Over-Estimate? Under-Estimate? What do We Think of our Visitors?

A couple weeks ago I spent a Saturday armed with a clipboard and post-it notes at the Harriet Beecher Stowe Center in Hartford, CT.  I'm working with them on interpretive planning and the interpretive team (Shannon Burke, Beth Burgess, and Brian Cofrancesco--that's Brian above at left and Shannon at the end of the post) wanted to know what visitors knew about Stowe and Uncle Tom's Cabin;  how they thought about some tough issues like faith and race relations;  and what they would want to ask Harriet herself.

We talked to more than 150 people that day and on Monday, when we did a debrief,  Shannon made an observation that I continue to think about, and will carry it forward into my work.

"I think we over and under estimate our visitors,"  she said.  I looked at her a bit curiously, and she continued,  "I think we overestimate the knowledge they come with and their interest in deep details and underestimate what they're up for."   And I think Shannon is absolutely right--and the real trick in compelling, effective, creative interpretation is to figure out the ever-changing balance between those two poles.   For me, the best way to find that balance at your own museum is to actually get out there and talk to people, as Stowe Center did.

Many of us overestimate:

• The knowledge our audience arrives with.  For instance, few of us have actually read Uncle Tom's Cabin so knowledge of the plot is pretty hazy.
• Their willingness to absorb large amounts of detail while standing up (this goes for labels and guided tours!)
• Their interest in the distinguishing details of objects.
• Their willingness to be "taught" to as opposed to free-choice learning.
• In historic houses, their interest in one bedroom after another (unless of course, ghosts are involved!)
• The need for technology in every situation.

Many of us underestimate:

• What our audiences are up for in terms of innovative experiences.  They can probably cope--and more accurately might enjoy and learn from-- a historic house that includes a mix of period rooms and exhibit spaces.
• Their willingness to consider big ideas as a frame for their museum experience.  When we asked visitors at Stowe House what one question they would like to ask Harriet Beecher Stowe, the vast majority of visitors we spoke to had a version of the same question:  "How did you find the courage to write this book?"   That's a big important question and well worth considering.
• Their interest in details.  Yes, I know this seems contradictory to an overestimate above, but it's true, some of our visitors want to delve deep so we need to find ways to make that deep-diving accessible but not compulsory.
• The willingness of audiences to engage with stories of lives very different than their own--and their abilities to, with skillful facilitation, make fascinating connections and parallels.
• Interest in the real thing--the authentic object particularly when the object has a compelling story.

From your perspective, what do we over- or under-estimate?

Diversity and Reciprocity: Who Decides?

I'm very pleased to share this guest post by one of my mentees for 2013,  Alicia Akins.  Alicia is currently Programmes Director at the Traditional Arts and Ethnology Centre, Luang Prabang, Laos.   Alicia's emerging career provides great evidence that a wide range of experiences can enhance and expand your view as a museum professional.   She has an undergraduate degree in music education, a MA in international studies, and time spent in China and now Laos.  Our monthly Skype conversations have certainly taught me as much as I have shared,  and as you'll see below, our talks have been wide-ranging, from how to encourage staff to how cultural colleagues in the US are addressing issues of diversity.  We both look forward to your comments on this post.

As I’ve been following the discussion about diversity in the arts over the past several months, I have been struck by two assumptions: first, that lack of diversity is a problem exclusive to white institutions and second, that there is something particularly alienating about whiteness that keeps others from participating in the arts. While I don’t claim to have a solution for diversity, I hope only to add what others have brought to the discussion: another perspective—that of a female black millennial with a lifetime steeped in the arts and other cultures.

It's not an uncommon story, that of a black person being derided by other blacks as “acting white.”  I’ve heard it myself many times before. It’s a both problematic and damaging viewpoint. The implications of what this accusation means, both about the white majority and about my own group, have stuck with me since first hearing it over two decades ago.  Just how much does whiteness have to do with consumption of culture? What are the dangers of diversifying? Is diversity the most recent addition to the white man’s burden? Can arts institutions successfully operate under a separate but equal framework? Who really benefits from diversity?  Where does diversity come from/flourish?

An example from sports

It is not arts institutions alone that have tackled the issue of diversity.  Universities, the entertainment industry, government and other areas have raced to diversify as well.  But it’s the example of sports that I find most interesting.  No, sports don’t fall under the same category as arts, but they are legitimate leisure alternatives.  Different sports tend to attract different demographics.  Golf, hockey, tennis and skiing for example are all very white sports and their costs are the most obvious barrier to entry. Participation, however, is rarely ever influenced by a single barrier, and cost might not be the biggest hurdle to overcome.

