Why I'm thankful for Museums.

Tomorrow Americans will celebrate Thanksgiving, and I'm taking the occasion to reflect on why I'm thankful for museums.

(c) the incomparable Bill Watterson

1. Dinosaurs.  I was never the kid who knew all the prehistoric periods and could spell  "Pachycephalosaurus" before I could spell my own name, but I fricking love those kids.  The kids who vibrate with excitement when they come in the door, the kids who have T.rex rainboots and stegosaurus mittens, the kids think that coming to the natural history museum is THE best thing ever--those kids make my day.  They make my job worthwhile.  They run across marble floors and yell with excitement when adults talk in low moderated tones, and just generally remind museum visitors that science and history is something that you really should be excited about.  I'm so grateful for the enthusiasm and passion that dinosaurs evoke in kids.  Also, dinosaurs were giant lizards.  Some of them slammed their heads into one another, some of them sat on nests, some of them had feathers, and some of them weighed 100 tons...how can you not be grateful to live in the same world where these mind-blowing monstrosities used to walk?

Plant cells.  (c) me and my fancy-pants camera

2. Quiet corners.  This might seem odd, but one of my favorite things to do in a museum is to try to find some quiet corner that most visitors avoid.  At the Field Museum it was the Hall of Plants, tucked away in a corner of the balcony.  It was an older hall, and lacking the flash of the dinos and Ancient Egypt, most visitors didn't even notice it.  That's their loss, because it's a gorgeous hall with displays that are a testament to the ingenuity of the model-makers.  I loved sneaking up there on busy days and soaking up the beauty and the quiet; it felt like it was all made just for me.  I find a lot of museums have those halls.  Some are less renovated, some are overshadowed by more exciting neighbors, some are just plain out of the way, but to me they seem extra special because they're so lonely. Who will remember and love those artifacts if I don't take the time to do it?  I'm serious--the next time you're in a big museum, try walking in the opposite direction of the crowds and see what you discover.

(c) http://timbrown.smugmug.com

3. People watching.  My favorite thing to do in art museums is to watch the people looking at the art work.  I love looking at the art, too, but I feel like my reactions are heightened by absorbing the delight and wonder of the other people are sharing the experience with me.  I once had the great good fortune of being in the gallery when a group of high schoolers were introduced to Georges Seurat's Sunday on the Island of La Grande Jatte, and it was one of the best experiences I've ever had at the Art Institute.  They were so excited, but having never seen or known much of the painting before walking in the door, they also had the most honest and candid reactions to a painting I've ever seen.  And whether it's a teenager curious about color choices or an elderly gentleman sitting in quiet wonder, looking at people looking at artifacts is half the fun of museum-going.

So that's my short list--what museum-y things are you grateful for?

Museum Review: South Florida Museum

Last week I drove down to Bradenton to visit the South Florida Museum--which also houses the Parker Manatee Aquarium and the Bishop Planetarium.  I was excited about the visit, which I'd been meaning to do for a long time, but I was also super-excited because I made it there in time for Snooty's 1pm feeding, and I am a huge sucker for manatees.  [ed note: do not mock!  They are most closely related to elephants, they feel like a wet football when you touch them, they have no natural predators, and they can eat a head of romaine lettuce in one gulp.  Pretty much the best sea mammal out there.]

While I was there for the manatee aquarium, I was also excited to see the rest of the museum's collections, which are pretty eclectic.  So I paid my admission and walked into the main hall, where I was excited to see a huge replica mastodon skeleton dominating the room, with a nice diorama of hunters and bison in the background.  It was a really nice first impression of the museum, but it didn't last all the way through.  I really loved the feel of that first hall, but my impression of the rest of the museum isn't quite as favorable.

Okay, dioramas are cool, and giant shark jaws are cool, but they just don't quite go together...

I think my issue with the the South Florida Museum was not its collections, nor the way they were displayed.  I think what was lacking was a sense of cohesion.  As you stepped from one hall to the next, there didn't seem to be a rhyme or reason as to what came next, and there was no obvious path through the exhibits that would allow a visitor to see everything easily.  Okay, to be fair, the map they handed me with my ticket has a suggested route, but I don't think it was very intuitive.  At one point you walk past the gallery of first peoples' artifact through a door that looks like an exit in a courtyard that was, at the time of my visit, completely deserted.  The courtyard is the home of Snooty's underwater viewing tank, though, so I had a good few minutes watching the manatees--and then realized I was late for the feeding and ran upstairs to catch the remainder of the manatee talk.  This left me upstairs in a kind of mishmash of galleries--a river diorama, drawers of random portions of the collections (cleverly labeled "Visible Storage," which I quite liked), and then through an interesting series of galleries with old medical equipment.  I completely missed the 1500s Spanish House and Chapel, largely because I thought they were storage spaces when I saw them outside in the abandoned courtyard.  I wish there had been some clearer signage alerting visitors what was through those doors.

