Surprised in Rome: Bravo Palazzo Massimo!

I'm discovering that traveling is not conducive to blogging, as I'm always trying to fit writing posts in along the way.  So hopefully a few more catch-up posts will be coming on what I've been seeing and thinking on this trip.  But first, Rome.  I often find Italian museums incredibly frustrating.  There is amazing art and culture, barely interpreted, and honestly, overseen by, at best, lackluster gallery staff.   I can understand the incredible resources that caring for this nation's cultural heritage must take, but at the same time, I often wish for a bit of imagination and care for the visitor.  But a week or so ago in Rome, I found it at the National Roman Museum, known more familiarly to most as the Palazzo Massimo.  It's just a stone's throw from Termini, the main train station, so easy to reach--and what I found there was an uncrowded museum,  incredible artifacts, and best of all,  a real sense of interpretation that helped me understand what I was seeing (and, even better, with generally very well written English language labels.)

In some of the galleries you got to understand a bit of what it must have been like to uncover these pieces in Rome.  In one gallery, there was not only this incredible bronze,  but an interpretive panel showing it in situ, as it was discovered by archaeologists. 

The intent of the new installation of sculptures is clearly stated at the opening.  "The Masterpieces of Ancient Sculpture shine now a new light in a new space which helps to understand their historical and their emotional value."   I love that the goal is not only an understanding of historical value, but of emotional value as well.   And this emotional impact is carried forward by not only a simple but beautiful installation with beautiful reflected lighting,  but by also by the use of quotes from Roman writers and poets such as Euripedes--"When upsoareth the sound of the melody fountain,  of the hallowed ringing of flutes far-flinging."

One room dealt with the looting and eventual return of a group of ivory sculptures, including the head at the top of the post.  It made the long process of recovery real through both the objects and interpretive text that explained the complex path from looters to this museum.  Almost everywhere in the museum, the interpretive panels helped you understand that these objects had been uncovered not far from where I was standing by combining historic and contemporary maps.

Upstairs,  the fresco fragments from the Villa Farnese had been installed as they had been found, so when you walked through,  you got a sense of not only the frescoes, but the way they were used in rooms and the way each of the rooms related to each other.  Simple but effective.  And finally--a first for me in an Italian museum.  Free wifi!

None of these interpretive techniques were ground-breaking.  But the museum displays a deft curatorial hand combined with a sincere interest in visitors, their interests and their knowledge.   I've come to think of Rome as a warm place,  where strangers help you make your way off a crowded tram car and waiters thoughtfully discuss (dare I say curate) your dinner.   But this is the first time I've seen a museum have that same warmth and depth.  It's a reminder that no matter how great your collection,  good interpretation can make it better for all of us. Bravo Palazzo Massimo!

What I've Learned from Working with a For-Profit Company

Tomorrow, I head off for another trip to Rome working with Context Travel, a company that's been a client for the past year.  It seems like a great time to share what I've learned from working with them.  Context is based in Philadelphia and they "provide an in-depth alternative to traditional tours. We are a network of architects, historians, art historians, and other specialists who organize walks in 21 cities around the world—and counting."  Actually, I think the number is at 25 or so by now,  all of which except the newest, Amsterdam, I've visited in the past year.  (and by the way, if you're traveling, check out their walks!)

My consulting with them has been framed around ways to develop and share tools for better walks for both docent managers and docents (the scholars who give the walks).   But as you might expect, although the work--professional development--has many similarities to the work I do with museums,  I think the way the company operates provides some useful lessons for all of us in the non-profit world.  Here, in no particular order,  a few things I've learned from the owners, Paul Bennett and Lani Bevacqua, and their tremendous staff working in Philadelphia,  London, Paris, Rome, Berlin, Istanbul and Shanghai.

Storytelling matters in every aspect of work that engages the public.  Like museums, Context walks are, at their best,  magnetic experiences.  That means it's not just a litany of facts, but a clear, compelling story.  But it's not just the walks that are stories--it's every part of the work. Everyone on staff is asked to be a storyteller, in all sorts of ways--from tweet-sized storytelling to longer blog posts.  What would happen if we asked everyone in our museums to think the same way?

