Are County Historical Societies Dinosaurs?

I began my museum career at age 14 as a volunteer at a county historical society;  volunteered at a different county historical society all through college;  and became director of yet a different county historical society after finishing graduate school.   These are places I've spent lots of time in and I'm beginning to wonder whether they are, as a class of museums, in danger of going the way of the dinosaur.   The signs are all around.   Here are some headlines from a quick search:

Rensselaer County Historical Society may Close
Ceiling Portion Collapses at Oneida Historical Society
County Historical Society Struggles to Perform Mission
Wayne County (Pennsylvania) Historical Society Museum Closes Until April 15 Due to Budget Cuts

There's no question that part of the problem is the current financial crisis affecting all non-profits.  But the crisis revealed weaknesses that already existed.   Every organization and every community is different, but here's a list of six factors that many have in common.

Owning a building
Historic buildings are enormously expensive and historical societies found themselves caught in two scenarios.  Either completing a huge capital project put them in a financial hole because optimistic projections said that the new building would generate new income or the buildings are at substantial risk because of decades of deferred maintenance.   Could you do more if you weren't burdened by the place you own?  And by the way,  how interesting to the larger community is the story represented by that particular building?

The inability to say no
To say no to objects.  Local historical societies are sinking in objects that have no provenance but were donated by someone because someone at the society couldn't say no.  Without a collecting plan,  the random rusty sad irons and white petticoats keep coming,  barely cataloged and jammed into storage.  Another inability--to say no to the people who say, "we've always done it this way" as a way of hindering progress.

The inability to say yes
To new ideas that is.   Just the other day, I heard a complaint about how hard it is to find new board members--but this is for an organization where nothing is happening.  That same board member who complained then told me that she had just accepted an additional board position--one with an organization with a clear sense of mission and vision.  The inability to say yes to community members, to collaborative efforts with other organizations, to new ideas--that's a death knell.

Few connections between professional training and county historical societies
There are more and more graduates of museum training programs--but it seems like county historical societies are run by fewer and fewer of them.  Part of the issue, it goes without saying, is the ability of a county historical society under financial pressure to pay a decent salary to a new MA with student loans, but I think there's sometimes a sense that local societies don't "need" staff with training.   I think graduate programs need to see these places as important, potentially vital places;  boards need to see young graduates as great resources and pay them a living wage.

No sense of urgency
I just looked at the websites of several different county historical societies.  On one, the latest news was from 2008;  on another,  under recent events, the most recent event listed was Winter Recess 2009.  Does that make me think I've landed upon the site of a vital, forward looking organization that I might want to be involved with?   Is the largest part of your museum taken up with a permanent exhibit that hasn't been changed in decades while changing exhibits are relegated to a grim room in the inaccessible basement?

A disconnect?
There seems to be a disconnection between community history and local historical societies.  As interest in being involved in a local museum appears to decline,  virtual interest increases.  I'm a Facebook fan of a group dedicated to my hometown and there's lively discussion and memories.  Is it that we're more interested in nostalgia than history?  Or does it mean that so few of us live where we grew up that we seek those connections online rather than in person?  What can county historical societies do about it?  How can we be about meaning and relevance in an increasingly global world?

My friend and colleague Anne Ackerson has written several posts over at Leading by Design recently about the signs of trouble for failing organizations and a scalable way to clamber back into success.  Well worth reading.

There's not a single answer but unless each county historical society takes a clear, cold, hard look at the issues they will become extinct.   My thoughts in this post were framed primarily by my experience with New York State museums--and this coming week I'm headed off to the American Association for State and Local History annual conference in Oklahoma City.   I look forward to some lively conversations about how organizations in other parts of the country are addressing these dilemmas.  I hope my next few posts both here and as a guest blogger for AASLH will highlight some solutions.   Going to be at AASLH and want to chat about this issue (or others) in person?  Just email me!

And of course, I want to hear from all of you--is your organization a dinosaur or a nimble adapter (bees, birds, cockroaches, for instance)  and why?

Dead end dinosaur sign from Animal World 
Sorry we're closed by threelittlecupcakes on Flickr

Doing Time at Eastern State

A couple weeks ago I finally visited the Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia.  It's long been on my list of places to visit because I'd heard about their work with contemporary artists,  because I like big abandoned spaces, and because I'd visited Kilmainham Gaol in Dublin and was interested in how approaches to interpreting a prison might differ.  Far from doing time, it was instead an experience that led me in on several different levels.

