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This week, a look at Chapters 16 and 17 of Elaine Gurian's Civilizing the Museum. These essays are of a pair and represent one of my favorite things about Elaine's personal philosophy: support for contradiction, for ANDing what others might OR.
The first essay, Let's Empower All Those Who Have a Stake in Exhibitions: About the uses, meaning, and failings of the team approach, advocates for a multi-pronged approach to exhibition design involving "three equal advocacy positions - content, design, and audience." By now, this concept of team design is firmly engrained--for better or worse--into most institutions; if it's a tiny museum, everyone is pitching in, and at large museums, there are often formal processes for the assembly of exhibition teams that balance curators, designers, educators, and evaluators.
In some ways, the essay is historical, discussing the erosion of curator control and the rise of the educator as an equal player at the table. But the issues raised and the ideal presented are still highly contested today. Many educators still feel like unequal partners, arguing that exhibition designers dump finished or nearly-finished products on them for interpretation. Contract design and traveling exhibitions add complexity; how are in-house staff involved when creative development and design happen somewhere else?
In many institutions, these questions cause problems that cost both emotionally and economically. Underdeveloped strategies for communication and decision-making among stakeholders--including board members, outside contractors, and in-house staff--often lead to cyclical hand-wringing. There's often little or no thought put into conscious development of professional team strategies, whether training for staff to learn more about the perspectives of other advocates at the table, or clear decision-making processes. Many design firms--from architecture to video games--have structured ways for staff to engage in a variety of projects, teams, and disciplines to learn the business, develop strong working relationships, and understand the stakeholders better. Why don't more museums do this? Many museums, especially large ones, exhibit the worst of the feudal cubicle wars--the Collections Department vs. the Exhibition Department vs. the Education Department. There's a serious need for more cross-department training and teaming--so we can build better experiences AND avoid WWE-style smackdowns (though those might be a good source of ancillary income).
But the staff experience, while important, isn't the key. The real question is how the team approach affects the visitor experience. Dan Spock, commenting on the rise in museum attendance from 1990-2000, offers this hopeful note in Elaine's essay:
...could [the rise] also be related to the fact that museums have become more engaging? And might this be correlated to the increased preponderance of exhibitions developed by teams? Perhaps the inclusion of a wide variety of skills and perspectives in development also generates a more multivalent and attractive visitor experience in the finished product.
Perhaps. It's certainly true that a diversity of voices has changed the way that exhibits are presented, objects labeled, and artifacts interpreted. But what about the soul of the exhibition? As Elaine notes, "It is evident that creative vision is not a collective activity, but it is an essential ingredient for successful exhibitions." So who owns the vision? Kathy Sierra has written brilliantly about the dumbness of crowds and the inability of teams to create anything truly revolutionary. And I've heard many museum professionals bemoan the tepid, shiny, overbuilt exhibits that grace the halls of too many contemporary museums. Where's the balance in a team that allows originality and passion to shine through?
Which leads to Chapter 17, Reluctant Recognition of the Superstar: A paean to individual brilliance, and how it operates, which leads with the refreshing statement: "I was wrong! The team approach to exhibition production is not the only way to go." In this essay, Elaine relates her experience with "superstar" exhibition developers, who have extraordinary talent and force of aesthetic will to create truly special museum experiences. She writes at length about Jeshajahu Weinberg, the founding director and visionary of the US Holocaust Museum, who in many ways defied museum convention to create extraordinary experiences.
I'm enamored of the superstar as well, and wrote about it at length in this post about exhibitions that change your life. Interestingly, Elaine comments that working for or with a superstar does not mean that other staff are "mere serfs acting out the decisions of the master." Instead,
The team members believe that they are in the presence of a rare talent who, like the artist in the atelier, is worth working for, and has final authority. With the voluntary permission of the group, the content of the exhibition is shaped by a single intelligence. The group's acquiescence resembles the eagerness of actors in a repertory company.
