My Day as a Docent: What Do You Think?

Last month, guest blogger Tegan Kehoe (above) wrote about her training to become a docent at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum and the conceptual shift from a history to an art perspective.  She's back, to share her experience of her very first docent shift, just a week after the Gardner's grand re-opening.  We'd love to hear your perspectives on working directly with visitors--comment away!

My first shift as a volunteer at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum was on a Saturday afternoon, just over a week after the historic museum re-opened to debut its new wing. The excited returning visitors and curious new visitors gave the museum an incredible energy. When I arrived, the line to the admissions desk was out the front door.

While all volunteers, new and old, get into the swing of things with the reopening, the museum is asking us to come a half-hour early for a pre-shift meeting. We went over where we would be stationed and other tidbits of useful information. It was a relaxed meeting that helped me learn the names of my fellow volunteers and reassured me that I knew what I was doing.

I spent my first hour of my shift on the second floor of the historic building, surrounded by paintings by the Old Masters, furniture from Renaissance Italy, sculpture from ancient Rome, and more. The Gardner is not an ordinary museum. The art is arranged the way the museum’s founder and patron, Isabella Stewart Gardner, felt the pieces were most inspiring, and very little is labeled. Visitors often need help finding the rack of laminated room guides or determining which guide corresponds with which wall. I was asked a question every few minutes. Excited and nervous, I focused on correctly and helpfully answering visitors’ questions rather than on using the techniques I was trained on. I did ask a few families, “How are you enjoying your visit today?” and that got conversation going, but for the most part, it was busy enough that it seemed both overwhelming and impractical to engaging visitors in deep, thoughtful conversation.

My second hour was in the new wing’s Living Room, a glass-walled space for informal learning, reflection, and discussion. The space is inspired by Mrs. Gardner's tradition of hospitality, and has couches, bookshelves full of books on all topics (although art certainly predominates!), a timeline of the museum's history, a touch-screen panel with more information, and even two birdcages with finches like the one Mrs. Gardner kept. There were two volunteers stationed in the living room, which I liked. I got to know my fellow volunteer, there were enough visitors to keep us both busy, and having two of us meant we had time for have longer, deeper conversations with the visitors.

I spoke with visitors who made the Living Room their first stop and wanted to know what else they should see and how to get there, and also with visitors who had already explored the historic building. My favorite conversation was with a woman who was impressed by the sheer size of the early Renaissance tapestries in the Tapestry Room. 

The last hour of my shift, I was in the new special exhibitions area, a spacious, three-story room on the second floor of the new wing.  It's a beautiful space, but contemporary art is more hit-or-miss with me than earlier art, and I felt unsure of what to do with myself while greeting visitors there.

At one point, a woman asked me, “Why is the ceiling so high?” I explained that the ceiling was actually adjustable, and for this particular installation, it was at the highest of three possible levels.
“But the art doesn't go nearly that high... there's so much white space,” she said.
“This is an exhibit of an individual artist's work, so it was the decision of the artist,” I said. 
After she left, I realized I had missed an opportunity to ask her, “Why do you think she did that?” or, “What do you think about having all that space there?”

Later, another woman asked me, “What was on the artist's mind when she made these sculptures? I read the pamphlet and I still don’t get it.”
“Well, what do they make you think of?” I asked.
“I don't know.” She paused. “What about you?”
We were standing by a drum that had a small painted tile and a handful of bobby pins on its head. I was glad, because it was the only sculpture in the room that evoked something specific for me.
“This one reminds me of doing college theater, with all of the props and supplies mingled together in the green room,” I offered. 

Then her husband, who had been looking out of the enormous windows, spoke up. “There was this bar I used to go to, you know, the kind with the dueling pianos. This guy named Eddy was ninety-one, and he had been working there for seventy years. His job was to stand between the pianos with thimbles on his fingers, holding a metal tray with coins on it, and he tapped out the beat like that. I think that's what it would sound like if you hit the drum and the bobby pins bounced.”

“Huh,” said the woman, sounding baffled, but more amused than frustrated “You have the green room, and you have Eddy, but what do I have?” 
She looked at me. Her husband moved over to one of the eight foot by ten foot paintings.
“Something to think about between now and your next visit?” I said.
“Yeah, I guess so!” 