I went with my 21 year old daughter, who's interested in art, not history, and we both found plenty to like.  It's a very free form experience.  The audio tour comes with admission but you don't need to go in any order and it's not necessary to listen to the tour to gain something--although I gained a great deal by listening.   I've been working on a project that includes labeling for audio tours--and the very clear labeling here was terrific--not obtrusive, but very clear and easy-to-find.

Because it's not fully restored,  there's also the opportunity to explore a bit, to feel like you're actually getting seeing a place that's undiscovered.   I appreciate the way not everything was fenced off.  There's something compelling about un-restored spaces that I think many historic sites, in the urge to "recreate"  forget.

The artist installations bring an entirely new dimension to the site.  Most are installed in the cells and they all deal, in some way, with prison life.  Whether it's sculpture,  paintings, or media installations, these works of art made the place come alive in a way that wasn't about recreations, but about internal life, internal conversations, internal thoughts.   There were useful labels and audio segments to help visitors learn more and understand the art--and its connection to the prison's former life and to issues that still concern us today.

And what did my daughter like?  The beautiful light for photographing.

Intriguingly,  my mention of this visit led to a discussion with non-museum friends about the motivation for going to these places, and wondering whether the future would hold visits to Guantanamo and other detention centers.    I'm appreciative of any site where the experience encourages conversation--not just about what was seen, but about what the present means and what the future holds.

And final best thing:  this sign as you left the museum.  I liked being given a reason to visit the website.  A bit hard to read, but it says, "You've seen the museum.  Why visit our website?" and then tells you what you'll find there.  Nice!

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!

The Good, the Bad, the So-So: A Few Smithsonian Museums

This past week I spent an afternoon visiting three Smithsonian museums in Washington, ones that are less-visited than the big crowd pleasers like the Air and Space and Natural History museums.  In each museum I found both exhibit elements to like and also some exhibit elements that were puzzling to me.  A quick review:

The National Museum of African Art had the best opening text to a label (above).   It read " Paul Tishman was often asked why he decided to collect African Art.  He replied, "How does one fall in love?"  It instantly made me want to see what he had fallen in love with and this bright citrus green made all the objects look terrific.   Simple (and inexpensive) introductory label--just a printed banner--but very large in scale.

The exhibit, Grass Roots:  African Origins of an American Art was a very large exhibition that explored the connections between basketmaking in the American South and its African origins.  Beautifully designed and chock-full of objects and images, it had a great opening design and an intriguing layout.  The bad news is that although you could photography from an overlooking balcony (below), photos were not allowed in the exhibition itself--a puzzling--and annoying inconsistency.

I particularly liked the way that the exhibit used not only the baskets themselves, but prints, photographs, and other documentary materials to explore not just the baskets, but the makers, the culture and  the landscape around them.  There were a number of video installations, but I dearly would have loved to handle and smell sweetgrass.  The most tactile of subjects was always walled off behind plexiglass.

And finally at this museum, a wonderful sign for the coatroom--an absolutely engaging introduction to the museum!

At the Freer and Sackler galleries, I was happy to re-visit Whistler's Peacock Room.  It's an amazing respite from hot and steamy Washington and a complete immersion in an artistic vision.  But I found the exhibits there a bit inconsistent.  First, the so-so.  A small exhibit on blue and white porcelain featured a very long, text-heavy label as the opening.   Although the topic was interesting and the works beautifully exhibited, this panel made me give the exhibit only a cursory look.   This says, "book on the wall" to me.

But then an exhibit, Taking Shape,  on ceramics in Southeast Asia had a much more engaging approach.  Using large photos, maps, and video installations combined with objects, I was, as a casual visitor, much more interested in learning about the work--and the creators.  Like the basketmaking exhibit, this one placed the objects in context.

I particularly liked that the label for the video began with questions and then let you know what you would learn by watching (and tell you that you only needed 3 minutes and 23 seconds to learn something!)

And in this exhibit, like in every installation here, objects were beautifully displayed and lit.  The lighting and casework provided the visitor with the chance to be drawn in and closely explore works.

Immediately above, an exhibit of bronzes from Cambodia.  You can read more about this exhibit in the NY Times review.  In all of these exhibits, it wasn't the cost of the installation that made it good, bad or so-so,  it was the thought and care that went into it.  Not surprisingly, the exhibits I liked the best were the ones where the thought and care was directed outward to the visitor rather than inward.

