Break the Rules: Hands-On Tours that Really Do

In our book, Creativity in Museum Practice, Rainey and I highlight an AAM session from several years ago that asked participants to make a list of all the museum rules and then to think about how they could creatively be broken.   What's the biggest museum rule?  The one we tell school children and probably every adult would mention if asked?  Don't touch.

Last week at the Rosenbach Museum and Library in Philadelphia, I got a chance to break that big rule, not just with grudging permission, but with enthusiastic encouragement from staff.  The Rosenbach is best known for its incredible manuscript and rare book collection--everything from the manuscript of Joyce's Ulysses to a list of enslaved people written by Thomas Jefferson;  to the entire collection of Maurice Sendak's work to poet Marianne Moore's living room. So you imagine a hushed, white-glove kind of place, where archivists and curators jealously guard access to their precious materials.  Wrong!

The Rosenbach's hands-on tours are not tours with reproductions.  They are small group (less than five people) hands-on tours of the real thing--and the real thing is everything from some of the earliest printings of Shakespeare to Marianne Moore's letters.   The cost is $5 in addition to museum admission and you can sign up in advance or join the tour on the spur of the moment if there's room.
Last Friday, along with other tour participants, I carefully washed my hands, and then Farrar Fitzgerald, The Sunstein Family Assistant Director of Education, led us upstairs, into the Rosenbach brothers' library on the top floor.  It felt secret in a way, and as Farrar unlocked a library cabinet to take out a box, it felt even more special.   Our tour was about the sea, and so we embarked on a journey, both practical and metaphorical.

Over the course of the next hour, we looked--and yes, touched!--a handwritten manuscript by Joseph Conrad, a first edition of Moby Dick;  a fine art edition of Joyce's Ulysses with illustrations by Matisse;  and a lovingly hand-printed edition of the Wreck of the Hesperus.   We held the books and manuscripts in our hands, feeling the weight of the paper, the press of the hand-set type, even smelling that old-book smell.  We each read a bit aloud,  and I remember closing my eyes and listening to the Rime of the Ancient Mariner, imagining the scene.  Farrar introduced each item, linking it to the sea, and drawing our attention to details.  She carefully handled each object, but didn't hesitate to say, "go ahead, you can pick it up!"

Upon reflection, I was struck not only by the power of objects and the power of words,  but the power of the experience itself, of bonding with a small group of strangers as we embarked upon our own voyage of discovery. 

The best thing for you, museum readers?  It's that every single history museum or historical society, no matter what your size, could do exactly this same program on the same budget--pretty much zero dollars.  I've used literally hundreds of history archives, large and small, well organized and not, and although Joseph Conrad's manuscripts don't exist in every one,  incredible stories do.  So, next Monday morning, go first thing to your archives and consider what stories you can tell, what voyages you can take your community on. 

Dropping in at the Getty

My last post about what any museum can learn from the Getty has drawn lots of attention (and thanks to all who retweeted and shared it).   So I wanted to share another experience from my visit there because I think, in one small space, it exemplified the museum's thoughtful approach--and again, it's something that almost any museum could do, scaled to fit your own circumstances.

As I walked down a hallway, I saw a sign that said Sketching Gallery--and as I approached, there was a buzz of activity.  It's a small gallery,  filled with art (real art, not reproductions), tables, drawing horses, and people.  That's what struck me at first--it was a group of people that was so diverse in terms of age, gender, ethnicity--everything!  And everyone had their pad of paper and pencils--eagerly ready.

 At the front of the room stood a white-haired man and a younger man (who exuded a lovely kind of calm) sitting on a stool.  This was a life drawing drop-in class.  No experience needed.  Some people had started drawing, others were awaiting instruction.  More people continued to squeeze into the room and the education staff greeted everyone, provided supplies, and encouraged them to find a space--on the floor, on a chair, wherever.