So should we turn over all the museums to superstars? Maybe. Like Elaine, I find their exhibitions to be the most memorable. But they may not be a dependable source. I'm glad the Elaine distinguishes the superstar as a truly rare breed. They aren't just the best in the business; often, they are outside the business and drop in infrequently, like comets. And absent that opportunity, we need to develop team approaches that allow the bit of superstar within each team member to be acknowledged and supported. It's not an easy task; what is creative brainstorming for one team member is an overwhelming mess for another.
We also have to find good ways to make the team approach as appealing as following (or being) the superstar. Problems arise when leaders style themselves as superstars to avoid team decision-making (a role typified by the boss on The Office). As Elaine comments, following a superstar is a voluntary thrill, not a bureaucratic trudge. How can we bring the same thrill into teamwork--and allow all members of the team to provide those challenging, exciting, brilliant moments for staff and visitors alike?
Where do you come down on the team approach? Give us your comments, and get ready for next week on Chapter 11 on mixed-use spaces in museums.
Last week, Elaine Gurian and I talked about radical change in museums. She said it can happen in one of two ways—either the organization is small enough that no one will notice, or has a director with such strong vision they can charm and fund the pants off of a new idea. Jennifer Stancil, director of the Girls Math and Science Partnership (GMSP), has both. Former museum start-up queen, Jen is taking a small organization whose goal is to promote girls’ involvement in math and science through research and programming to new, innovative, exciting places.
Gender equity work in math and science isn’t exactly woo-worthy. What’s so special about the GMSP? If you search the web for the organization, you won’t get to some academic-looking page in soft blues and statistics. You’ll land on Braincake, their social networking site for girls, parents, and teachers focused on math and science education. Braincake isn’t some fakey attempt to pander to teens. It’s got style, a strong brand, and growing content. It reflects the GMSP’s—and Jen’s—commitment to creating a set of programs by and for its audience: teen girls.
Jen and I sat down to talk about building for teens, working the web, and the role of innovation in museums.
When I left DC, I was packing my stuff and found your Braincake materials. I continue to be impressed by how novel, attractive, and audience-specific Braincake appears.
For me, the look of Braincake, the over-arching brand, is so strong. It was done with about $250,000 of market research about what girls knew, liked about science, how they wanted to be approached about science. MARCUSA did the research and the Heinz endowment and the Alcoa foundation paid for it.
It was not a tough sell. Those are two of our founding partners. And at that time they were doing a public awareness campaign. We know that girls do not engage in science, math, technology, engineering outside of school at all. What do kids do after school? They play sports. The computer games they play and the tv they watch—it’s not focused on science. They’re not watching the Discovery channel 24/7. I knew that coming to the organization and I had this look and the website to work with. Coming in to research that says that—where do you go from there? How dov you reach today’s girl? Because today’s girl was not even the girl they were talking to. Regardless of how much marketing you do, there was a lot of adult configurations in the branding.
With Braincake, the look and the entrance to the website is successful, but what about the guts? The main part about redoing the interior of the “house” (launched Feb this year), is how do you age this appropriately to a 13 or 14 year old? We’d vet designs past kids. And you’d see the morph at 12, 13, 14—the gaps from age to age. When you’re reading Seventeen Magazine, you’re really about 13 years old. So how do you design for that kind of maturity, and for kids who want a MySpace? But we’re a non-profit. We didn’t want to build MySpace. One of the vendors made a proposal to us with the phrase: “It’s MySpace meets NASA." I like that; here’s an educational site that also has social networking at its core. So to get the design and language geared to them is very difficult because most of the stuff for them is ads and magazines.
For lots of people, it's overwhelming to jump in and embrace social networking as a basis for an educational tool. What was your personal journey to get there?
The easy answer is: I’ve got an audience and I need to understand it. But my background is in museum startups. The thing that struck me, building Exploris, I started going into Lowe’s and Home Depot, and darn it if they aren’t doing educational programs! They’re stealing my thing! Museums aren’t competing with other museums; they’re competing with corporate America. You can go to Michael’s and learn to sew, knit, do crafts. Museums don’t have the lock on hands-on informal education experiences.