And you know, this visit made me realize how totally subjective museums are.  Because the South Florida Museum isn't really doing anything wrong.  Their collections are a mishmash because they're a relatively small facility and had most of their exhibits donated.  So while giant shark jaws and old ether bottles don't really go together, no museum is going to say "No" to a donation of either one.  And you know, if I'd followed the map they gave me instead of shoving it in my camera bag I would have seen more of the exhibits--but I would have missed learning that Snooty's favorite treat is apples, so there would have been a trade-off.  I love the idea of putting a rotating display of random items from collections on display to the public, and I think that exhibit could have been really successful if there had been a bit more signage and a couple fewer artifacts--it was sort of overwhelming to look at everything in that big case and I found myself glossing over lots of it.  it wasn't until I looked over my museum map to write this post that I even realized what the intent of that case was.  But the idea of that case is ingenious, and with some clearer labels it could really be the type of display that visitors get involved with.

In the end, I enjoyed myself at the South Florida Museum, for all that there were somethings that I would do differently.  It was an interesting exercise to visit another small local museum of which I had no prior knowledge.  There's not a lot they could do to change their collections or displays, and as a result the South Florida Museum is a good illustration of a lot of the challenges smaller museums face.  (Perhaps more museums should house awesomely personable manatees?  Just a thought...)

For me, this visit brings two issues into focus for me.  The first is how museums can better communicate to their guests.  This means communicating how best to see the collections, what to expect, and what events are going on that day.  The second issue is labeling and text panels.  I am a HUGE proponent of interpretive text that informs the visitor without talking down to them.  Had there been a clear sign by the Visible Storage case explaining the purpose, and labels for each of the items, I would have spent my whole day there.  It will be an interesting exercise to look at how these same issues play out in my own museum, and try to look at our displays from the perspective of a visitor who doesn't know what she's walking into.

What's the main goal of a museum?

This seems like a simple enough question, but it has hidden layers.  For some museums (Banana Club Museum, I'm lookin' at you...) the aim is simple: collect items around a central theme and display them.  They are not on the cutting edge of banana research, they are not preserving important banana artifacts that would otherwise be destroyed, they're not making the public aware of the long cultural traditions of the banana.  They're just collecting banana stuff, putting it on display, and inviting people to come take a look.  It's not a bad thing by any stretch--those little museums can be a lot of fun.  But it allows them to skirt some of the deeper, more existential issues other museums can get caught up in.

For example: is a museum's primary purpose to preserve artifacts, or to educate the public?  Should they focus on conservation, or exhibitions?  Is it better to teach the visitors something new, or to make sure that they enjoy the time they spend at the museum?  Should new research take priority over increased publicity and marketing?

It's a chicken-or-egg conundrum that goes back to some of my earlier questions.  You can't maintain collections without a source of revenue, and you can't bring in enough revenue without appealing to paying visitors (or getting substantial private or government funding).  So how should a museum prioritize all of those important facets?

Personally, I'm torn.  As I mentioned last week, I owe my career and love of museums to a program that many institutions might see as superfluous.  I'm sure if you asked the curator in charge of the hall where I fell asleep in my green sleeping bag after a night of exploration, he would rather have more money for the preservation of the artifacts I was entranced by rather than education programs that allow 6-year-olds to scare themselves silly in mock Egyptian tombs.  But coming (as I do) from a retail and visitor-oriented background, I can't help but seeing the interaction the public has with a museum's collection as equally vital to an institution.  ...Well, maybe not equally vital.  If I was told that an artifact would deteriorate beyond repair if it was put on display, but could be used for research and study if kept in storage, I could accept that.  What I think I couldn't accept would be not making an effort to serve both purposes.

What do you think, small, but apparently loyal readership?  What facets of a museum are the most important?  When tough times hit, what gets cut and what gets saved?  It's only a partially rhetorical question--many institutions face this exact choice right now.

A brief history of my history with history museums

My history with history museums starts with this guy:

My dad bought this figurine for me when I was six years old.  I picked it out from all of the other glass animals in the small little gift shop that is still on the ground floor of the Field Museum several hours before it opened to other patrons after one of the best nights of my life.

My family had always been a museum-going one, and my parents made it a point to take my sister and I to a big museum every time we were in the city.  So I was primed and ready when my dad told us that we--along with a hundred or so other folks--were going to spend the night at the Field Museum.  It was a part of a program called "Dozin' with the Dinos," where parents and children come in to the museum after it closes with sleeping bags and pajamas and do crafts, take tours, and explore the museum late into the night.  Basically it is a little kid's dream come true.