Finally, two lovely surprises.  The first was in the gardens outside the Smithsonian Castle, where enlargements of hand-tinted glass slides were installed.   It both put you in the place and transported you somewhere else.  The second, at the Hirshhorn, the surprise of someone wearing the perfect dress to visit this particular gallery space. 

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.

Vision, Mission, Shmisson!

I spent a day last week facilitating a conversation with staff at a museum beginning the work of revising the mission and vision statements.  To prep for the day, I randomly wandered the web in search of museum mission and vision statements and came away unsure of what we think we're doing when we write new guiding statements.

Yes,  we're exploring, we're engaging, we work in communities.  We reach out, we work with others, we want to educate and promote.  Rarely anymore do we only document, collect and preserve.   Should it be one sentence only?  Does it need several supporting paragraphs?  Is it really a true vision to say you want to be the best [insert type of museum or locality here] there is?

But the discussion with both staff and design/branding experts was an intriguing one.  We raised perhaps more questions than we answered.  Among them:

• Who is the mission really for?  To be used internally or written so that front desk staff can articulate it to visitors?
• Why is it that sometimes artifacts seemed to sneak away from the mission statement?
• Who are we for?  What does the word "family" mean?  Does that mean some people stay away?  
• Are there other ways to say "general audiences" rather than everyone?
• It's great to be aspirational, as in a vision statement, but does an organization really need two statements?  Could it not be condensed into a single statement of purpose?
• How does that vision/mission really connect to branding and design?
• Can a museum commit to pushing all of its activities through the sieve of vision and mission?  What happens if you don't?
• Can you please all of the people all of the time?  (pretty much no, I'd say)

If you have just revised your museum's vision and mission, I'd love to hear about it, particularly about the process and the final wording.   The work of deeply and collectively thinking about the work that museums do is critical--so those discussions about vision and mission need to happen--but I wonder whether there's a different way to capture those discussions for our stakeholders.   And of course, as I read somewhere in my random web travels last week (apologies for the lack of attribution),  a mission without a strategy is only a wish.

Why a bowling photo at the top of the post?  Because I found what has now become my favorite vision statement online.   It's for something called Bowling, Inc.  and it is:

More people, bowling more often, having more fun.

Perfect.

Back to Ukraine

One of the great things about working as an independent museum professional is that you never know what an encounter will lead to.   Although I've returned home from Ukraine to dive back into projects in the US, my time there is not over as I'll be returning for several projects.

I've been asked to put together a team to conduct an assessment and work on planning with Pyrohiv, the National Museum of Folk Architecture, the largest outdoor museum in Ukraine, just outside Kyiv.  With the support for the Foundation for the Development of Ukraine we'll be working with the staff during a visit this fall to  assess all areas of the museum's operation so that the potential of this incredible site can be fully realized.

Pyrohiv was the first museum I visited in Ukraine, on an incredibly cold snowy (Orthodox) Christmas Day just days after I arrived in early 2009.   On a rolling green hills outside a rapidly developing city,  the museum contains folk architecture from all over Ukraine.   It attracts hundreds of thousands of visitors a year, but faces issues of adequate funding, visitor services, staffing, new modes of interpretation, collections care and building preservation.  I'm looking forward to working both with the dedicated museum staff and the staff at the foundation to explore ways that this museum can best share its work and knowledge with both Ukrainian and international visitors.

I'm also working with the State Museum of Toys in Kyiv and a US partner on plans for a traveling exhibition of Soviet-era toys here in the United States.  Their collection presents a fascinating picture, virtually unknown to Americans,  of childhood in Soviet times.  From both ideological and design perspectives, the toys allow us to understand a time and place.    

Both these projects (and several others in the planning phase) came into being because of the opportunity to return to Ukraine on a enewal of my Fulbright grant.   The opportunity to think more deeply, to talk further with colleagues and meet new colleagues,  to visit more museums, and to make more connections, has been immeasurably helpful.   I'm a long ways from fully understanding Ukraine and Ukrainian museums, but each experience adds a bit more texture and color to my picture of this place.

Photos, top to bottom:  historic building at Pyrohiv,  Christmas service inside one of the historic wooden churches at Pyrohiv, a "space car"  toy from the State Museum of Toys, and a historic photo (courtesy of the State Museum of Toys) showing the much-coveted pedal cars in use.