And on a rainy day, I learned that it goes even further.  I had walked into town, and on the way back it began to rain.  Almost immediately, the first car to pass me stopped and asked if I wanted a ride;  I said no, and not very long after, but in much harder rain, a truck, driven by a young construction worker, also stopped to ask.  I accepted the second, had a nice chat with a life-long island resident and got dropped at my door.

What can museums learn from this?  It's just the lesson about being welcoming to everyone.  How often have we walked in a front door and had the person at the front desk barely look up at us?  If, as a regular museum visitor, this makes me feel unwelcome, think about how it makes  new museum visitor feel?  I still remember a visit to the Getty Museum, when one of the guards stepped forward to have a conversation with a boy and his father about a sculpture.  It totally shifted the dynamic from guard to friendly museum staff.

Like being on an island, we need to recognize that we--visitors and locals--are all in this together, and the simple act of friendliness--eye contact, hello, small conversations--are one small ways that we can demonstrate our connectedness.  Next time you're in the gallery say hello to a visitor or two;  and if you supervise front-line staff, ask them to smile!

Underestimating Our Visitors: Part 2

It's hard to believe that it's been two years since I shared Shannon Burke's observation about visitors gained during a prototyping day at the Harriet Beecher Stowe Center.  She noted that we tend to both over-estimate our visitors' knowledge and underestimate what they're up for.   This past weekend I was back at Stowe Center, doing more prototyping and was reminded of the underestimating part--and why prototyping is always, always, worth it.

In the interpretive planning for the new experience at the Stowe House, we'd been struggling with how to convey the impact that Uncle Tom's Cabin made in its initial publication as a serial in the National Era.  Our designer, Roger Westerman, came up with a suggestion--an audio installation that conveyed the sense of one voice reading, then another, then an entire room filled with voices reading the book.

And here's why you prototype.  We weren't at all convinced (okay, Emily was)  that this would work so we decided to give it a try, on Stowe's birthday celebration, when there were many visitors. Rather than audio, we decided to try it as a participatory activity. After a brief (very brief--that's another lesson we're continually learning) introduction and passing out of an typed excerpt,  I read a sentence from a chapter.  I asked one person to join me in reading, and then invited the whole group to read along.  Our groups were amazingly varied that day:  from a high school basketball team, to seniors, to international visitors.  And they did!  Not only did they read along, but when we did a debrief, they talked about not only their understanding but also about what it felt like to them.

They absolutely understood, through their own voices, the sense of the words spreading across the country, from person to person.   But equally importantly, they felt valued and cared for.  One visitor said that he'd never had the opportunity to use his voice on a tour, and loved it.  Another likened it to church, in a sense of fully participating.  In that vein, a clergyman offered us some good advice about enhancing the experience from his own work.  One person said she loved to read aloud; another said she hated it, but because I didn't make anyone read but made it optional, and in a group, that she felt comfortable doing it.  

Do we still need an audio installation?  Maybe not.  Our simple prototype taught us that the collective experience is really what matters.

But here's my bigger take-aways as you work to design new experiences in museums or historic houses:

• Don't be afraid of emotional connections.  Many, if not most, visitors crave them.
• Prototype, prototype, prototype.
• Primary sources are powerful.  Don't hide them amidst your own words.
• Big ideas don't need big budgets.
• Don't be afraid of failure (we know that's an essential part of the creative process) and equally importantly, support risk-taking.  One of the great parts of the Stowe Center interpretive team is the way they support each other (and me) and encourage prototyping ideas.
• Consider ways to make your tour groups a tiny community for the length of the tour.  As one person said about the debrief of several different experiences:  "Maybe the conversation, us talking here, is really the important part."
• Celebrate success.  Yay Stowe team!

Any Questions? at the Oakland Museum

Last week, I visited the Oakland Museum, whose work I've heard about since I was a graduate student.  So much to think about, but one particularly take-away for me was the number and variety of visitor feedback stations.  Questions, questions, and more questions, and almost everyone had loads of Post-it feedback and almost none had that sort of dopey, teen-ager kind of feedback that often surfaces.  Feedback stations were scattered across all three parts of the museum--art, natural history, and history and care was given to the visual presentation of each one.

What's in common with these stations? 

One, the visitor--that's you-- is always at the center of the invitation. "Share your story,"  "How is the drought affecting you?" "Tell us your thoughts." "We want to hear from you."

Two,  the questions are interesting--and sometimes surprising.  "What does the California's border evoke for you?" is a far more interesting question to ponder than "what do you think of immigration?"

Three, there's space in the exhibitions for changing questions:  "How is the drought affecting you?"

But equally importantly, throughout the entire museum, a visitor can see that they are important, that these voices matter.  Just a few quick examples.  First, this panel from Tell Me Where the Mirrors Go, a project of Maria Mortati and the Guzman-Mondragon family, first-time visitors to the museum, who, over the course of several visitors, explored the museum and shared their impressions.  It's not just temporary notes, it's a concrete sense of visitor voices in the art gallery.

And again, a sense that visitor voices really matter in this audio installation and this label for a poster from the 1960s.