Did I help that woman feel empowered to form her own opinions about art? I'm not sure. I do think I planted a seed to get her thinking, though, and I know that the three of us had an enjoyable, meaningful conversation.

The Gardner embraces the model of having many volunteers who make a small monthly time commitment. I wouldn't be able to fit it in if they required more each month, but I'm happy to commit to the two years they ask volunteers to stay in the program. I will be working about two shifts a month. After I have gained more experience there, I'll write again to reflect on what I have learned talking about art with the Gardner visitors.

 And, related to my last post, check out the Gardner Museum's thoughtful mission statement here. 

Images, top to bottom:
Tegan Kehoe in front of the Gardner Museum, by Matt Kamm
Living Room and Gallery by Kidsturk on Flickr
Hallway connector, by Tegan Kehoe

Learning to Talk About Art

Welcome to another guest blogger!   Tegan Kehoe is an emerging museum professional who's also a volunteer docent at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum as it reopens, with a wonderful new wing, on January 19.  This is the first of three posts from Tegan going inside the docent process from learning to doing.  As professionals, we spend lots of time talking about docents and what they should/could/might be doing.  Here's her inside view.

As a museum professional, I believe that working directly with visitors should be a lifelong practice for me.  I had thought for a long time that I might want to volunteer at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, a small, beautiful Boston institution full of art from all time periods. Until recently, I had too many other things going on in my life, including being a tour guide at two history museums, but this fall, after starting a desk job, I realized now might be the time. It’s also a very exciting time to be at the Gardner, because they just completed a new wing, opening to the public on January 19. They recruited a large group of new volunteers, and I applied just in time. In November and December, I attended a series of trainings to get oriented to the museum’s story, the collection, and how to help visitors have a great experience.

While I’m excited to get involved at the Gardner, I’m a historian, and there’s a voice in my head asking,  “What do I know about art?”  We aren’t expected to be encyclopedias -- in fact, the most important part of our role is being a friendly, welcoming presence in the galleries -- but I want to help visitors make meaning of what they see. Thankfully, the Gardner volunteer trainings include a few very useful kernels of museum education theory.

At the trainings, I was re-introduced to John Falk’s theory that museum visitors are influenced by their own conception of themselves and their reasons for attending a museum. There are Experience Seekers, who want to see and experience something new, especially a landmark or a well-loved destination, Facilitators, who bring their children or out-of-town relatives to a museum to give them a good experience, and three other archetypes that describe a visitor’s reason for being there.  

I think it’s a very useful way to think about visitors. There is no value judgment in acknowledging that visitors want different things. A part of me feels that in an ideal world, every visitor would be hungry to learn, learn, learn, and maybe stop and gaze at a painting or artifact in wonder. In reality, it’s not my place to say this is what visitors should want, and it’s not always what I want when I’m the visitor. Museums are for the public, and we do visitors a better service by trying to help them get what they want out of the experience. Still, I believe that it’s key to take advantage of teachable moments -- just to do it in a way that’s appropriate for the individual.

Another of the trainings introduced us to Visual ThinkingStrategies, an art education tool that uses questions. To demonstrate the process, a Gardner staff member showed us an image of a painting not in the museum’s collection, and asked us, “What’s going on in this picture?” A man sat at an office desk reading some papers, while a woman stood at the filing cabinet. Several people noted that something in the room seemed not quite right. Our leader asked, “What do you see that makes you say that?” and a young woman said the walls were oddly blank, as if the office’s occupants were not really settled there. An older woman replied that she didn’t find the blank walls odd at all, given the time period of the piece. As the leader asked, “What more can we find?” we went deeper into the mood of the room. We all agreed it was nighttime. I saw that we seemed to be looking down from above, as we could see the top of the door frame and the cabinet and the top of the figures’ heads. It gave a feeling of distance from the subjects.

As we talked, I was surprised to realize I kept waiting for the “reveal” moment, when we would be told the work’s title, year, and painter. It wasn’t coming.* VTS is about affirming the viewer’s ability to have a high-quality experience with the art, and meaningful ideas about it, whether or not they know anything about it. The system is designed for classes, rather than informal interactions, and volunteers aren’t asked to practice VTS strictly, just to use it as a guide. I like this model, because I think it will help me engage with visitors. Before I know much about the collection, it will give me something to say, and later on, it will save me from the temptation to just rattle off my favorite facts about a work. Still, I wonder how I will do at keeping Visual Thinking Strategies in mind when I volunteer. Will it feel awkward? Formulaic? Or will it blend seamlessly with asking visitors how they are enjoying the Gardner?