It was almost twenty-five years ago, so a lot of the details a blurry.  I remember going to orientation in the big theater and having a security guard tell me that I wasn't allowed to touch the bronze statue I was touching.  But more than just yelling at me, she took a moment to explain that the reason I couldn't was because the oils on my little hands would damage the metal.  I haven't touched a statue since, scout's honor.  I remember trying to pick the very best spot to lay out my threadbare green sleeping bag, and ending up next to this guy:

At that time the Pawnee Earth Lodge was still in this hall, but it's otherwise unchanged. One of my favorite things when I worked at the Field was when an errand would take me through this hall and I could walk past the same spot I'd set up my sleeping bag so many years ago.  My family set up with a few other families we knew and a bunch of other people we didn't, and then set out to explore the museum.

Looking at the program now, we must have had some workshops, there was dinner and a midnight snack at some point, and we probably made some crafts, but I don't remember any of that.  What I remember was that some time around midnight (an inconceivable time to my tiny mind) they turned off the lights and told us any further exploring would have to be done by flashlight.  My dad armed Sister and I with flashlights and we set off to go through Ancient Egypt.

I don't think I will ever be closer to the feeling a scientist on the verge of a discovery has than I did that night.  It didn't matter that we'd been through that exhibit dozens of times in the well-lit day--every artifact was newly-discovered in the wavering beam of my flashlight.  It was the most terrifying and exhilarating night of my life to that point, and while the details have faded over the years, that thrill of discovery and excitement lingers.  And I've been lost to history museums ever since.

The next morning Dad let me pick out a figurine, and I've kept that little leopard with me ever since.  Every time I look at it on my desk I'm reminded of that night, and it makes me excited to try to bring that same feeling to other little kids.  And while I'm sure that art museums and science centers bring the same joy to others, for me it's always going to be the history museums.  They've been blowing my mind for as long as I can remember.  Seriously: dinosaurs.  mummies.  life-sized adobe pueblos and honest-to-goodness meteorites. lions and tigers and bears and little glass leopards. Oh, my indeed.

I'm always late to the party...

So I was listening to this past weekend's podcast of Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, and there was a passing reference to a 'dinosaur skull' for which Nicholas Cage outbid Leonardo DiCaprio.  And this got me thinking about the strange double-standard in how we think about people who own artifacts versus people who own art.

The news of Mr Cage's dinosaur skull broke in 2009 in conjunction with stories about his troubles with the IRS.  At the time it was presented as evidence of his out-of-control spending, and it's referenced in a number of pop-culture stories.  That Nic Cage, he's so crazy!  Except that if he had spent that $276,000 on a painting, or a sculpture, no one would think twice.  He wouldn't be crazy, he'd be an art lover, which is much more acceptable.

"Beech Forest" by Gustav Klimt

I have already revealed that I have a bias towards history museums, so I'm sure you won't be surprised to learn that I would absolutely love to have my very own dinosaur skull.  I actually cannot come up with adequate words to explain how much I would love that.  But I don't think I would buy one, even if I had the money.  I wouldn't buy a Klimt if I had the money, either, and not because I wouldn't love to have it on my wall.  It's because (kind of unsurprisingly, given my museum background), I think things like fossils and paintings belong in the public realm.  I think they should be stared at by school kids and studied by scientists and kept in the public domain as much as possible.

I don't think Nicholas Cage is crazy for buying a dinosaur skull--I think all the other rich people out there are crazy for NOT buying dinosaur skulls.  All the same, I'm glad that more of them are ending up in public museums than private collections.

defined.

mu·se·um/myo͞oˈzēəm/

Noun: A building in which objects of historical, scientific, artistic, or cultural interest are stored and exhibited

There's a longer posting coming about what a museum is, but this definition seems incredibly lacking to me.  While I've not come to any definite conclusions about what a museum truly is, I know that it's more than a building.  A building without artifacts is a shell.  Artifacts without a building in which to be displayed are just someone's collection.  A building full of artifacts that no one comes to see is pointless...a museum is that magic combination of history, science, and community.

Obviously there's more to come on this subject, but I'm still working through it myself.

"exciting" "developments"

I bought a new camera today, one of those fancy jobbers where you can change the focus and the settings on your own.  It's one of the most expensive single purchases I've ever made, but I think it will be worth it. I'm looking forward to some great images of the museum where I work, remembrances before I move away in a few weeks.  I've always wanted to be able to take pictures that show things the way they look to me...

So, yes, exciting for me, but probably not you, dear [non-existent] reader.  In the meantime, you can chew on this.  Is she right?  Do real museums require dinosaurs?