An educator provided a brief introduction--drop in life drawing, every Thursday in January,  come to one or all, and here's the instructor.   The instructor was great--because rather than beginning with a lecture about life drawing,  he had everyone jump right in--start drawing, he said!  And everyone, of all different abilities, began.   And he began circulating the room, asking to sit where participants were seeing so he could see the model from their perspective.   All of a sudden, surrounded by art, the room grew quiet as participants really looked and drew.

I didn't stay for the full hour,  but also took some time to look at the interpretive labels around the room and chat a minute with the educators.  The sketching gallery is always open and so these labels provide context--explaining the great classical tradition of sketching from great works of art--and provide tips on looking and thinking.

You can read more about the Sketching Gallery here.   But the description--and I'm afraid this blog post--doesn't quite convey the spirit of the place which was fun without being silly, serious without being formal, planned without being overly directive, and reflective without being way too quiet.

Although not every museum has a Rubens to exhibit, we all do have beautiful, interesting or fascinating objects.  And we could all create ways--and spaces-- for our visitors, no matter what age or interest, to look deeply, try something new, and enjoy themselves. 

 

Ask More? Ask More!

I've been thinking about writing an end-of-year post for more than a week as I read other reflections, advice,  what-ifs and to-dos.  But I realized that thanks to my great group of planning colleagues, I've been doing that kind of reflection for several months.  So no top ten list from me.  But just this morning, thanks to Anne Ackerson who blogs over at Leading by Design,  I read The Bamboo Project's list of six 21st century skills you really need.

It's a great list--but I really focused in on one skill for me to work on 2012.  It's #2--Asking more questions.  For me, it really relates to all the other skills. Asking hard questions of myself can make me more self-aware;  questioning can help lead to empathetic listening;  question asking can lead to authentic conversations; it can lead to reflection; and question asking can help take me outside of conversations with people just like myself.

So what kinds of work-related questions do I want to ask in the coming year?  Here's just a few...

For myself:

• What new skills can I learn?
• How can I stretch my own skills further?
• How can I continue to encourage or mentor others?
• What contribution can I make to diversifying our field?
• How can I better organize my time? (as, sadly, I have realized that the prettiest new file folders aren't the answer)
• Where in the world could I go next?

For potential new clients: 

• Do you want real change?
• How can we be most effective working together?
• What do you want me to bring to the table?
• How have you asked questions of your audiences?  What have you done with the answers?
• Do you have fun when you work?

 For audiences and potential audiences:

• How can museums make themselves into real places for deep listening, reflection, conversations, and interactivity?  
• What would make you pay a visit? What keeps you away?
• What community stories are we not telling?  Can you help us with that?

For museums I visit:

• Do you really need that no photography rule?

For readers of this blog: (that's you!)

• What do you want to read more about?
• What blogs do you want to make sure I read?  Who should I make sure to follow on Twitter?
• Have you liked the Uncataloged Museum on Facebook yet?

When I began this blog four years ago (four years ago!)  I thought about it as a place to raise questions, to share ideas, and to learn from all of you.  Those same motivations still continue for me--and I'm very interested in working with those of you who share a commitment to active questioning and listening.  So please be in touch if you have a project in mind.

So let's raise our glasses to a question-filled 2012!

Images, top to bottom
dullhunk on flickr
fffound.com
slainte74 on flickr

What Makes a Museum Exhibit Sociable?

The vast majority of us visit museums with other people--but many museums are just beginning to consider that sociability within the exhibit development and design process.  Maria Mingalone of the Berkshire Museum and I are presenting a session this week at the New England Museum Association conference where we hope to talk with participants about designing exhibits for social experiences.  Is it the concept?  the design?  do we think too much about just interactions for families and not enough for adult visitors?   Are there exhibit elements that automatically make an exhibit sociable or unsociable?   (For an important take on this,  take a look at Kathy McLean's new book, The Convivial Museum.)

But for our session, we'd love to hear from you in advance of our presentation about what you think.  Please share your stories (or pictures) of exhibits that encouraged or discouraged social interactions.  What works for your organization?  What pitfalls have you overcome?  and are there unwritten rules about social interactions at your museum.  Do tell!