Coaches and managers have tried to change these trends.  Initiatives within each of these sports have sought to attract wider participation.  But, the alternative is not nonparticipation in sports.  To the contrary, there are many sports that are dominated by minorities: track & field, basketball, boxing, American football to name a few.  So what benefit is there in having professional black hockey players, or Middle Eastern tennis players, or even recreational ones as long as people are active?  Is there an advantage to playing one sport over another?   What if, in addition to cost, underrepresented people are opting out due to the social reasons?  They want to play what their friends play? What if they prefer sports where they’ll get more respect and prestige for being good? Or what if they are choosing sports based on role models from their group? There would be a definite problem if they were being excluded but diversity is not just about access, it’s about interest as well.

Are you interested in Chinese opera?  If you heard enough of it would you be interested then?  And if you decided that you loved it and started practicing it, would droves of other white kids start doing it too because all they needed was one positive role model?  Does the world need more people practicing Chinese opera?  Would it be a step forward and a credit to racial progress if non-Chinese started to play Chinese musical instruments? Would that validate the practice?  Would it confirm the art form’s relevance? Are you hoping that your kids will grow up in a world where they can dream of achieving that kind of musical artistry one day, not to feel intimidated to try because of the color of their skin or other factors that make Chinese opera inaccessible?

What happens when we mistake a lack of interest for a lack of opportunity? I think everyone looses.  I believe most efforts to diversify are nonreciprocal. Many are aimed at breaking down financial, intellectual, and cultural barriers minorities and underrepresented groups might have to “Western” arts.  Are ethnically oriented institutions doing outreach to gain a larger white audience?  White privilege assumes white people don’t need to be reached out to because they lack the constraints—financial or cultural—that prohibit participation. Are different minority groups reaching out to each other in the ways they do participate in and consume culture to draw out the rich parallels of experience they might have? Without reciprocity, I fear that attempts to diversify will lead to more homogeneity with all interests coalescing around mainstream notions of creativity, culture and art. 

I am sure that organizations and individuals are busy putting their best creative energies into coming up with solutions.  I just don’t know if the time would be better spent asking better questions about what diversity means and should look like for our field.  One place to start might be in evaluating their own beliefs that their particular form of art is critical to a high quality of life.

Images from Flickr, top to bottom:

• Fence by Spence Lawn
• Track and Field by Phil Roeder
• Chinese Opera by Ronald Targa

Where's Your 21st Century Community?

If you're a local or regional history museum,  what are you documenting about your local community today?  You might be collecting flyers,  or hand-made quilts, or signs from downtown stores.  But this summer, my husband, Drew Harty, has embarked on a project that's made me both think deeply about our communities today and wonder about their future.  And what, we as museums, might be doing about this.

Drew's spending three months looking at and photographing those places that we see almost every day, but we really almost never look at--those retail landscapes at the edge of your town--at the edge of really almost every town and city, large and small.   He's undertaken this project because he wonders,

What have we lost as towns across the country look increasingly the same? Are Retail Landscapes changing our standards for what is unique and beautiful in our communities? Are these places that are so familiar to all of us changing our expectations of what a community should be?

What could a history museum do to further this conversation?  I think we need to go deeper than just exhibits highlighting once thriving Main Streets.   Perhaps we could engage in conversations about beauty,  or projects that encourage a thoughtful exploration of placemaking.   Could an exhibit highlight the places all of the goods in our community come from?  How can we encourage young people to think beyond the shiny newness of strip malls and big boxes?  How can we force ourselves to go beyond a simple, class-related dismissal of these places ("oh, I never shop at Wal-Mart") to creating our museums as an alternative, as a place where everyone in our community feels as welcome as they do at Wal-Mart?

Drew's speculated at what viewers one hundred years from now will think about these images.  Will they be as quaint and outdated as those horse and buggy main streets?  Or will they be so, so, so familiar that shots of fields, farm and neighborhoods are the true exotics?

So, museum folks, what say you?  And, by the way, you have until midnight, this Wednesday, June 19,  to help Drew's project along the way by supporting him at the crowd funding site USA Projects and you can see regular updates on his Tumblr feed.

Guerrilla Interpretation, Mall Edition

Over a long, lively dinner of crabs and beer at AAM, Andrea Childress of the Atlanta History Center surprised us when she mentioned she'd been thinking about interpretation and those hurricane simulators you see at malls.  I was fascinated, encouraged her to consider a blog post about her thoughts, and she went even further, conducting a little fieldwork, as you'll see below.  If you're in the DC area and looking for a creative, fearless museum educator, Andrea's relocating there this summer, so she might be just the person for you!  

