Charting A Course

This past week, five colleagues, all independent museum professionals, sat down to talk about our futures.  We had discovered that despite doing a significant amount of planning with organizations, none of us had a strategic plan, or even any sort of plan.  And, we discovered, all of us wanted to think about, for various reasons, some shift in what we do or how we do it.   So we all came together at my house, to eat fresh peaches and tomatoes,  taste freshly-infused vodka,  laugh, ask hard questions and consider the future.

The process was exceptionally informal and designed collaboratively before we all came together.  Like every process, we tweaked it a bit as we went along.   We began by devoting a half hour each to a career review.   How each of us designed that review was up to us--and the results were fascinating.  We had a mind map,  a statistical analysis of income vs. satisfaction,  graphs analyzing sources of project funding, a pie chart of activities,  and for all of us, narratives about how we got to where we are (not a single straight line in the bunch!).   We asked each other questions, delving deeper into the ways in which our businesses operated (made easier by the agreement that the details of our conversations would stay within the group).

Just like the career paths, the business models were widely different.  One limited liability corporation, two bloggers and tweeters,  two relatively avoidant of social media,  one with project subcontractors,  one with employees.   One with a foot outside of the museum world currently;  another with former foot outside in the hospitality industry.   But we all agreed that our business models were pretty accidental as well.

The next day we re-convened and did a SWOT analysis for each of us, again devoting a half hour or so to each person.  It probably worked best after we'd had part of a day and a long talky dinner together.  Although we all knew each other before gathering, it was in different ways, to different degrees.  I think a level of trust was really important in this conversation.  It's hard to hear people talk honestly about you--and I will say I think we were all harder on our individual weaknesses than anyone else.

Lunch break and then we split up, spending about an hour creating, in whatever fashion, some sort of a plan.  Big sheets of paper, on the computer, sketched out as a map--everyone designed it in their own fashion.  Then of course, back together to share the plans for comment and final thoughts.  And among those final thoughts?  Some plans to work together in several different ways--an unexpected but not surprising outcome of our time together.

What made this process work?

Abundance
Anne Ackerson, who blogs over at Leading by Design, mentioned the idea of abundant organizations to us:   that by sharing our time and talents, we create something that has more than enough--more energy, more creativity,  more enthusiasm, more deep thinking.   The sum was definitely greater than the parts.

Familiar, not too familiar
We all knew each other, but all of us didn't know each other intimately.  We didn't know the inside details of each other's business, nor in any great way, of our personal lives.  This meant that we could approach something like a SWOT analysis with a degree of thoughtful distance.   We had about a ten- year age range between us,  and I think the fact that we all thought of ourselves as mid-career meant that we related to each other's issues.

Commitment to Change
We had all experienced strategic planning processes where the organization board and staff were only doing it because they felt pressured in some way.   Those planning processes usually fail to produce real change.  For all of us,  we really wanted to think more deeply about our time and we wanted to make changes,  to have control over rapidly changing, complicated work lives with cultural organizations.

A Sense of Humor
Enough said.  The people you choose to work with really matter.

What's next?  It's up to each of us to decide what form our plan will take and I hope to get mine into shape over the next few weeks.  We've decided to meet a few times a year, to share ideas and continue providing encouragement and feedback.  We're contemplating some ways we might work together, and how we might share both this process and our hard-won knowledge with emerging museum professionals.  So many thanks to Anne, Gwen, Marianne and Christopher for a great time--and stay tuned!

Image:  pie chart from Audrey Lapierre, via Flickr

Trickling Down My Way

An article last week in the New York Times discussed the effect that state arts funding is having on organizations all over the country.  Michael M. Kaiser, president of the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington was quoted as saying, 

When any form of government funding is cut, the organizations that tend to get hit the most are rural, organizations of color, avant-garde institutions — those that have a harder time raising individual and corporate money.

Although I live just a few hours outside of New York City, I live in one of those poor (classified as Appalachia) counties.   This weekend I went to two different events that made real the trickle-down power of arts funding.  On Friday night, we drove just a few miles to Franklin, NY (population 1735)  to see the Mettawee River Theater Company perform outdoors, underneath a clear sky and moon ("not quite a half-moon" said the little girl sitting next to me). The event was sponsored by the Franklin Stage Company, an organization founded on the principle that, "great theater should always be accessible to all."   As the sun set and the sky darkened, the hillside was filled with all kinds of people--long-time locals,  newcomers, kids, adults, seniors, teenagers--who were all swept into the traditional northern Japanese folk tales, told through masks, puppets, song and spoken word.