Sociable museum activities happen anywhere. 
Top to bottom:  MassMoca, photo by Drew Harty;  American Museum of Natural History, and the Rijksmuseum.

Do You Need a Museum? A Ukrainian Alternative

Last week brought word that more than 275,000 organizations lost their non-profit status from the Internal Revenue Service.  Among that group, not surprisingly, were a number of organizations that, in name at least, were museums, including a Toaster Museum, the American Museum of Business Culture, and Blow-Up, the Inflatable Museum (do you think it's inflatable or about inflatable things?)

And then this weekend a lovely post about an alternative, put together by an inspired Ukrainian, came into my Facebook feed, thanks to an article by Kateryna Kuchar at Rukotvory,  Ukrainian Folk Art Online,  where some of the articles are now in English (many thanks, Rukotvory!).   The website featured an interview with Volodymyr Kitselyuk, described as "an ordinary enthusiast from Hutsul region, a doctor by profession and an ethnographer by vocation."   His love for his region in the mountains of western Ukraine has led him to two different projects.  First, with a colleague, he has established a website with historic photographs from the region.  He doesn't collect and store these photos.  They go out into the villages with a computer and a scanner, scan the images and collect information.  Volodymyr says:

We go from a house to a house asking for ancient photographs. As a rule, the main thing is to catch hold of something interesting, and then villagers start to send for each other or even see us to different people. We have a special formula for explaining people what we want from them. Since it is difficult to reach understanding in small mountain villages using such words as “Internet” and “scanning” and the people we deal with are often elderly women we simply say that we would like to take photos of their old photos for a museum. When people are sure we are not taking anything from them, they certainly help us with pleasure.

The website, Hutsul Images, in both English and Ukrainian, has a beautiful design with photos organized by region.  When asked if his efforts were supported by the state, he noted, "The experience shows that it’s much easier to directly communicate with people in villages than with the staffs of state bodies."   Given the complicated history of western Ukraine, it's amazing that these photos survived and wonderful that they are now shared widely.  It's also wonderful to see an initiative that's not a grand plan with many pronouncements and no support, but rather a small initiative that grows organically.

But Volodomyr has taken his enthusiasm one step further, restoring several small houses in his home village and opening them up for tourism.   At one house visitors can cook, bake, churn butter and other activities.  The second house provides more modern accommodations.  But he's not a re-enactor:  as he describes it, "It’s not my objective to completely revive ancient ways of life because it is impossible. The main thing is to let people see the difference at least a bit and to have a rest from the city."   From childhood, he's been interested in a home museum, and is collecting as well.  This informal approach is far different from the vast majority of museums in Ukraine, although it shares much with the approach of Ivan Honchar,  whose private museum is now a public one in Kyiv.   So the museum may someday have a more public component.  But perhaps not.

As I read the article I wondered about the future.  His efforts are similar to the way in which  many museums begin, from a personal passion and interest.  Would it be better if it eventually became a formal institution?  or is it better to have a passionate commitment and then, if the commitment wanes and no one steps forward,  for such an effort to decline?   What's clear however, is that the online project will have a long life and that the eco-tourism effort will provide memories, and a link to a rapidly vanishing past, for those who visit (and I hope that includes me one of these days).

I'm sure many of those museums on the IRS list began with the same enthusiasm--for everything from railroads, fire engines, katydids, surfing and the unexplained (one actually was the Museum of the Unexplained).   But something inevitably happens along the way.  So if you're sitting at home contemplating starting a museum in the United States--be sure you check out this great publication from the Museum Association of New York, What Comes First: Your Guide to Building a Strong, Sustainable Museum or Historical Organization (With Real Life Advice from Folks Who’ve Done It).    Consider whether your work is best done within a museum setting or in an individual way--does it need an institution to be meaningful or can a passionate individual or "tribe" commitment be enough?  It seems that both passion and planning are both needed to make a project long-lived. 