Everybody can pitch in but everybody can solve problems.  From the rotating 24 hour emergency phone to too many other tasks to mention,  staff feel free to ask, across the globe, for help when they need it.  But everyone also knows that they are empowered to solve problems as they arise.

Make a decision and move forward.  My first real work was at the staff retreat last year and at dinner the first night, Lani asked what I thought of it.  I ventured some suggestions that I thought would help focus the work.  The next day those were tried out.  Not the next month, not after a committee studied them,  not the next fiscal year.  The next day.  It's been great to work with a client who listens to an idea (some considerably more complicated than meeting management) and says, "okay.  let's do it."

Always be scanning for the newest, free technologies that can make your life easier. When I began with the company, we Skyped;  now it's Google Hangout.  Why the change?  I suspect it's because it's easier to put in the calendar and click right through.  Still free.  But if a new tool doesn't work for you, move on.  Don't continue to invest time and money (remember, the tool is free--don't make it costly).

Focus on what really matters.  The company pays attention to lots of metrics,  but the one that impresses me the most is client happiness.  I'd love to see more museums think about not just what our visitors and our communities might be learning,  but how happy--not just satisfied, but how happy-- we make them.

And finally, as befits the company's Roman roots,  I've learned that any meeting is made better by beginning with espresso or ending with an aperitivo.  Thanks Paul, Lani, Carolyn, Whitney, Sara, Liz, Petulia, Lily, Courtney, Genevieve, Sophie, Ceylan, Ramona, Natalie, Jessica and Martina for a great year of learning around the globe!

Take 5 x 2 Years = ?

Just over two years ago,  a question from my Pickle Project co-founder Sarah Crow caused me to say "hmmm...." and pick up the phone to call Anne Ackerson (above, left to right:  me, Anne, Marianne Bez, Gwen Spicer and Christopher Clarke).  Sarah had asked if I had a personal strategic plan.  I had to admit no,  despite the fact that I do a fair amount of advising on plans;  turns out Anne, who also consults on planning,  didn't have one either.  From that first conversation,  we decided to gather a small group of freelance colleagues to begin a conversation about our work.  You can read about that first gathering in a blog post from that summer;  but two years on, I thought I might update readers on our progress.  We met, as we always do, over a meal, this time at Gwen's, to talk, chat, plan, ask for advice, and, in this case, admire the household chickens.

We've shared our process in numerous places over the last few years:  at conferences including AAM,  NEMA, and MANY;  and in countless conversations with many of you who wondered whether putting together a career posse might be right for you.  Just a year ago, we started Take 5, our collaborative monthly newsletter that provides a quick and intriguing 5 minute read every month.  We've been gratified by the response from colleagues near and far,  and pleased with the newsletter's increasing readership.  (don't receive it yet?  Signing up is easy).    Stay tuned for some additional ways in which we'll be sharing that process.

But what about our own careers? In one chapter of our new book, Rainey Tisdale and I reference a great blog post by Seth Godin.  Here's how he describes what he looks for in a co-worker or colleague:

Open to new ideas, leaning forward, exploring the edges, impatient with the status quo... In a hurry to make something worth making.
Generous when given the opportunity (or restless to find the opportunity when not). Focused on giving people dignity, respect and the chance to speak up. Aware that the single most effective way to move forward is to help others move forward as well.
and connected. Part of the community, not apart from it. Hooked into the realities and dreams of the tribe. Able and interested in not only cheering people on, but shining a light on how they can accomplish their goals.

And that's exactly how I think of my Gang of 5.  But I also asked them to reflect on what our get-togethers had meant for them.  One laughingly admitted to being pushed towards the use of technology and social media;  another successfully made the transition from one job to another;  another managed to re-frame the presentation of her work in order to generate more of the kind of work she loved.  All of us agreed that the regular meetings let us articulate our personal goals and make them actionable--and accountable in the nicest kind of way.  And all of us agreed that we'd made surprising progress on our plans.