Museums have a dual challenge now. When I was at Exploris, we had the AAM president come and talk about research done on how people perceive experts, and [he said] museum people are in the top three for respected authorities in fields. We field questions for science fairs and research. We bear a lot of responsibility as museums as experts. But at the same time as I feel the pressure to be an expert, I’m starting to feel pressure to keep my programs edgy—to move the way our culture is moving and the way that corporations—stores—have decided that education is a major part of how they work. So I started thinking in a business sense. That’s what it boils down to.
You're talking about changing the unique value proposition that museums have for modern society.
Exactly. I’m into the whole hedgehog proposition. Where do you hit that centerpiece? What are you best in the world at? We’ve got to be unique, and we’ve got to be great for girls in science. So we’ve got to be figuring out how their concept of changing the world can connect to math and science.
It wasn’t deliberate like we need to start reading Seventeen. We listen to our girls. We have girls saying, have you heard of this? Do you look at this? It turns out there are certain design qualities that girls really like—a cluttery look—like J. K. Rowling’s website. We have a teen team—14 advisors of diverse age and background and race—and they are so funny. One of them said, I hope you never advertise in XX… that’s really beneath you. She understood the cleanness of the brand. Which is very sophisticated for her age. And yes, the design is cutesy, but it’s also very serious and attracts very intelligent girls.
So when it comes to Web 2.0, it's what they want. For example, podcasts. We selected girls and they go out on the road and we get them with great mentors. And we’re going to equip them with recording software, and they’re going to sit in a $200,000 radio studio to edit it. With counsel. We put them with CIA agents. With robotic engineers. These girls got so much out of the experience about women—about why careers in science are for them.
With Girltalk, doing these podcasts, we want this to be girl-led, we them to be at the center of the project. We based the grant on inquiry, and that’s why we got it from PBS.
The way the Web 2.0 stuff happened with Braincake has been very much about what kind of girl we think today’s girl is. We don’t think science is nerdy. Girls have so many options, and some of them don’t see limitations, and we here girls saying in 5th grade, “oh my friends will fail test deliberately to get boys’ attention.” The psychology of girls in the 5th, 6th, 7th grade is so incredibly complex. We just want to hear from them, to make a place for them. Girls are self-perpetuating, self-driven. So once we get them into something, it will become sustaining. So you have to be thoughtful about your hooks. How do you simulate community on a website? There are ways you can upload your own pictures in your personal viewing of the Braincake page. There are hidden cookies. These things are built this way because girls are built this way.
How is going, audience- and use-wise?
I’m looking at our stats. Prior to changing the site in February, we had about 2100 discrete visits per month. Post-February, we’re up to almost 8000 per month. Web traffic has quadrupled. We had one million hits in 2006, and we have about 5000 registered users—1000 who joined since the overhaul this year. Some people are voyeuristic, some are active. Having the girl blogs and the parent blogs coming out in Feb, it’s a small way to start a community—but when a girl asks a question instead of an adult, it’s more fascinating.
It was difficult to figure out how we maintain security while using 3rd party tools. Everything is vetted before it goes up. It’s a moderated chat. The reason we chose typepad [wordpress] is because we could be notified immediately when we get a comment in, we can monitor in live time.
The content starts with the teen team. Regardless of having this internet portal that was built to be a database and the first thing that people know about the partnership—and that is the way you first find it (GMSP)—we keep many of our programs small and intimate as they build so we can spend time with them one-on-one. The girls on our team are all articulate and engaged and I want them to feel the confidence to do something they might not otherwise have the chance to do. We tell them: here’s a global forum for you. Everyone’s aware when a new girlblog comes out and they support each other. I get forwards daily from teens. That’s what they do—find cool stuff on the internet and send it around. We know we have to build our website partially on word of mouth—it has to come from that legitimately.
Have you gotten any negative feedback about it being too superficial or hyped for a research program?
No. I don’t think it’s a lot of hype. The feedback I get is—what an innovative and unique brand. I think it’s seen as intelligent. We were academically incubated for so long. But even then we were putting out pilots of things. And now, programs are 80% of what we do.