And finally, as you enter, the biggest place to share your voice--a giant blackboard at the museum entrance.  When we arrived, this staff member was just posting a question for Free Fridays, but when we left, it was filled with responses.

I'll definitely be thinking about these (and the many others I photographed here) the next time I work on feedback stations.  Thanks Oakland Museum!

Practical Dreaming: 2014 Mentorships

I'm very pleased to announce my 2014 mentees, but first a bit about the process.  Although I had fewer applications than last year, the process didn't get any easier for me.  This year I had more people further along in their career, and my final two selections reflected that.  (Don't worry, emerging museum professionals,  I may try an experience restriction next year!)  This year, all of the applicants were women and they came from four countries, including the US,  and came from history, science, and art museums;  along with a independent professional or two.  My choices were framed around two issues:  one, if I thought I could be helpful, and two, if the questions posed were also questions I was interested in exploring.

I've been touched, this year as last, by the clarity, depth, seriousness and humor of the applicants.  And this year I got a bonus!  Amanda Gustin of Vermont didn't apply for the mentorship but she shared her own answers to my questions on her blog Amblering.  What's not to love about someone who impersonates an FBI agent as a child?

I can call up a dozen memories of imaginative play as a child - once, when a cousin of mine and I were grounded and stuck up in my bedroom for an afternoon, we snuck into my father's closet, dressed up in his suits, tied together bedsheets, shimmied out the second-story window, and circled back around to the front door, where we rang the doorbell and pretended to be government agents investigating cruelty toward the children living in the house. (I believe my mother laughed in our faces and sent us back up to my room.)

But on to this year's mentees:  Catherine Charlebois, Curator, Exhibitions and Collections at the Centre d'histoire de Montreal in Montreal, Canada, and Megan Wood, who begins her new position as Associate Vice President for Education and Visitor Experience at the Historic Ford Estates in Dearborn, Michigan this coming week.  They are each in transitions.  Catherine's museum is contemplating a major move and expansion and Megan of course, is embarking on a new job with new responsibilities and challenges.   And in both cases, they felt a professional voice outside their museum, might be a really helpful thing.  So I hope that's true, and here's some of the questions we'll be considering.  

Catherine's primary interests are in oral history and in exhibition development:

• Oral history in museums. I want to discuss every aspect of it, but especially its use in exhibitions.
• How to transform a museum to a participatory museum?
• Where to look for cutting-edge museum initiatives (in all fields)?
• Creating “user-friendly” museums
• Teamwork
• Inventive and/or unusual cross-disciplinary initiatives in museums 

And for Megan, the same combination of practicality and dreaming:

• How should I build and effective department? 
• Interpretive planning and long-range exhibit planning. including interpreting a historic property (and estate really) in a really new, dynamic, and engaging manner. 

I'm looking forward to our monthly conversations--and because each of the mentees will be contributing three blog posts over the course of 2014,  I hope our conversations will ripple out into your work as well.

And a few quick follow-ups from this process:

• I'm pleased to share that Alicia Akins, my mentee, is a Spring 2014 Createquity Fellow. You'll be able to check out more of her writing over there.
• It's been really lovely to hear how many of you have embraced the idea that forming your own Gang of Five can be useful in your career.   My own Gang continues to a source of inspiration, advice, and just plain fun.  If you haven't already, subscribe to our monthly e-newsletter, Take 5 for quick takes from us on everything from passion to leadership.
• There's amazing creativity in so many of us--I could see it in all the applications.  We're interested in spreading the creativity word, so please share your creative problems and solutions with us over at our Creativity in Museum practice website.   And the problems of leadership can be solved with some creative brainpower--that's being reinforced as I read Anne Ackerson and Joan Baldwin's book, Leadership Matters. Well worth a read, no matter where you are in your career.

Families, Part 2

I was surprised by the number of comments that came as a result of the post about defining family audiences.  Evidently it's an issue for us as museum workers and as museum-goers.   If you're in California,  you might be interested in a session chaired by Margaret Middleton at the California Association of Museums conference, "Welcoming 21st Century Families in Museums" which sounds like a lively conversation on the topic.  I really appreciated those of you who shared your own issues as a museum-goer in the comments.  It's all too rare that we really think from a visitor perspective and how that perspective should inform our work00each thoughtful comment drives that work further.

But yesterday's news that the new National September 11 Memorial Museum will have a $24 admission charge but that families of victims will not pay any fees, brings so many questions to mind.  Here's just a few.

• How will the museum define "victims' families"?
• How do you prove you're part of a family?
• How long into the future does the concept of "victim family" last?
• Are there other family rates at the museum?  How are those families defined?

 Your thoughts?

Vincent and Me: What a Great Docent Does

Over the holidays, I visited the Getty Museum in Los Angeles, and as always in museums, found myself lurking around galleries,  watching how people interact with each other and with the art.  It was a weekday, and there were lots of school groups.  I came into one gallery and saw Van Gogh's Irises at the end of the room.  I watched one docent with a school group.  Okay, I thought, but not great.  That group moved on, and another docent, who you see at the top of the post,  shepherded her group in, sat them down,  and began a conversation.   What I heard and saw integrated so many things that museum educators and interpreters strive for,  that I'll try to recreate it here (based on some rapidly scribbled notes on my museum map).