While I think I’ll start out a little out of my comfort zone, it helps to think about the whole visitor experience, not just what knowledge I can impart. I’m really excited to do this. I feel privileged to become a part of a team that sets high standards for itself with regard to visitor experience. It is said that Gardner arranged the pieces with the intention of inspiring the viewer, and I expect to be repeatedly inspired. I hope that over time, I will continually build my skills at helping to share this inspiration with museum guests.

My first shift will be on Sunday afternoon after the debut of the new wing. I will be posting again to let you all know how it goes!

*For your gratification, if you’re feeling the same way I was, it was Edward Hopper’s 1940 painting Office at Night. I later looked it up online.

Tegan Kehoe is a Boston-based emerging museum professional and historian, whose many professional interests include free-choice learning, nonprofit management, and local history. Her own blog, Cambridge Considered, [cambridgeconsidered.blogspot.com] covers the history of Cambridge, Massachusetts. She is also the sometimes-leader of a nascent Stitch and Bitch (knitting and other crafts club) for history and museum professionals in the Boston area. 

Top:  Banner outside the Gardner Museum by Dave Gilbert eye2eye on Flickr
Bottom:  Office at Night,  Edward Hopper

Where do Volunteers Come From?

In the United States,  there's lots of conversation in non-profit organizations around volunteers--and particularly about how hard it is to recruit volunteers.  Over the last two weeks in Ukraine, I've come across some volunteers that I think demonstrate some important lessons we may have forgotten. 

At the top of this post is a photo of the residents of Ak Mechet, a Crimean Tatar settlement outside Simferopol,  working, as volunteers, to repair their badly potholed (driving on it sort of felt like riding the waves) road.  This was an entirely volunteer effort, organized by Neshet, a builder, who brought clean fill out from a building he was demolishing, and recruited volunteers.  It happened informally, through word of mouth,  people saw people working and came out, even those without cars, said Neshet's teenage son, Serdar.  These were really hot days, and these men worked really hard on something that is rightly the responsibility of city government.

I talked with an American friend living in Ak Mechet about why,  particularly when volunteering is still a relatively new Ukrainian concept in its post-Soviet independence.  She thought it was because the Crimean Tatars, deported to Uzbekistan by Stalin have had to work together as a community just to survive.  After independence, hundreds of thousands of Crimean Tatars made the decision to return to their homeland and have made lives and communities here.   So for these residents of Ak Mechet,  repairing the road was one more step.

And here's Svetlana and her family in Kyiv.  As we walked upstairs in her bloc apartment, she said she was working to organize her neighbors to clean and paint the hallway--it was taking a long time, but she was determined.  Svetlana and her husband had spent a bit of time in the US and she appreciated the volunteer work undertaken by many there.  As a result, she, like Neshet, was working to make her corner of the world a better place.

In Donetsk, we met Ania, who served as one of our volunteer interpreters.  She was a child psychologist in her 20s and she volunteered because she thought it was an important way to gain different perspectives--to understand more about children and families and to appreciate different points of view.

And so Neshet, Svetlana, and Ania helped reinforce to me some important points about  recruiting and retaining volunteers:

• Have volunteer jobs that matter.  I've certainly asked more than my share of volunteers to spend a day sticking on mailing labels.  But consider what kinds of really meaningful work you can ask volunteers to do.  I think all of us increasingly want to have meaningful lives, including our volunteer efforts (and if you can't make it meaningful, at least make it fun!)
• Be flexible about choices.  In all of these cases,  the volunteer decided what was important.   That doesn't work everywhere, and I know volunteers often want to do things that aren't appropriate in a museum sense.  But provide volunteers, as you can, with some level of decision-making power.
• Expanding a world view.  Encourage volunteers to think about how volunteering can expand their world view--and then recognize and celebrate those volunteers.

None of these lessons are earth-shattering, but increasingly I find that the time I spend in Ukraine gives me time not only to understand Ukraine, but to also reflect on my work in the United States.  It's been my experience that people whose parents volunteer are more likely to volunteer themselves.  As I think about Neshet, Svetlana and Ania,  I can see their efforts not only benefitting their communities and neighborhoods now, but resounding down the generations.