Want to consider starting your own group?  Here's some of our advice:

• approach it with a spirit of abundance
• put together a group who know each other, but not too well
• the group should be diverse, but also have some commonalities
• always have good food, drink and time to talk about things other than work
• meet often enough, and start an online group,  to keep the momentum growing
• don't be afraid to ask hard questions
• make sure the group has (and the same people may be in these roles at different times) both doers and reflectors
• have fun!

If you've been at one of our sessions or read earlier blog entries and started your own group or thought differently about your career, we'd love to hear from you.  Tell us how you're doing in the comments below.

A Tiny Sampling: Museums in China

Big, bigger;  new, newer.  What does it mean for museums?  For communities?  China is building and opening new museums at an unprecedented rate.  A New York Times article from earlier this year says 390 new museums were opened in 2011, and the same pace is continuing.  I got to spend a week or so in Shanghai and Beijing earlier this month and squeezed time in to visit just three museums and wanted to share a bit of my observations (but I hope readers understanding that these are three tiny pinpoint perspectives on a huge phenomenon).

My first visit was to a museum not yet open, but with big plans.  Through a series of connections (be nice to those interns!) I had the opportunity to do a brief presentation about museums and creative practice to the staff at the Chinese National Museum of Ethnology in Beijing.  They're in the early stages of planning a new museum to be located near the Olympic site and will be making a series of visits to ethnographic museums in Europe and the United States to learn more about how cultures are presented.  They were particularly interested in the National Museum of the American Indian and we had a fascinating conversation about the ways in which different cultural groups take agency in their own portrayal.   We talked about how museums as a whole can be more creative and about understanding and developing individual creative practice.  I'll be fascinated to watch as plans for this museum develop.

In Shanghai,  I got the chance to re-connect with Jolie Zhu,  who I met when I served as her ambassador at this year's AAM meeting (and by the way, a great reason to do such things).  Along with another colleague, we spent the afternoon at the Shanghai Museum.  Architecturally undistinguished, with an interior that is reminiscent of 1980s hotels,  the collections are stunning.  I was impressed with English language labeling,  but definitely wished for more context, particularly in the ethnographic collections.  But I'll long remember the ceramics, jade and scroll paintings for their breathtaking beauty.   The museum is evidently expanding its partnerships outside China as a banner heralded a coming exhibition in partnership with the Clark Institute and a traveling show about Impressionism.  Visitors at the museum on a weekday afternoon were a mix:  of western tourists, of families with small children (for which there were no activities),  and others, perhaps locals or Chinese tourists.  

At the same time I was in Shanghai, I was also reading Death and Life in Shanghai by Nien Cheng,  the story of her imprisonment during the Cultural Revolution and eventual release,  including the details of the destruction of much of her collection of ceramics and the eventual donation of the remaining parts of her collection to the museum.  The book served as a reminder that those beautiful objects we see in museums everywhere around the world usually have complicated, sometimes dark stories to go along with them.  

Another day I ventured out to the new Shanghai Film Museum, opened just earlier this year at--and by-- the Shanghai Film Studios, a bustling commercial area that seemed off the beaten path for tourists and Westerners.  This was a place where I got a taste of the ambitions of new Chinese museums in terms of exhibitry.  There was plenty of high-tech to go around.  A river of touch screens, a giant wall-size touch screen with interpreter to explain its use,  lots of video installations (not surprising given the topic) and even a chance to watch real animators and newscasters at work.   It was a theatrical experience--beginning with your entrance as the star on a red carpet (top image).  

The museum's primary focus seemed a combination of nostalgia and technology.  I saw lots of older visitors pointing, remembering and talking about their favorite film stars while technological advances were highlighted throughout.  But there was very little, as far as I could tell, about the use of film as a political tool and how that use may have changed over time.   It's a museum that left me curious, wanting more, so I suppose that's a good thing.  If you want to see more photos from Chinese museums, I've uploaded a larger selection over on The Uncataloged Museum's Facebook page.

What did I learn from my tiny sampling?  Mostly that there's a lot more to learn.  I hope it's not my last visit to China and look forward to further connections with colleagues there.  If you're interested in museum buildings,  you may want to check out the soon-to-be-available book New Museums in China by Clare Jacobsen. The architecture of some of these new museum buildings, located throughout this enormous country,  is worth a look.  And I'll watch with interest to see if museums can move beyond their great architecture to deeper ways to engage audiences and communities.

