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!

Risk and Reward, Conference Edition

I didn't make it to Nina Simon and Kathy McLean's Risk and Reward session at AAM this year, but heard lots of talk, in person and across my twitter feed about it, so I've shaped my conference learning from this spring in the same vein.

Risks

• Take some, history museums!  Several history museum colleagues and I talked about how there seemed to be a dearth of sessions framed around history museums at the AAM conference.  Is that because we're, as a part of the field, risk averse, still doing the same old same old?
• Picking the right session seems increasingly risky--and I think the risk hasn't changed, but perusing my Twitter feed during a session makes me feel like I'm missing (a couple times due to crowding) the great one next door.  The answer, of course, is a simple one for me. Don't look at the feed during the session.
• Take more risks in developing your sessions.  The real, not-real, who cares, kinesthetic, audience-driven session about objects really relied on the audience's willingness to play along, and of course, everyone welcomed the chance.
• AAM program committee, I appreciated the risk you took last year in crowd-sourcing sessions, but you only went half way.  You never told us how you used the crowd's wisdom in your still opaque decision-making process.  You can--and should-- do better.
• Take a risk and if you're submitting a session that talks about just one, or a few similar projects, invite someone entirely out of the box, unfamiliar with the project, to be a panel member critiquing and asking questions.  Take the risk of admitting those mistakes (and thanks to those who did the Mistakes were Made session!)
• How can a conference retain some spontaneous feel within all the planning that goes into making it a success?  Drawing on an idea shared by a colleague, Rainey Tisdale and I decided to set up a little guerrilla table to encourage creative ways of thinking about name tags and  share some of our thoughts about museums and creative practice.  It was great to see those name tags spurring questions, conversations and a few bemused looks throughout the rest of the week.

Rewards

• It's the second year in a row I've been an Ambassador at AAM.  This year it was great to spend some time with the staff from the incredible Casa Azul in Mexico City and with three young Ph.D students from Shanghai. 
• Museums from around the world have a growing presence at AAM but I'd like to see their presentations more integrated into the program and some mentoring done prior to the conference to help in more innovative session development.  I think then the rewards will be much greater for all of us.
• I did a quick fill-in in an international session--I was preceded by Silvia Alderoqui of Argentina.  Her description of her school museum's challenges and educational efforts had some moving connections with Ukrainian museums, and it's always an amazing reward to share my experiences in Ukraine with colleagues from around the world.
  
• It was great to spend time with old friends (you all know who you are)  and get to know others who have been, until now, just a tiny Twitter photo.  Thanks,  Jamie Glavic, for gathering a group of museum bloggers for lunch;  and to newly met Suzanne Fischer for another great conversation over lunch--I hope all our conversations will continue in person and online.
• Those conversations were great, but I'm wondering whether it's time to seek out a different conference to push me outside my comfort zone.  Suggestions?
• We had almost 40 people at 7:30 AM for our Strategize Me career planning session.  Participants were at every stage in their careers and it's always thoughtful and inspiring to watch all of you consider what your next steps are. Risks and rewards abound.
• Most memorable conversation?  The six brain scientists brought together by Reach Advisors to talk science and museums with us.  Passionate, committed, thoughtful--and in fact, one told us that it was pure folly to head down the entertainment road, to be, as he put it, "art crack," and that we should have the power of our convictions, understanding that we are, or can be, in the transcendence business.

And how about you?  Risks and rewards from your conference going?

Checking out the Gallerie des Enfants: No French Needed!

I'm in Paris,  having my lunch at the Pompidou Centre's cafe and across the way,  there's the Gallerie des Enfants, the Children's Gallery, which currently has a hands-on exhibit about letters and images.  But what's particularly interesting about an exhibit on that topic is how little text in the conventional sense there is, and how successful it is nonetheless.

Like MassMOCA's children's gallery, which I also love,  the museum assumes that children deserve and should see original artwork and that interactions should spring from that experience.  Here's just a bit of what I observed.

First,  an interactive done with something many of you have in your space where you store things you want to get rid of but don't ever get around to:  an overhead projector.  Children arranged shapes on the projector,  they were projected big so they could see them--but also then,  you could view it from the back, where hands and shapes were in a mysterious dance.  What would happen next?

(This screen was almost as tall as I am).  There were big foam letters to play with.

And lots of other ways to think about letters and shapes.  A big board to flip tiles to make letters;  artwork including letter constructions under glass;  a lightbox art installation of the letter "B" which one mother was intently looking at with her son.

But here's the thing:  there were virtually no labels telling you what to do or what to learn from the experience.  When a little instruction was needed, it was provided graphically.  Below, a pattern recognition and the hot pink illustration was the only information given.

This installation really made me think about my own practice.  Could I do interactives with no instructions just symbols?  Does this require a higher level of trust in your audience?  Do we expect different kinds of learning from art and history organizations?   What do you think?

Zoo-ming Into Labels in San Diego

Last weekend, I had the chance to visit the San Diego Zoo and was really struck by the variety of interpretive labeling strategies and designs in play.  Competing with lions and tigers and bears is tough stuff,  but I did see audiences of all ages engaging with some of the labels (in between doing things like making faces at baby hippos).  Although many of the labels were pretty traditional, the range of approaches and willingness to experiment a bit were worth observing--and provided lots of ideas that can be scaled for different kinds (and budgets) of exhibits.

So here's a bit of what I saw.  Above, the lesson that interactives are not just for kids, or even just for families as a woman poses in the fake iceberg in the polar bear section.  Below, part of an interactive showing how much meat polar bears eat daily,  using the easy to understand metaphor of a refrigerator.

The zoo had a number of fairly complicated messages about species conservation, climate change and other ecological issues to convey, and they did so in a number of ways ranging from the very simple to the complex.

This is a section of what, in a museum, we might refer to as a tombstone label, with the basic information about each species, but with the bar showing the range of endangerment of each animal.  The label below (really a large almost sculptural installation) talked about CO2 levels.

The zoo seemed to use, and appreciate the impact of sculptural installations.  Some of them were realistic animals to pose by,  but others just generated a sense of play or wonder.  Below,  metal monkey cut-outs along a walkway;  a snake skeleton, and a detail of paving.

Different areas of the zoo had distinctly different feels and incorporated designs and textures along with text and images to make those distinctions clear.  And in the popular panda area, a marker board like those found in restaurants keep visitors up to date and encouraged them to check out the panda-cam from home.

 

The zoo is a place where memories are made, and plenty of places were available for families to pose for photos:  on sculptures, behind big cutouts or playing with a big pull-out interactive.

And finally, two things that made me laugh.  First, a zookeeper, looking surprised as he's caught in the wild and second, a label with a caution I'd never seen before.  Clever and useful!