Photos from Hutsul.com.ua and http://vlotko.livejournal.com/

Will the Crowd Fund Our Project? A Kickstarter Story

Crowdsourcing--that's outsourcing your tasks to a large, unknown group of people presents a range of opportunities for museums--citizen science, mapping, identifying photo collections. But in a way, crowdsourcing of fundraising is one thing that I think small museums in particular may find very useful.  My colleague Sarah Crow and I have begun a project on Kickstarter and I'll use a series of entries on this blog to reflect on what we're learning in the hopes that it may be useful to others.

What's Kickstarter? 
It is "a new way to fund creative ideas and ambitious endeavors."  And it's framed around two core beliefs:  

• A good idea, communicated well, can spread fast and wide.
• A large group of people can be a tremendous source of money and encouragement.

What's Our Project?
We're the Pickle Project and you can find us here on Kickstarter and the Pickle Project blog here.   It's a project that sprang from our separate experiences in Ukraine as Fulbright Scholars.  We both love food and bring complementary interests in food--mine around food as cultural expression;  Sarah around issues of sustainability, and both of us in terms of how it shapes communities.   Our long term goal is to create innovative traveling exhibitions in Ukraine and here in the US that encourage community conversations about food, culture and sustainability. 

Why Kickstarter?
The great thing about Kickstarter is that you don't need to be a non-profit to seek funding.  For us, that's perfect.  We're in the earlyish stages of the project and although we will seek a non-profit partner, at this phase, it made great sense to venture out on our own.

How Do You Get People to Pledge?
Kickstarter is all or nothing so we need to raise our goal by February 1 in order to receive any of the money.  Kickstarter is all about your ability to get the word out.  Kickstarter doesn't do that for you, you need to.  How are we getting the word out?  We blog, we tweet, we email friends and encourage them to share it, we have a Facebook fan page, we use our groups on LinkedIn,  we're pursuing traditional media coverage--anything and everything we can think of.

How Could This Work for Small Museums?
There's only been a few museum projects on Kickstarter.  One of the most successful was the Neversink Valley Museum in Narrowsburg, NY and Seth Goldman, their director, was incredibly generous in sharing his lessons learned during the process of successfully raising funds for architectural drawings and other work for a new building.  The World of Witches Museum in Salem raised almost $5000 for exhibits and the Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art also raised exhibit funds.  Unsuccessful?  A Teachers Museum and the Museum of Hawaiian Shirts. 

Local history museums already have networks--your members and others in your community.  You also have those people who grew up in your community and moved away and those enthusiastic genealogist who email you seeking information.   And don't say that older people don't use the Internet:  an updated Pew Charitable Trust study shows that email is almost ubiquitous, even with those over age 74.   So your audience or network is out there!

What Have We Learned So Far?
Some simple lessons for us and we're only four days into our project.

• Research:  look at other similar and different Kickstarter projects;  find someone who's done Kickstarter before to talk to and share their perspectives;  read Kickstarter's materials and other blogs about what works and what doesn't.

• Ask Before Leaping:  We sent our initial narrative off to about a dozen or so friends and colleagues to read, long before we posted.  (You know who you are--thanks!).  Their thoughtful feedback told us one thing--that we needed to more clearly connect the story of food in Ukraine with people here, today, in the United States.  So we did.

• Make That Video Work:  Neither of us were video experts (even though I have one in the house) but we knew we needed a video to draw visitors into the story.  Thanks to our work and the generosity of friends who have also spent time in Ukraine, we put together a simple slide show with great photos using iMovie.  Looks simple, but took far more time than I expected.  We didn't need it to be perfect--but we did need it to be compelling--take a look and see what you think.

• Cool Premiums:  We also looked at what other successsful projects has offered for premiums and tried to balance the cost and effort of the premium with the amount pledged.  And so, if you, generous reader, pledge $1000 Sarah or I will bring a Ukrainian dinner to your house!