One additional takeaway?  Building your network matters, and you can find connections everywhere.  I've hardly met a museum colleague who wasn't interested in conversation.  Many thanks to Sarah Burnham,  Jolie Zhu (below, while we enjoy a post-museum snack), AAM's Ambassador Program,  Nancy Pan, Jerry Yu and the entire staff at the National Museum of Ethnology.

Look Closely

One of the hallmarks of a creative person's life is that they take the time to look closely.  I've been in China and now Japan for the last ten days or so,  and it's provided an incredible opportunity to look at everyday details:  brooms, food,  how we transport things,  stores, and more, with new eyes so I just thought I'd share some of those images with you.  But of course, you don't need to cross the ocean to put your observational skills to work.  Take a walk in your neighborhood, around the block or across the fields and look, really look.

And of course, get ready to purchase your copy of Creativity in Museum Practice, by Rainey Tisdale and me, coming this fall from Left Coast Press!

What's Your Institutional Voice?

August has been a slow month,  deep in book edits,  travel prep and other projects.  But I'm in Los Angeles for a couple days and visited the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles yesterday.  I was struck by the strong, but varied, institutional voice in play in their new exhibitions and other areas.  The old institutional voice is what you might have expected.  Here's a look at the introductory panel to an exhibit about California history (from the '80s from the look of it--and partially closed and perhaps headed towards extinction). Omniscient,  one might say even a little boring.  You get a sense that this institution might be really good and numbering and filing things.

But here are some images--with some new kinds of voices from their new exhibitions.  At the top of the post,  a sign post in the outdoor interpretive space.  Inviting, informal,  inspiring curiousity (and sometimes, just below) a sense of humor.

The new institutional voice makes clear that there are curious, passionate people who work at the museum.  The Nature Lab features cartoon sort of mind-maps of a number of scientists,  telling their own stories of growing up and loving nature in LA.

I mean who doesn't love a guy who loves to look at birds, every day, dead or alive?  But it's not just the natural science people.  In the new dinosaur exhibit,  the palentologists share their work--but not just in dry scientific terms.

And those voices help us with questions.  Some are questions we might already have,  but some might be ones we'd never thought of.  Food on teeth?  who knew?

 

But vitally, the museum's institutional voice isn't just all all about them.  In so many places it makes it clear that we all can participate in the work of observing nature, of analyzing, of finding out new things.   Here's a big label about a budding scientist:

Here's what you can do to help learn more about LA's wildlife, organized by what you want to do.

And,  in the Mammal exhibit,  an ask for you to think big.  You, that's you.

When was the last time you thought about what your institutional voice was?  Not just what you said,  but what the tone and approach are.  There are still so many museums holding on to a single voice, at a time when we've all become used to a wide variety of choices for our information.  By creating a sensibility,  but opening it up to--and encouraging--all kinds of different voices in ways that go beyond Post-It response boards,  this museum inspired me.  Where have you heard a great museum voice(s)?

Imagine: Can Your Visitor Do It? Not Unless You Try

As I work with the Harriet Beecher Stowe Center on the re-interpretation of Stowe House, I continue to be compelled and surprised by what we're finding (you can read earlier observations here and here).  On my last visit, I was struck by how willing people are to take imaginative leaps in the service of telling a moving story.   And of course, it reminded me how rarely we do this.

In earlier audience conversations, we found that an enormous percentage of visitors, when queried what question they would ask Stowe herself,  wanted to know how and where she found the courage to write Uncle Tom's Cabin.  So that framework served as the framework for our next iteration of the planning process.  The staff invited diverse groups of participants to community conversations.  These were people who knew the Stowe Center in some way but in general were far more familiar with the Center's innovative programs than the house itself.  An interpreter provided a half-hour tour of the house, and then we sat down to chat.  And as always, my thanks go to the great interpretive planning team of Shannon Burke, Beth Burgess and Brian Co-Francesco for their willingness and passion for experimentation!