What advice would you give to someone who sees this and wants to do something like it at their own institution?
First of all, [if the interest is in gender and math/science] I’d want people to consider being affiliates. Using this brand to put wrapping paper on their own girl programs and expanding and disseminating our programs.
There’s a lot of money out there to be had around gender—but there’s more money to be had around corporations who are desperate to recruit a new workforce. It’s all workforce development. There’s no trick to it. And all you have to turn to the math media. It was not even a month ago that in Newsweek they did a report on No Child Left Behind and they said that in K-6—the museum market—we are teaching 17 min less math per week and 23 min less of science per week than previously. That’s one period a week we are shortchanging our kids that in math and science. And they’re already behind globally. So who is going to rise to the challenge to get kids engaged in this and sustain their long term interest in these highly lucrative careers? We’re not equipping teachers and kids, we’re not teaching it in a way that’s appealing to them. And we’re not competitive.
And if you think what we're doing is radical and you want to do it, well, we’ve already done it, so figure out how you can connect and build.
It seems like one of the keys is that you are running Braincake more like a tech company than a museum, that you are really able to embrace innovation.
This is about whether you’re nimble or not. My goal is to lead a nimble organization. Not wayward—but we’re able to adapt quickly and that’s built into us. And museum people want to be that way. We have a museum community that’s intelligent and capable and the desire and passion to educate people is there. But the organization around them doesn’t support it.
It's been amazing, working with the language of innovation. If I want to do something like podcasting, it happens. Podcasting for the Science Center? Much slower process. Much more difficult. I just take it for granted that this is the way that I run the business. I think that’s what we need—a whole bunch of people that take it for granted that they run their shop as a nimble, edgy, progressive shop. That’s what they say about museums in the 60s and 70s, right? That’s what they were built on, people taking risks and responsibility and just doing it. I think we need more of that.
At dinner recently, I mentioned a friend who had given up playing computer solitaire for Lent. "Oh," said a woman at the table. "I had to stop that, too." She then proceeded to explain that not only she but her mother and great-grandfather had, at one point or another, been addicted to computer solitaire.
You could chalk it up to hereditary defects, but I suspect there are a lot more people out there with this same problem. One of the things that makes games compelling is their capacity to draw us in and swallow us up--spitting us out hours later dazed and squinting.
While profiling the lives of Dance Dance Revolution addicts might be entertaining, I'm more interested in considering how the ubiquity of addictive play impacts the extent to which gaming is an educational activity. I'm a strong advocate for the positive learning value of games, whether on the playground, on the computer, or at poker night at Uncle Dave's. These days, it's not just about improving your reflexes; experts have expanded the concept of "valuable" play to include MMOs like World of Warcraft (which teach teamwork, social leadership, and may help you get a job), and many corporations are turning to game companies to develop educational games for training and recruiting.
And yet. Does sitting in front of the computer slaying giant spiders for hours on end REALLY make you a better person? I'd argue that the longer you play a game--the more you become an addict--the more diminishing the returns. And this is something that is particularly true of addictive games, because they tend to be games that value repetitive gameplay over thinking. Tetris gets harder because the blocks fall faster, not because you suddenly have to compose a haiku in the middle of a level. Yes, you have to be mentally present to swing Tiger Wood's golf club, but you don't have to confront new and unusual challenges on a frequent basis.
A lot of game design discussion centers around learning curves, meaning how long it takes to learn how to play. I'm more interested in learning curves--how much learning happens when during play. Games may have high barrier to entry and require a long learning period, or they may be easy to pick up right away. Either way, once you're running on auto-pilot, the educational value goes way down.
This is a problem specific to games, which have a predefined, consistent set of rules. Open-ended play, reading, skateboarding--these are all activities that don't have rules, so you can continue to learn and grow by trying new things and fiddling around. There's the "learn something new" stage and then the "refine and get it perfect" stage, but after that, you're not learning; you're mostly just having fun. It's educational to try a new recipe, or even to try it a couple times. Once you're making the meal for the zillionth time, people start complaining.