• All or Nothing Means no Messing Around:  Kickstarter is all or nothing.  You set the amount, you set the time frame (up to 90 days) and then, boom!  you launch the project.  You only get the money if you raise the full amount.  We know how much money we have to raise every single day between now and February 1 and that means no coasting, that every single day we'll be out there tweeting, facebooking or otherwise connecting with our networks.  So far, we're on target.

And finally, Don't be Shy!
As any fundraising professional knows, you don't get support if you don't ask.  So here's my ask.
Head on over to Kickstarter and support the Pickle Project because:

• You love food
• You're interested in cross-cultural understanding
• You want to see how it works
• You wish we understood more in this country about how to grow, cook and eat sustainably
• You're interested in Ukraine
• You've had a great time reading this blog this year
• You want to support a passionate project in its emerging state
• and of course, if you love pickles!

Thanks to all those who have already stepped up to the plate (the dinner plate perhaps) and supported us.  I'll continue to post our lessons learned--if you have specific questions, please comment away.  You can track our progress on the widget to the right and of course, we look forward to seeing you as a supporter!

Photos, top to bottom:
Market vendor, Opishne
At a Crimean Tatar feast.  photo by Barb Weiser
Milking in the Carpathian Mountains, photo by Christie Nold
Strawberry picking,  photo by Grace Eickmeyer
Women at the pottery festival, Opishne
Riding home from school in Crimea, photo by Grace Eickmeyer

Would Young People March to Save Your Historic Site? A Story from Western Ukraine

Who cares about your historic site?  Would young people come to a march to save it?  Although change in Ukrainian museums sometimes seems slow, I'm continually impressed by the passionate commitment of some young Ukrainians.  When I was in Ukraine, I spent some time working with the State Historical and Cultural Preserve of Tustan, an mountaintop archaeological fortess site in the Carpathians, in western Ukraine.

Today, I read on a Ukrainian museum news website (via Google Translate) about new protests about the illegal development of the site.  In brief, the site is a protected preserve but this past summer a local businessman, with permission from the village council,  began to build on the property.  Appeals to the prosecutor general halted the construction, but just recently, it has begun again, altering the course of the river on the preserve.

Rather than wait for someone else to take action, a group of young people, led by the site's director, Vasyl Rozkho, organized a protest in the center of L'viv.  A flash mob,  photographs documenting the construction,  costumed re-enactors, artists, artisans and others joined together to march and present a letter of protest to the city administration.

There are two take-aways for me as I read this article.  First, it draws attention to the important, and sometimes threatened, growth of civil society in Ukraine.  Vasyl and others are using the full array of tools--public assembly, official protest to officials, the media, the internet--to get their message out and fight corruption as they see it.

But equally important is what this says for historic sites everywhere.  It feels like almost every day I have a conversation about a historical society or historic site where "no one cares" and "we can't get any young people involved."  I'm not quite sure of the reasons that young people care about this particular site--but I'll speculate a bit.

First, the site represents a period in Ukrainian history that many are proud of and that was suppressed during the Soviet era.   Second,  this is a site that had a tradition of involving young people.  Vasyl's father conducted the archaeological expeditions, bringing students into the mountains to work so the involvement of young people has been an important part of the site for decades--and that involvement of young people continues today.   Third, a September festival (as shown in photos in this post) attracts thousands of visitors and offers a highly participatory experience at odds with many Ukrainian museums.  This means a large number of people know and care about the site.  For whatever reason, perhaps the very small staff, the organization is not a hide-bound bureaucracy.  Vasyl also came to the job with training as an architect, rather than as a historian or scientist, so perhaps his perspective is different.

But as I read this article, I thought back to several days spent with Vasyl and others this past spring--and the thing that makes a difference here--passion.  This is not just a job,  but a passionate commitment to sharing a part of a Ukrainian past.   So think about your museum or historic site?  Would young people in your community come out to save it?  And if the answer is less than a resounding yes, perhaps its time to consider what you could do to make that difference.