The Right Tool in the Wrong Hands

On a recent shopping trip to a suburban mega-mall, I discovered a peculiar machine sandwiched between the Food Court and the H&M store. Not a coin-operated hobbyhorse or a photo booth, but a contraption called a  “Hurricane Simulator.” People are paying $2 to experience 78 mph winds in a mall, only a year after Hurricane Sandy ripped through the eastern seaboard. Hurricane Simulator claims to have 1000 + of these machines in malls and other “fun” locations around the country.

The first time I realized the true power of experiential education was in grad school. Dr. Causey had ten of us, all teachers-to-be, lay down on the ground- shoulder to shoulder. We had never been this uncomfortably close to each other. We each read one line from the diary of a slave who survived the Middle Passage.

"When they put us in irons to be sent to our place of confinement in the ship, the men who fastened the irons on these mothers took children out of their hands and threw them over the side of the ship into the water."

As each line was uttered, one after the other, I heard someone crying softly. It was one of my African American classmates. There we were, in a university classroom, lying on cheap Berber carpet. But we were transported back to the 1700s and to a place of empathy I didn’t know was possible, as a result of an educational experience. Designing simulations to strike an emotional chord has been my passion ever since. I have been fortunate to have a museum job that has allowed me to keep experimenting with the power of this tool.

So when I saw the Hurricane Simulator I couldn’t help but wonder about what people were thinking as they got their hair whipped around and gasped for breath. What was the aim of the company that produces the machine? My frustration had to do with the problem of context. Situating the simulator in the mall trivialized the topic of hurricanes and neutered its ability to provoke thought. What power this machine could have if set within an interpretive space! I imagined an exhibit about Katrina. The space leading to the simulator would set the scene:

“You’ve heard the warnings to evacuate on the news. Many of your friends have left town to stay with relatives. But your mother is in the hospital with a serious condition. She cannot be moved. Do you stay with her or leave your house and belongings for safety?”

The visitor could then make a decision by going into one of two rooms. The “Staying” room would contain a Hurricane simulator, but bigger and with a few more effects: sounds like sirens, shouting, and explosions. And the lights would flicker and go dim to mimic loss of electricity. In the dark, the visitor has to find the pet cat. Then the wind would start getting stronger.

Shortly, a recorded rescue voice would beckon them to the next interpretive space. This space would tell the story of the aftermath. Perhaps the visitor could listen to oral accounts from eyewitnesses or learn about the scientific causes of hurricanes. Are they likely to occur more frequently with increased global warming? It has always been my experience that simulations not only aid in triggering empathy, but also leave people craving more knowledge.

I wanted to try an informal experiment with the Hurricane Simulator at the mall. Could some very simple interpretation affect people’s ability to empathize? I lurked nearby the simulator for about an hour interviewing people about their thoughts after their 30-second bout with the fake hurricane. I asked a 12 year-old kid if he thought about the effects of a real hurricane while in the simulator. He said, “What is a hurricane, again?” It was obvious that people were aiming for a fun experience – an adrenalin rush. I decided to add a couple of very crude text panels with photos of destruction to the transparent door of the machine. Guerrilla labeling, let’s call it.

I noticed that after the text panels were added, people always looked at them before entering the machine -- sometimes for a few seconds, sometimes for a few minutes. Sometimes they read the panels and then left without going on a ride. When asked what they remembered from the panels, they often could cite very little. But they seemed more likely to mention a thought connection to real hurricanes. “I was thinking this must be only half of what people really must have felt,” said a 15 year-old girl.

They were still in it for the fun. It’s a mall, for crying out loud. But the experiment scratches the surface of the importance of interpretation to shape, strengthen, and guide a hands-on experience. Many museums are now incorporating interactive elements into their exhibits. And as they continue to experiment, I would like to submit a few questions for consideration:

• How is this experience framed by the interpretation to encourage the kind of powerful moment we want visitors to have?
• Are we harnessing the power of the tool of experiential learning or are we just capturing people’s attention?