There are a variety of social pressures that encourage us to keep moving, to read a new book, to try a new trick, to go to a new film, rather than doing the same old thing. Not so with addictive games. Addictive games allow us to wallow in skills we already have, to set our brains aside awhile and just do.
So how do you keep brains engaged and gamers learning? To create a truly educational game, you'd have to design the game's incremental increase in complexity to require substantively different actions. To get harder, the game would have to change.
This creates a two-sided challenge for educational game designers. FIRST, they have to take content which is, on the face of it, not very fun, and use it as the basis for gameplay that is lively and compelling. THEN, they can't bask in creating an addictive experience; instead, they have to keep changing it so that it continues to be a valuable rather than rote experience.
This isn't easy. It's so hard to do the first step--to come up with gameplay that is reasonably fun related to serious content--that once accomplished, designers rarely move to the second. Which makes a lot of these games predictable and boring. Sure, if you're teaching facts by repetition, like spelling or times tables, addictive play is a good thing. But if you're teaching "learning skills" or concepts, which many museums attempt, it's a barrier to real learning.
The good news is that there's one really simple design technique that almost always furthers learning: a social component. Playing hearts on the computer against AI opponents, I'd argue, is significantly less educational than playing in a room with other people. The relationships among players, the cues and signals, create challenges that are constantly evolving. Which is why corporations and researchers are so interested in social gaming--real and virtual--as bases for institutional growth. Jane McGonigal thinks games can save the world. IBM thinks games can save their company. The games these folks are thinking about are relational, multi-player, complex systems. They change all the time. If we want to create games that evoke the complicated, rich worlds of content (in museums or otherwise), we can't sit at home playing solitaire.
Dear Museum 2.0ers,
I started writing individuals with whom I have prior relationships to put together panels for AAM 2008, and then realized that is SO pre-blog.
I'm looking for people who fit the following:
- a crank or skeptic to help host a debate about the potential of Web 2.0 in museums
- experience with projects that are "2.0 on the cheap"--with or without technology
- creating nimble venues and projects within museum monoliths
Are you intelligible, intelligent, and potentially available to go to Denver next year? Please get in touch with me as soon as possible--I'm hoping to get SPC endorsement for some of these ideas, which requires a quick turnaround on the proposals.
Thanks!
ninaksimon (at) gmail (dot) com
On Tuesday, I reviewed Elaine Gurian’s essay, Choosing Among the Options, on museum archetypes and self-definition. (Next Tuesday, we'll look at chapters 16 and 17, on the merits and limitations of the team approach to exhibition design.) Today, discussion with Elaine about ways museums choose their direction, how change is possible, and new museum types to be added to the list.
I came out of reading this essay with a lot of what ifs. What if you don’t want to be identified as one type of museum? What if that type is unpopular or unprofitable? How can you change or adopt aspects of other types without losing your focus or mission?
There is a museum that did that--the Strong Museum in Rochester NY. It did that more than once. They were a rich collection museum with some local history—they had many dolls, a famous toy collection. And then about 20 years ago, they became one of the first “study storage” institutions. Which means you figure out a way in which your whole collection and collection information is visible so it becomes an encyclopedic museum. Their storage became visible in glass. Now there are a lot of people very interested in it because it is the closest to a kind of google you can get without damaging the objects. That wasn’t necessarily the point at the time, but even the evolution and relation to Web 2.0 is very interesting.
So Strong did that a long time ago, and a lot of people went to experience the study storage, but still enough people didn’t come, so then they decided to become an interactive children’s museum. [Now, the Strong Museum is the second largest children’s museum in the U.S. There are press releases from their reopening last year here.]
So the point of my paper is about intentionality—it’s about who are you serving and where is your primary focus. And it really came because I tend to be pissed off and I was pissed off that people were talking about community and inclusion but there was no evidence in their structure for it. Everyone was talking about community. And at the same time there were all these community museums, whose intentions were different, that were financially failing. Those institutions, as I talked about in Choosing, were mostly self-directed by the groups who wanted them. When people who are non-museum goers politically talk about museums, they tend to be talking about object-centered museums. And they tend to be talking about preservation first, audience second, or now, equal roles. But now there are museums where people are the only thing that matters—and they don’t even want to be called museums. But then there are folks on the other side of the spectrum who want them to be called museums for legitimacy.