In these conversations, we tried yet another experiment.  After some talk about what surprised them and what was memorable, I divided them into groups of two or three,  gave each group a room, and asked them, in ten minutes or so, to design an experience in that room that would carry the idea of courage forward for visitors to the house.   In our forthcoming book about creativity, Rainey Tisdale and I talk about the idea of constraints helping to drive creativity--and this proved absolutely true.  Our constraints here were the room and the idea of courage;  but all the rest of the framework was wide open.

The result:  some of the responses were stunning, poetic and surprising.  There were approaches we had never thought of.  The small groups buzzed with conversation and several weeks after the get-together, a staff member happened to speak with one of the participants, who was still pumped up about the process.   A few examples:

In thinking about Harriet Beecher Stowe's bedroom, which has plenty of natural light and plants, per her and her sister's advice in The American Women's Home, one group played off those ideas in terms of both her writing and activism to create metaphors. The sunlight represented how she shed light on injustice, and the plants, the ways in which she nurtured her own creativity. 

In that same conversation, our notes show a deep interest in the kinds of topics rarely addressed in historic house:

What were her “visions” around Uncle Tom's Cabin – visions while in prayer? While walking? Thoughts she referred to as visions? – What was the depth of her thinking in relation to the topic she “courageously” brought forward? The values through which we perceive reality and make decisions – as people move through the house, give them context of the general consciousness of the period, world view, Christianity, compassion, empathy – what is this all about, and what brought her to speak out? Interested in one person’s consciousness changing the consciousness of many.

In a the next day's conversation, one participant noted about the bedroom,

[It was a] sanctuary, her escape…if she had doubts, misgivings, or was in any situations in her public life that made her uncomfortable, that this would be the space where she could release all of that without being judged or could share that with her husband and get reassurance.

When was the last time you got to delve that deeply into a historic figure's thoughts?  But the ideas weren't limited to a single room.  Another group took the dining room experience somewhere surprising to us.  Their advice was to not have it be the dining room of this house, but rather, to present the dining room as the dining room in the Litchfield house where Harriet grew up in a lively, passionate, engaged big family, and that visitors would, as Harriet did as a child every evening, have the chance to sit down and talk about the big issues of the day, ask questions and learn how to take action to make a better world.  This group's work reminded me that  often we're afraid to think outside the box, to think that visitors will not get rooms of a different period, or be interested in big ideas.

But we're finding pretty clear evidence at Stowe that experimentation is what visitors want. That many long for an experience that requires imagination.  One participant noted that the room-by-room interpretation felt particularly frustrating in talking about ideas, in getting inside Stowe's head.  So when we think about courage at the Harriet Beecher Stowe Center, we're trying to be courageous ourselves in the new interpretive efforts,  courage we gain by listening to current and potential audiences.

A few other quick notes on historic house tours based on what we're learning:

• Play down what brings the obvious questions.  Harriet was also a hobbyist painter, like many educated women of her time.  People are surprised at that, and ask about it, but it's a bit of a distraction from the ideas we're working on. We experimented with how the paintings are approached.  When the first painting is encountered,  the interpreter mentions that she painted, as did many women of her time, and then the paintings are not highlighted in every room. This gives space for other topics and other ways to engage visitors, rather than just talking about pretty paintings.  Visitors have more, better questions when we provide more and better ways to ask those questions.

• Interpersonal relationships matter.   The current tour talks a fair amount about Harriet's marriage and about her large family, but just mentions that she had servants.  Many of our conversation participants wanted to know more about those servants and the relationship she had with them, about the way that her work as a writer was made possible by other women who did the household work.  Research has already begun to further expand our understanding of everyone in the household.

• And of course, no surprise that individual meaning-making is always important.  Many women are particularly interested in Stowe's perspective on feminism;  those from Hartford want to know more about her relationship with the city;  reflective readers want to sit on the front porch and peruse a book.   We'll continue to puzzle out the challenge of different ways to engage all of the site's visitors.

But imagine.  Ask your visitors to do the same.  When I began writing this post, I googled and watched John Lennon's Imagine,  so I'll end with that video.  Imagine what your historic house could be and invite your visitors to do the same.  Imagine.