The next night, in the rain, we headed a bit further afield, down to New Kingston, NY (population 354) for the New Kingston Film Festival. where, despite the drizzle and some recalcitrant technology,  we watched shorts and documentaries from around the world on a big blow-up screen, parked in our cars in a modern day drive-in movie. From a coming-of-age story in Spain to windpower battles in the next town over,  the filmmakers brought many ideas of place and community to this very small place.

Both events are labors of love--and both were, wonderfully, free! It's easy to think about the arts in New York State as the Metropolitan Opera and the Museum of Modern Art.  For decades, the New York State Council on the Arts has supported projects like these through its Decentralization Grant program.   Maybe these events would have been possible without the small amount of grant funding they received,  but maybe they wouldn't;  very possibly the grant funding helped leverage other funding and the support, granted by a panel of  county residents, (and administered by the Roxbury Arts Group)  made sure that my neighbors and I, living in the beautiful Catskill mountains,  have chances to look beyond our own front doors and our everyday lives. 

Thanks to the passionate organizers of this weekend's events,  to NYSCA for its funding, and for New York's taxpayers, who make NYSCA possible.   Remember the field full of cars, watching a story of Spain, or a child's excited gasp as the dragon puppet emerges from the lake, when you hear that the arts don't matter, that we can't afford them.  We can and we should.

Best Conference Session Ever?

Susie Wilkening of Reach Advisors and I are creating a session at the American Association for State and Local History conference in Richmond, in September, called The End of Powerpoint about how to make your conference presentations fun, engaging and meaningful (and less full of Powerpoint!).  As we think about the session, we'd love to hear your opinions about what makes a great conference presentation.  Is it the format?  the topic?  the interactivity?  the room arrangement?  a sense of humor?  the other attendees?

Please share your best, and your worst, conference session experiences.  I'll start off with two of mine from the last year or so.  At one, I slipped in a bit early, and someone was speaking, on and on, with a single slide on the screen.  "Okay, just an introductory slide,"  I thought.  Until he suddenly looked up, and said, "oh, I'm supposed to wrap up now, so I'll show the slides,"  and then went high speed clicking through, saying,  "oh, this isn't important, oh, you can ignore this..."  Yikes!  I couldn't even tell you what he was speaking about, I was so annoyed. 

But then at that same conference I attended a session designed to be a bit more interactive;  an Idea Lounge.  At that session, two well-prepared and engaging presenters used a sense of humor, their research, and small everyday objects to involve all of us there in a thoughtful discussion about learning from objects.   What made it work?  They had clearly planned their presentation,  they used different techniques during the course of the session, and they had a sense of humor (even after I broke an object!).

Comment away to help us create a great session!

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!

Why Don't Museums have SuperFans? Should We?

Yesterday, strolling in downtown Donetsk, in Eastern Ukraine, we saw an outdoor exhibit and went over to take a look--and it was about superfans, those people who love, love, love,  Donetsk's football team,  Shakhtar (the miners, in tribute to the region's mining past and present).  Fans with their scarf collection, with their team mascot, the mole (underground, get it?) fans getting married,  and much more.  

But it made me wonder why museums can't be so appreciative of what the people who support us do?  This was not an exhibit about big donors, but rather featured everyday people, who, in their leisure time, loved the team.  Do any museums have members that feel that way about them?  Jasper Visser has mentioned about the importance of creating tribes who care about and support museums and other cultural organizations--and soccer fans are definitely tribes,  but highlighting those fans who support the team seemed like something that could transfer to another setting.  Should museums recognize their fans?  How?

And, a brief shout-out to Donetsk for their many new information kiosks, with maps in three languages, including English, as a run-up to the Euro 2012 event!

"Is John Your Brother?" or Why Stories Matter

The title of this post is a question I got at the end of a presentation to a board of directors about a new long-term exhibit.  It's not quite as strange as it seems, because this was at the historical society where I began my museum career at age 14, in the community where I grew up.  The staff and I had proposed an exhibit that really encouraged and sought out community memories framed around a 20th century topic.   The board and I laughed about some shared memories of high school traditions--and then we focused on who local history museums are for.

I realized how strongly I feel that local history museums are for locals.  I think many organizations (and communities) went on an unsuccesful hunt for tourists for a number of years.  But think about it.  Do tourists become members at local history museums?  Do they donate artifacts?  Do they bequeath endowments?  Do they volunteer?  Those are the crass reasons to focus on involving your local community. 

But there's other reasons that are more important.  Real stories really matter.   They allow us to put our lives in perspective;  to understand people different from us, but from the same place;  and when carefully sought out and engagingly told, they provide a place where everyone in your community can belong.  And a focus on community means those local stories can be the core of your work--and you might be surprised how local stories, compelling told, can connect with other people.

My family has all moved away from the place I grew up but today reminded me that those connections are life-long ones.  And yes, John is my brother and I heard a couple funny stories about him today!

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/