And speaking of volunteers, a big shout-out to our tremendous volunteer translators on this trip.  You've all been incredible!

What makes a Great Podcast?

Last week, I sat down with a group of docents at the Hyde Collection, an art museum and historic house with a tremendous collection in Glens Falls, NY.    We were working together, supported by an IMLS grant for new interpretive efforts to make plans for each of them to create a short, two minute or less podcast about a single work of art in the museum.  These are passionate docents, both committed to the museum and with an enthusiastic interest in art.  But podcasts were new to most of them.

We began by listing the things that would make, we thought, a good podcast.  It boiled down to what we called ended up calling The Four Cs:

• Conversational:  the podcast narrator was easy and fun to listen to--not jargon filled.
• Content and Context:  you actually learned some information and were able to put the work of art in a larger context.
• Connection:  the podcast narrator found a way to connect directly with you, the listener/viewer.
• Concise:  goes without saying, that the podcast needed to be direct and brief.

Then, as a group, we listened to several podcasts and rated them using a rubric based on the Four Cs, rating each area from 1-5.   We had one hands-down winner that got received 5s in every category from almost every listener.   The winner:  the Frick Collection's description of a Rembrandt self-portrait by the director of the Frick, Anne L. Poulet.   Why?  Take a listen and see what you think... Ms. Poulet drew the docents into the painting by her description that helped you look deeper and make connections to their own lives (and grumpy grandpas, perhaps).  The listeners finished feeling that not only did you understand the painting, but also the painter.  And an unexpected result:  several docents said they'd make a special effort to see the painting on their next visit to New York.

We listened to another podcast that stirred some lively discussion.  It was a podcast from the Museum of London, about an alderwood club.    According to their website, this and other podcasts were specifically designed for visitors with visual impairments, but are suitable for all visitors.   These podcasts were developed as part of the museum's social inclusion program:

Podcasts from the Past worked one day a week for 8 weeks with a small group of adults who are currently long-term unemployed, to create a series of podcasts for visually impaired visitors. The participants are a range of ages, with a rich variety of backgrounds and life stories, but came together to work as a team to realize their abilities and gain news skills and experience they can use in their futures.

The Hyde docents liked the informal tone of the speaker, and some loved the sound effects and others really disliked them--but all agreed, that if you were a young visitor, the sound effects (listen for that thwack at the end) would be memorable!

I hope this meeting had several take-aways for the docents, but I know it did for me.  I gained a handy tool to think about audio tours (and perhaps those Four Cs would serve any label-writer well).  It also reinforced for me a process of working with docents, encouraging them to become active learners themselves in critiquing and understanding the many ways museums connect with visitors.

Photos top to bottom:
Listening to our audio tour, from nicolelikestarts photostream on Flickr
Self Portrait, Rembrandt van Rijn,  from the Frick Collection
Museum of London podcast recording session

Three Things to Like in Local History Museums

Much of my time in local history museums is spent thinking about how to do things differently--how to create new exhibits, develop new plans, or reach new audiences.   It was a pleasure this week to visit the Sanibel Historical Museum and Village on Sanibel Island in Florida while on vacation.    I didn't have to plan, or write reports, or gently make suggestions--I just got to be a visitor.  It's an all-volunteer organization, and three things about my visit stood out.

Friendly volunteers
In several (admittedly non-scientific) surveys I've done recently with local organizations, friendly staff and volunteers rank incredibly high on a list of community desires for museums.   I arrived at the museum at 3:30,  half an hour before they closed.   I've visited museums where volunteers or staff have said, oh,  it's too close to closing time, and discouraged entrance.  Here, a volunteer said, "oh, it's only half an hour til closing, so we won't charge you, but I'll take you on a quick tour."   And she enthusiastically did.

Sharing stories
I'm always interested in people's own stories about how they came to be in a place, and so asked when my guide had first started coming to Sanibel.   She told me her story, and then, when we came to a photo showing the unpaved sand roads, said, "This is just what it looked like when we first came,"  making the photo real in time for me.