But the point is that there really are museums that take their missions very seriously. You can’t just talk about community or inclusion or anything and expect it.
What about the criticism that some museums have faced when they try to go to a more community- or people-oriented focus? I’m thinking of the Smithsonian American Art Museum, which is trying to be a museum for people, but is also a national and collection-based place.
The question you have to ask is: who are the people who have issues with what they are doing? It’s people who are committed to collections and feel like that is threatened. In Puerto Rico and Chile, there are museums made out of posters so that kids in parks can come and visit real art—well, it’s not real art, but you’re getting access to Picasso for $5. Some art people would say it’s not a museum since it’s not real stuff. But I would argue that it’s a community museum and it’s doing really good service. There are contemporary art museums that come out of a political point of view. They are art museums but they’re not about collection.
In some ways, it seems like art and other object-centered museums have the most opportunity to diversify their modes of interpretation. So many science and children’s museums—client-centered places—feel the same.
The cookie-cutter phenomenon started in the 70s because people have seen Boston [Children’s Museum] and seen the Exploratorium and they want one in their neighborhood. But people who start new institutions with different intentions but with the same philosophy go somewhere very different. Outside the U.S. in particular science and children’s museums look completely different. In Ireland, a children’s museum dealt with what to do about colonialism in a multi-cultural place using a theater-based exhibit format. In Brussels, the children’s museum, which was found by a Boston person, now runs it as a psychological support system—they have one show every two years about things like failure or fear. So while there is the cookie-cutter, there are also chances for museums to take the basic idea and run somewhere else.
Let’s say there's someone—a reader of this blog—an educator or designer or director or whoever—who wants to and is ready to change their museum. Do you have to be a director to do it? How can institutional change happen?
It’s a very good question. It happens two ways—when the place is little enough and the stakes are low enough so the price invested can be done in paper and pencil and scotch tape. And the community and social expectation is low enough that no one will notice. And that what’s happened with the revolution at Boston—everyone else thought we were cute and inconsequential.
And the other way is when you have a director who has so much guts and can charm the pants off the trees and is willing to lose their job. There’s a guy who did this, Emlyn Koster, who is doing this with the Liberty Science Center. He’s invested in social service as an economic driver. He loves publicity. And he’s quite revolutionary—what he’s figured out is that charity from multi-nationals goes to social service more than anything. So if he’s serious about it, he can attract money. So he, for example, does live heart surgery that is broadcast to kids in his theater, and he has a reporter in the hospital broadcasting, and the kids sit in a theater and can ask questions of the reporter via two-way mic in this life-or-death situation.
Emlyn cowrote the Timeliness piece—the Liberty Science Center was one of the ones that reacted immediately to 9/11. It closed during 9/11, became a location for families dislocated in NJ—a third of those who died came from NJ—and what they did is all very straightforward. And then a corporation came forward and covered all the lost revenue.
You know, it works best if the two ways are both combined.
I know you have been thinking a lot about the Web, Web 2.0, and how they affect museums. Now, looking back at the essay, do you think there might be other museum types?
I do think there’s potentially another type, which is about individual quest. Which is really much closer to the library, which is why I know something about study storage, because individual quest is potentially there. I went to the library today and wanted to find pictures of houses to give me some ideas and I’m going to Paris so I wanted a book on that. What are the consequences of individual quest and the ability to google all the time? If you get diagnosed with cancer you’re going home to look it up. I picked a restaurant tonight by looking at reviews online. So museums have stuff, and I want to dip in and out like I do at the library. So how do you have access to a place, not as a visitor in which you are having time-dependent adventure—which is how most people use the museum—but in a way where you can get whatever you want?
The conversation on the blog about Free at Last touched on that. One person commented about how he loved growing up in DC as a teen and generally using the Smithsonian as a playground.