How Do You Put People in the Picture of Local History? 2 Smart Ideas

As I've written about historical societies in danger of becoming dinosaurs--and in the many thoughtful comments I've received--it has become clear that one major problem is that, in a nation where we move often and rarely live where we grew up,  that local history museums haven't quite figured out how to put all of their audience--not just the long term locals--into the picture of local history.  They risk becoming irrelevant to their audiences and their communities.  But I've heard about two inspiring, fun and engaging efforts, neither by a local history museum,  that do just that--create relevance and meaning for audiences and communities.

First,  Love, Loss and What I Wore.  Years ago I had picked up this little book at a used book sale and loved it.  By Ilene Beckerman,  it's an autobiography, a memoir, told through her simple line drawings and descriptions of what she wore.  It's now been turned into a Broadway play by Nora and Delia Ephron that, as the play's website says, "uses clothing and accessories and the memories they trigger to tell funny and often poignant stories that all women can relate to."   At the performance though,  playgoers are invited to draw a picture of themselves in a favorite item of clothing and share the details about it.  Those simple drawings are then featured on the play's Facebook page.   What a great idea to adapt to a local historical society exhibit--and it could mean that everyone with a favorite clothes memory could be included, not just those families who donated those wedding dresses.

Carol Kammen, the Tompkins County, NY historian, and a regular columnist for AASLH's History News, introduced me to a new initiative of the Tompkins County local historians (in New York, an appointed and largely unpaid position in municipal governments of all sizes) called House History.  In this project, homeowners are encouraged to record the history of the house they live in on a brightly colored House Tag that can be stored in a front closet, near the electrical box, or in other easy-to-find location.  A longer two page form collects additional information about the house and neighborhood and can be filed with the local historian's office.

Importantly, however, this project is not just for historic homes.  The Tompkins County historians are encouraging all to participate and have already had submissions from owners of new homes, who welcome the idea of leaving a lasting record of their particular place.  This project,  like Love, Loss and What I Wore opens up the possibility of participation to everyone; and in both cases, thinks not only about the past, but about the future.

What else could a local history organization do to connect all of their community?  If you've undertaken a project, please let me know!

Images, top to bottom: Norris family photo, drawing from Love, Loss and What I Wore audience member, and houses, both from  FSA/OWI collection, Library of Congress.

History Museums as Dinosaurs: Take 2

Somewhat to my surprise,  my earlier post really hit a nerve with readers--well over a thousand hits so far.  I've appreciated the thoughtful comments that I've received both here on the blog and directly in emails.  In this post, I  share some of those comments and try to continue my own thinking on the topic.

Training Disconnects

Is there a disconnect between professionalism and these organizations? Why, after decades of training and an enormous increase in the number of museum studies programs haven't more organizations moved forward?  I think it's often too easy to blame the organizations, which in a way, is like blaming a student when he or she doesn't learn.  Perhaps it's not the student, but our teaching and training methods (and I write that having run a museum service organization for more than a decade).  I think it's worth questioning what our expectations are for local history groups and how we do training and professional development, including the graduate level training of museum professionals.   How can we, those of us who are museum professionals,  do it better?

History Museum?  Community Organization? or groan, Hysterical Society?

In his comment, David Grabitske described 3 kinds of local history museums:

1) those that have got their act together and do very well adapting to economic woes much like their larger counterparts,
2) those that have professionalized but lack the support base due to many years of unclear direction, and
3) those that operate on a shoestring that are never affected by the economy because they are too small to suffer adverse affects.   

It is category two that seem at the most risk because of unsettled stakeholder buy-in. 

 An anonymous commenter shared another perspective on how to define local history organizations.

Many small museums don't consider themselves "professional" organizations, but comprised of people who love their community and express it through the local historical society. Others do so through Scouts, arts groups, sports, Boys/Girls clubs, etc. So we're talking less about the museum field as much as we're talking about local community service, in one of its many forms.