Seeing places in a new way
We've been coming to Sanibel for more than a decade.  As the guide and I visited the buildings on the site, we entered the one-room schoolhouse.  The guide said it had been the school for white children only--but that the schoolhouse for African-American children still stood--but greatly changed and told me the location.  Sure enough, it was now a jewelry store, and one I had gone by repeatedly, without ever thinking about the island's diverse history.   Now I won't go by it again, without remembering my visit and my glimpse back into the region's past.

These elements are something that every museum, no matter it's size, can do.   But it does, I think, require a shift from an object-centered museum to one centered around the visitor.

 And one more thing--I even got a free prize--a key lime from the museum's tree!

Calling All Volunteers

I can't even remember how many conversations I've had about small museums and the lack of volunteers. "No one wants to volunteer," "People just won't commit," "Women are all working," and more are the common complaints.

In the past several weeks I've come across an event, a blog, and a newsletter that make me think that perhaps the problem is not with those busy non-volunteers, but in the way we connect and deal with them.

First the event. The photos in this post are from the New Kingston Film Festival, in tiny New Kingston, NY. The day-long film festival is held in a barn (bring your own blankets) and featured an eclectic group of films. But what's important is why the festival exists, according to their website,

We moved to the hamlet of New Kingston from the borough of Brooklyn in 2007. When we got here we said to each other, "this place is perfect! It's got nice people, stunning views, a post office....it's all we ever wanted!" we thought some more and then said to each other, "actually maybe there is ONE thing that New Kingston lacks...A Film Festival!"

So, these volunteers (because it's clear nobody's making any money from the festival), got to work: found films, did promotion, borrowed chairs from the church, got a restaurant to provide food, make coffee and popcorn, got a port-a-john, hung the lights, made sure the projector was working. And then, did it all again for the second year. All of these are tasks that most small museums would love volunteers to do. Why did they do it?



Next up on my volunteer notice list: A blog from the Montezuma Historical Society about their Erie Canal related archaeological dig this summer. Cheryl Longyear, town historian, created the blog about their adventures--and in a thank-you to volunteers, wrote,

What an amazing group of volunteers we had for our August 29 and 30 dig. You took volunteerism to a whole new level. We survived the weekend with heavy rain, mud, mosquitoes and lots of hard work. But wait; there's more....they even said they would come back again in two weeks to close out the three plots we worked on all weekend.

Under the expert guidance and direction of David Babson, we now are expert novices at plotting, digging, sifting, and documenting artifacts found on the Four Canals Historic site in Montezuma. As soon as available we will post details, photos and video of this amazing weekend.

Thank you, thank you, volunteers. YOU ARE THE GREATEST!!! In spite of the challenging weather conditions, I'm thrilled with the teamwork and all that was accomplished.

What made these volunteers give up a summer weekend to the mud, mosquitos and hard work?

And finally on my notice list, the newsletter of the Slate Valley Museum--and their help wanted column. It reported that several positions from the previous newsletter had been filled, including Good Hearted Lawyer, Data Dasher and Shop til You Drop Specialist. They're seeking A Versatile Cool Head, A Publications Sleuth, and a Heavy Lifter. It's been a long time since I've read a museum newsletter with a sense of humor, and these entries made me laugh out loud. But what made the museum's members respond?

So I haven't spoken with any of these volunteers, but here's my long-distance take on what made volunteerism work at all three places.

• People volunteer for things they feel passionate about. The Film Festival folks love film, and New Kingston. If there's nothing to be passionate about in your organization, you'll have a tough time finding volunteers.
• Volunteers like to make some decisions. The film festival people got to decide what films to show, not just show up to run the projector. I know not every volunteer can take on managing a project, but many can. Try not to micro-manage your volunteers.
• Volunteers like to feel they're part of something important. Those archaeology volunteers really felt like they were uncovering something meaningful about the history of their community.
• Volunteers like specific tasks. The Slate Valley Museum probably won't ask their Good Hearted Lawyer to shovel the walk (unless he moonlights as the Snowman, also needed). Every job on their list is clear and concise. How much better is that then trying to find people to sit idly at your front desk?
• Volunteers like fun. At the film festival, the organizers were obviously having fun--and the archaeology crew definitely, despite the rain, looks like they're having fun too. The Slate Museum's entertaining job descriptions help ensure that those volunteers approach their work in a spirit of fun as well.

So, lighten up, broaden your circle of friends, work as a team, and have fun!