Sure—and he probably liked to go back to things he’d seen before because he knew they would be there and he could see them again. But take it one step further and what if he went to see that picture and he really wanted to know the answer to a question about the boats or the hats or the time period or whatever—there are now easy ways to do that. Put the internet inside the museum next to the picture and leave you alone. And not think that we need to control the content but also your attention. No one tells me what I’m supposed to learn at the library. It’s none of your business why I’m showing up.
So I think the facilitation of that makes for a new museum. Addressing this lack of answering of questions and allowing you to do what you want to do next—whatever it is—is the next museum.
This week, we look at Chapter 5 of Elaine Gurian's book Civilizing Museums, Choosing Among the Options: An opinion about museum definitions in two parts. (This post is a summary of the essay; on Thursday, an interview with Elaine expanding on some of these concepts.) First published in Curator magazine in 2002, this essay presents five different museum "types" and their distinct opportunities and challenges. Elaine believes that "know thyself" isn't just for self-help manuals--it's an adage museums need to remember as they move forward to make decisions intelligently. The "taxonomy of archetypes" both allows museums to be judged fairly and appropriately, and allows institutions to grow in their unique abilities, rather than by cobbling together a bit of this and a bit of that, becoming wayward and watered-down.
The five types Elaine defines are:
- object-centered (focus on STUFF)
- narrative (focus on STORY)
- client-centered (focus on AUDIENCE, children's and science museums fall here)
- community (focus on SELF-EXPRESSION, community and cultural centers fall here)
- national (government-sponsored)
Each of these types has its strengths and challenges. Object-centered museums have fabulous artifacts but are thought of as stuffy and hard to access. Narrative museums are gripping and evocative but are criticized as subjective and overly dramatic. Client-centered museums offer a wide variety of active educational experiences but may be called out as "Disneyesque" playgrounds in boxes. Community museums develop strong programming and local relationships but may be cited as irrelevant to folks not in that community. National museums have huge reach and ability to represent and celebrate a nation but are decried as tightly-controlled beauracratic machines.
So how can museums confront their typological challenges? One obvious path is to look at the range of museums out there and try to pick and choose "the best" from each. But no one becomes best at one thing by messing with all things. When museums grow by adopting conventions presented by the others, they do so--somewhat--at the expense of a focused mission.
Elaine discusses, for example, the evolution of object-centered museums, the "treasure troves" to include more diverse interpretation and presentation styles to promote contextual, multi-sensory understanding of the artifacts. But by repackaging object-centered museums for appreciation by non-experts, they may lose the essential spooky wonder that made the objects so captivating to the original audience. An over-emphasis on interpretation can distort the power of contemplative exploration of objects; instead of offering a distinct experience from other kinds of museums, the new interpretative museum just offers the same packaging of distinct stuff.
Elaine suggests that we celebrate the distinctions and evaluate museums based on the limitations of their type. She compares different kinds of museums to different universities; no one expects my engineering school to have the same characteristics and clientele as your liberal arts school. Elaine makes the example of five different art museums (the Met, the Picasso Museum, Zoom, the art gallery in Soweto, and the National Gallery of Canada) as examples of the five types (object, narrative, client, community, national), and discusses the way that each of these has taken their own unique slant on sharing art with visitors.
Can a museum integrate elements from each of these? Absolutely; many of the largest museums combine local community programming with world-class collections with narrative galleries with hands-on centers. But this combination requires a multi-faceted, potentially schizophrenic focus, and may be confusing to some. I remember when I first went to work at a large museum. I was literally flabbergasted to learn that there was an "education department"--a whole class of individuals I never knew existed as a visitor! When I talk to museum-going friends about the range of museum programs and initiatives out there, invariably they are amazed to hear about the diversity. Some people think of museums as camp providers, others as exhibit displayers, others as storytellers. It's hard to imagine or understand services outside of the scope of your own experience as a visitor. It's one thing to change your mission statement; it's quite another to change "who you are" in the eyes of the public.