I think that's a critical factor--and I'd argue that many organizations, saddled by a decrepit building and undocumented collections are hindered in becoming the vital, important community organization they could be,  real places of community engagement and community service.  Should they be a history club and not a collecting institution?  Perhaps.

Another historical society director wrote about the problems of public perception:

The one problem always facing us, which you did not mention - public perception of historical societies is, for all the reasons you mentioned, fairly dismal, and we need to continually face the challenge of overcoming the characterization that we are either the hysterical or the hisnorical society (a persona that, unfortunately, so many blue haired ladies and bow-tied gentlemen have worked diligently over decades to maintain in historical societies everywhere). 

Focus on Your Strengths

But there's not a single magic answer.  The solutions are different for every organization, as Suzanne Buchanan of the Hingham Historical Society eloquently wrote:

As the director of a local historical society, I find that my organization, and several similar ones nearby are bucking the trend. Yes, we’re perpetually short staffed, and lack professionalization in some areas. But we’ve found that if you join the fray and market your organization creatively, you can get a lot of folks interested in local history and its preservation. I find the most useful thing about AASLH sessions is sharing ideas that work with colleagues and learning how not to re-invent the wheel.

Each historical society has its specific local assets and drawbacks that define the parameters that one has to work within. It’s good to figure out how to capitalize on the assets and not waste time trying fix inherent weaknesses (eg. we capitalized on our location in a retail center by expanding our gift shop. My peers our more rural areas don’t bother, and work instead on events that draw large numbers of people to their large sites for picnics, outdoor events. I have found that if you focus on your strengths, you’re not left with much time to wring your hands about the future or the weaknesses you can’t fix. (And, yes, our website is very out of date, but we’re working on it.)

I look forward to continuing to think and talk about this.  I attended a session at AASLH about the Museum Different, a fascinating look at what mainstream museums can learn from tribal cultural centers that I think relates directly to many of these issues.  Blog post to come on it.

It's been terrific to hear from so many readers and so many different perspectives.  Keep those comments coming!

Front of combined Evangeline Museum and Navy store, Saint Martinville, Louisiana.

Lee, Russell, 1903-1986, photographer, Library of Congress, FSA/OWI Collection.

Random Thoughts on Ask a Curator Day

Today, as many museum readers might know, was Ask a Curator Day, a worldwide event on Twitter.  Museums signed up, volunteering to answer any and all questions via Twitter.  I dipped in and out all day, as the questions and answers rolled across the globe, from New Zealand and Australia,  through Europe, and then on to the Western Hemisphere.  It was the top trending topic on Twitter for a while, and the questions and answers make fascinating reading.

But I was particularly interested in the questions put to history museums.  In looking at the list, for US museums at least, history museums were underrepresented in terms of the proportion of history museums as compared to museums overall.  Why?  Are history museums less likely to use Twitter?  are their supporters, fans, people interested in history less likely to use?  Hundreds of questions were posed generally to curators and I really appreciated the small history museums that took the time to weigh in on entering the field, the best part of the job and the like.   I'd be interested in hear from those history museums who did participate about how they heard about it and why they chose to.

Ask a Curator reinforced the idea that we can never know what our audience is interested in.  We plan, we script, we prototype, we focus group--but then, surprising questions!  For instance:

• Where can I find a good collection of antique maps and globes in the Boston area
• To the Police Museum, Vancouver:
• Do you have any info about my great-grandfather Chief Constable WW (Billy) Foster? 
• What is the oldest known color photo?
• What resources do you suggest for research on specific lighthouses and their keepers?
• What do curators think of the ending of the western narrative?
• From the Chekhov Museum in Russia to the Imperial War Museum in London:  What Russian artifacts do you have in your collection?
• To Monticello:  Do you know how many times TJ traveled to New England?
• Do you have a link to a site that outlines the work you do with people at risk of social inclusion?
• Any Alaska museums--do you do anything special to attract visitors in winter?
• To the Lower East Side Tenement Museum:  why r so many tenements on the LES build around the same size? 5 to 6 floors. Was that a law requirement? 