First, the docent had the group look closely at the painting.  What did they see?  "Flowers"  "How many different kinds of flowers?"  "What color are the flowers?"  "Oh, there's a white one over there that's different."     And with each question, she reinforced the answer and asked another question to go deeper.  The kids had nametags on, and she used every child's name when she called on them or they answered.  "You're a group with great imaginations!"

But after discussing the flowers she made a switch I didn't understand at first--telling the students (who were 8 years old or so) about the difference between a portrait and a landscape.   A portrait a picture of a person;  a landscape with trees or sky or flowers.  And, she continued, "some people think this is a portrait, a self-portrait, by the artist Vincent Van Gogh, and some people think it's a landscape.   The artist was lonely--so if it's a portrait,  where is he?"   One of the students quickly guesses that Van Gogh is the white iris, "because he stands out, because he's alone."     But maybe, says another, "You don't have to be alone.  Maybe another flower will come along and pick him."  In just a few moments, the conversation had gone from merely spotting colors to empathy,  to the idea that paintings can be about feelings, that they can be metaphors for other things, and to a bit of understanding about how an artist expresses himself.

And then she expanded the idea of portraits further.  "I want you to pretend that you are someone who wants your portrait painted,  What would you be?"   Hands went up,  and one by one,  she called students up to pose for their portrait.  "I would be a butterfly,"  starts one shyly.  By the docent's own active movements,  she encouraged deeper thinking,  "Would you have your wings spread like this?  or be resting on a flower like this? What colors would you be?"  and so on,  always asking questions that required imaginative answers and getting them,  getting the students to use both their minds and their bodies.

She noticed that only girls were volunteering. How about a boy?  After some giggling and shoving in the back, it was clear that no boys were going to volunteer.  Okay, she said, moving around to where the boys were.  "Let's imagine that we have a boy.  What shall he be?"  "A prince, said one student, and the conversation continued about a portrait of a boy.   After this, she wraps up, and says, "Time to move on, but before we leave this room, I'm going to just stop for a minute and show you my favorite painting, one with a secret."

I was sitting on a bench with a couple mothers and asked the age of the students.  Unqueried,  the mom next to me said, nodding at the docent, "She's great, isn't she?  I've watched some of the others and they're not as exciting!"   I totally agree and here's my quick list of great things she did right.

• Ask great questions.  Start with easy ones and build to more challenging ones.
• Accept differing interpretations (from art historians and students)
• Understand that emotions, even difficult ones, are a part of every child's life and that art can make a strong emotional connection.
• Use several different kinds of multiple intelligences.  There was something here for visual learners, for mathematical learners (counting the kinds of flowers),  for interpersonal and intrapersonal learners and for kinesthetic learners.
• Be adaptable.  I don't know if boys are reluctant to participate in every school group, but in this one, she didn't force them,  but physically moved back near them and made sure they were included in the experience.
• Be excited.  She loved art and you could tell.  She also loved kids and you could tell that too.

Thanks, unknown docent, for ending my museum-visiting year with such inspiration!

What's Your Institutional Voice?

August has been a slow month,  deep in book edits,  travel prep and other projects.  But I'm in Los Angeles for a couple days and visited the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles yesterday.  I was struck by the strong, but varied, institutional voice in play in their new exhibitions and other areas.  The old institutional voice is what you might have expected.  Here's a look at the introductory panel to an exhibit about California history (from the '80s from the look of it--and partially closed and perhaps headed towards extinction). Omniscient,  one might say even a little boring.  You get a sense that this institution might be really good and numbering and filing things.

But here are some images--with some new kinds of voices from their new exhibitions.  At the top of the post,  a sign post in the outdoor interpretive space.  Inviting, informal,  inspiring curiousity (and sometimes, just below) a sense of humor.

The new institutional voice makes clear that there are curious, passionate people who work at the museum.  The Nature Lab features cartoon sort of mind-maps of a number of scientists,  telling their own stories of growing up and loving nature in LA.

I mean who doesn't love a guy who loves to look at birds, every day, dead or alive?  But it's not just the natural science people.  In the new dinosaur exhibit,  the palentologists share their work--but not just in dry scientific terms.

And those voices help us with questions.  Some are questions we might already have,  but some might be ones we'd never thought of.  Food on teeth?  who knew?

 

But vitally, the museum's institutional voice isn't just all all about them.  In so many places it makes it clear that we all can participate in the work of observing nature, of analyzing, of finding out new things.   Here's a big label about a budding scientist:

Here's what you can do to help learn more about LA's wildlife, organized by what you want to do.

And,  in the Mammal exhibit,  an ask for you to think big.  You, that's you.

When was the last time you thought about what your institutional voice was?  Not just what you said,  but what the tone and approach are.  There are still so many museums holding on to a single voice, at a time when we've all become used to a wide variety of choices for our information.  By creating a sensibility,  but opening it up to--and encouraging--all kinds of different voices in ways that go beyond Post-It response boards,  this museum inspired me.  Where have you heard a great museum voice(s)?