Examples as food for thought:

-       “Operation Spy” at the International Spy Museum

-       “Follow the North Star” at Connor Prairie

-       “Sensing Chicago” at the Chicago History Museum

-       “Indiana Experience: You Are There” at the Indiana Historical Society 

-       “Ghosts of a Chance” at the Smithsonian AmericanArt Museum (2010)

As I read Andrea's post, I was reminded that I had actually seen an exhibit a bit like this--Weather Permitting at the Minnesota Historical Society has lots of fun elements, but also includes a multimedia experience in re-created basement as tornadoes rage overhead.  Simulated, scary and thoughtful. LN

Risk and Reward, Conference Edition

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

Risks

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

Rewards

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

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

Do You Age-Stereotype? A Small Rant

I've been in several conversations lately that really have me thinking about age stereotypes. Is it true that all those baby boomers still hanging on in those director's jobs are just doing nothing--just coasting towards retirement?  Are those Millenials just slackers who don't know how to work and are constantly just tweeting?  And what about those who fall in between those two generations--how do we characterize them?

I understand why these categories exist--it gives us a quick shorthand to understand our audiences or our colleagues.  But I've come to think they're not particularly useful--and in fact, may be particularly destructive in our efforts to work together.  Nina Simon's recent post about her museum's work in social bridging--bringing groups and people together--is something that we can all learn from.  And we might want to start that social bridging--that creative collaboration-- inside our own organizations.

Perhaps it's because I've spent my career either in small museums (where, as a young professional,  an ability to work with different generations wasn't ever optional) or as an independent professional, where coasting certainly isn't an option.

Do I know old fogeys of my own generation that are coasting towards retirement?  Absolutely.  Do I know young fogeys who are hiding in the basement coasting towards a fifty years from now retirement?  Yes, sad to say.  But at the same time, I know colleagues older than I am who are pushing towards new ideas and understandings and young colleagues who are elbowing their way into the field with new ideas in hand.  My own career has been enriched at every end of the spectrum--from senior citizen board members in my first director's job to my young colleagues in Ukraine who push museums forward despite some pretty serious hurdles.

So stop complaining about generations and get looking around.  Find the creative people in your organization or in your community and begin working with them--no matter what age.  Get going!

Changing the Perspective: The View from Underground

In my last post, I wrote about setting students in Donetsk to the weekend task of finding and interviewing miners.  Early Monday morning, we arrived at school to hear the results,  which were amazing!  Each group had found a miner to interview--and in addition, one group had asked if they could research one student's great-grandfather, as a way of memorializing him.  Each group had prepared a Power Point presentation, in English and one group even re-enacted the interview with one student reading his grandfather's answers while other students asked the questions.

What did I learn about miners in Donetsk?

Victor (above), who's been working for about 30 years in a mine and is an uncle of one of the students,  , said, 

Well, it’s a very hard work. The preparations and the transportation take a lot of time, so that we spend ten hours per hour in the mine. And besides physical burdens, our job is very risky.

You know, every time you're going down to the mine, you understand that you may not come back this evening. Of course, it is much better when you don't think about it, but it is really hard not to think of it in real life. You say "hello" to people and in an hour you understand that by this words you've already said "good bye". If you try to think detailed about this job you'll become more than scared.

In such conditions, which we have underground the friendship is highly valued, so our best friends are our workmates. 

P.F. Seregin was the great-grandfather of one of the students.  This group shared historic photos and archival material, including his workbook (below).  We were so pleased that they understood that these simple historic materials can enhance a historical story.

 The group that interviewed a grandfather learned about his different jobs at the mine:

At first I worked as a horse-driver. Until the 20th century, when there were no electric tubs, the coal could be delivered from beneath the earth to the surface only with help of horses. Then I became a lining-master. There is an arc lining inside the tunnels. Over the time such a lining is loosening under the rock’s pressure, so that even a tub can’t pass through the tunnel. So my work was to fix those linings. After that I worked as a tunneller for 16 years and as a miner in mine drifts, extracting coal for 6 years.

And what did your family think of your work?

They worried. But I had a high income, so it was totally worth it.

Accidents were--and are--common in the mines. 

You know, accidents happened frequently… I had been working for 20 years when I got under the rock collapse… I got a thorax injury. Sometimes, it would crumble on somebody… Such a mishap…

We learned a great deal about the miners of Donetsk--but we wanted to know what students had learned.  None of them had ever had any conversation with their family members about working in the mines, despite the fact that virtually every student had at least one family member who worked in one.  But these students, with their smartphones and bound for college are now far away from that world.  One said that he now realized that miners were like everyone else, that they worked for money, not for the glory of country (as was very much promoted in the Soviet Union).  Several students also said that they gained a measure of respect for workers they had tended to dismiss--and learned that all knowledge is not gained through books.

For me, the big takeaway is that there are many potential tremendous projects to be done in Donetsk related to the industrial history, but that the first step of many was this one, the simple act of a grandson sitting with a grandfather to learn about his life and sharing that story with others.  Thank you, members of the Polyglot Club, for reminding us all about the importance of stories.