 At the end of the day many museums invited their followers to ask them questions anytime.  And that memory, I think, is a wonderful take-away.  We think we're open, that people could ask anything anytime--but museums are often pretty intimidating places.  One great aspect of the day was that the questioner didn't risk seeming silly by asking the question.  Both the nature of Twitter and the enthusiastic participation made sure that all questions were good questions.   And so my question for #Askacurator?  How do we make this attitude--this attitude of curiousity combined with great good will--happen every day within the walls of our museum?

And a special thanks to the event's organizer, Jim Richardson--a truly amazing effort!

How Do You Design Real Participation? A Catskills Tale

In much of my museum work, we're always talking about designing experiences that encourage real participation from our audiences and often museums are particularly interested in reaching young people.  Last weekend I went to an event, most definitely not a museum event, that I thought exemplified the qualities that could make museums into places people want to come to. 

I attended Cockstock 2, a music festival entirely generated by a small group of young people here in my beautiful part of the Catskills.   It's the brainchild of musician Alex Gohorel (center above) and his friends, held on a gently sloping field with the hills as backdrop.  This year as last, on a beautiful day.  (oh, and if you're interested, Cockstock 1 had a badminton theme;  Cockstock 2 was all about roosters).

So what did Alex, his family and friends do that museums might emulate as they consider designing participatory experiences?  A great deal.

Invite anyone to plan and participate

The event's Facebook page described it as a "celebration of art, information, and good company" and if you had something to share, you were invited to do so.  Some artists brought their work and did a small installation in the barn where anyone could come in, look at the work and talk (and many people did).  Another young woman working as a summer intern in a Farm to School program brought materials and set up a table-top display about her work.  Nothing was juried,  there weren't rules about where you could set up, and of course, there was no fee to participate--because it was a small new event the important flexibility was possible. 

Create many opportunities to pitch in and help

In this case, volunteering meant everything from performing to baking to silk-screening T-shirts and building a stage (and of course, that post-event clean-up).   There were more volunteers in the set-up than the year before.  

Make sure those opportunities are meaningful

Both of Alex's parents bring significant creative skills to the project.  Anne worked with a group to create silk-screened T-shirts for the event and John used his building skills to work with a group on building the stage.   Perhaps none of these young volunteers will ever become professional screen printers or builders but they learned about a process and about doing a job well.  And, I think, enjoyed doing it.  

Price it right

The festival was free if you just came for the music;  $5 if you wanted to eat, and $10 if you wanted to eat and get a T-shirt.  Payment was voluntary and I believe most people paid, even the musicians!   I contrast this with another local festival where the admission fee is $12 for adults including food.   It was great to have the choices about what level to pay at.  And of course if you wanted to extend the experience,  you could buy a CD.

Don't Regiment Everything

Want to play badminton--sure!   Want to bring your decorated hula hoops to share?  sure!  Want to paddle in the little pond?  sure!  Want to play music but didn't tell them in advance?  sure!   Want to dance--sure!  And you could do all of those whenever you wanted.   In the planning--not a single committee meeting.  Sometimes I'd pay money to not go to a meeting.

Make Room for Creators and Appreciators

There were loads of creators at the event--musicians and others.  There was space and time for all of them to share their work.  But there was also time and space for those of us who aren't artists to enjoy and appreciate the work.  The audience ranged in age from 4 to 70 plus--it really was for everyone.

Let Go!

Although Anne, John and Alex and many others committed significant time and energy to make the event a success,  they also understood that they couldn't control everything, that the event would make its own way,  And it did.  Imagine how lovely it was to have a band member from New York City look out at the view while playing and say, "We never thought we'd play by hillside.  It's beautiful here!"   I think there were some great unintended consequences and some new connections.

And the best part?  Never once did I hear someone say, "Well, we've always done it this way."

Thanks to Anne and Claire Gohorel and Drew Harty for some of the photos and to Nina Simon who I'm inspired by whenever I think about creating participatory experiences.