The key isn't schizophrenia: it's personal honesty. Elaine argues that when a museum is clear and serious about its mission, the direction staff will take--in writing labels, designing programs, managing marketing campaigns--will follow. Embodying a type is not an excuse to avoid growth; it's an opportunity to grow in special ways based on core competencies.
But it's not always that easy. There's enormous pressure on museums to pursue models that are economically and socially viable. The research on the use and value of collections, programming, and different forms of interpretation is constantly evolving. Add to these the constant pressures from a changing cultural landscape. The growth of the Web and Web 2.0 have forced other industries--news media, music and film production--to rethink the way they engage with customers. Generational reinvention isn't just an option; it's a survival mechanism. What happens when your "type" is not in fashion? How can museums grow without losing sight of core mission or focus? And if your museum truly wants to change course, how can that happen?
For answers to these and other tough questions, write a comment. And then tune in Thursday to hear Elaine's thoughts.
No, this is not a post on the misspelling of be-bop era slang words. It’s about “the people’s choice.”
Many museum people, when you suggest letting visitor rate content/exhibits/programs, bring up the “American Idol” argument. You can’t let people vote, they say, because it will push museum content to the lowest common denominator. Museums will become American Idol machines, putting out crap that panders to unthinking consumers.
This argument neglects the fact that American Idol is packaged and processed “for the masses,” not by them. It’s highly undemocratic; TV producers, not viewers, select and cultivate the material for consumption. And yes, it’s crap—because the base material provided is crap. But the base material museums provide is not crap (mostly). Is there a better model for the kind of voting and participating that could occur in museums, around a vast collection of content with varied interest and value to different users?
There sure is. Digg is a website that supports and cultivates “the people’s choice” from the ground up. It’s a continually evolving “next big thing” machine for the web. Here’s how it works: - Users (free to join) submit websites, blog posts, videos, etc. to Digg that they think are awesome.
- Other users do the same, and or check out these new “diggs” on the site via connections they have to other members, interest areas, or general browsing.
- Items that get lots of diggs within a period of time get posted to the Digg.com homepage, which millions of people look at daily.
You may have seen a symbol at the bottom of some news articles or blog posts on the web, enabling you to “digg this.” Digg is like del.icio.us, in that it provides a vehicle for you to save favorite places on the web and share them with others. Like on del.icio.us, you can browse the most popular user-generated tags for content of interest. The unique function Digg provides is the popularity contest. The main pages of Digg give the pulse of what people on the internet (especially the tech-savvy people who make up a significant portion of Digg users) are interested in—right now. For example, go to the World and Business tab. You will see articles linked from newspapers and blogs all over the country. Maybe today it’s George H. W. Bush’s strange outburst against atheists. Or the new FEMA report on Katrina. You aren’t seeing content aggregated by news source, region, or political bent. You’re seeing it aggregated by interest.
Which is part of what makes people love Digg—even if they rarely submit their own content. Digg is an attempt to harness the vast information on the web, and it’s a community effort. There’s more information on the web every day; how do you find new compelling content without going nuts? Digg doesn’t claim to offer the best content, but they do offer an extensive vetting process—the cumulative preferences of a wide swath of editors.
And it truly is democratic. Unlike YouTube, where it’s difficult to navigate beyond the videos that have thousands of votes, Digg makes new content easy to access. Their main page includes a tab, upcoming, which lists the most recently added diggs. These are all brand new to the Digg machine—they all have just one vote. If you find the most obscure, fabulous firework formula, or a recording of Edith Piaf singing backwards, you can submit it, and other users can access it instantly. Of course, the things that really catapult to Digg stardom tend to get there from other venues (i.e. lots of users digging the same item at the same time), but the path to glory is transparent and available to all.
And what does the result look like? Is Digg content more low-brow, more prurient than the web on the whole? Well… somewhat. It’s a near-impossible question to answer, considering the breadth of content on the web—and that’s part of the point. Sometimes you want a video of a bird flying into a tree. Sometimes you want a report on Israeli missile defense. Of course, part of the challenge is that Digg does not represent humanity—it represents a slice of people who know about it, use it, and have the time to hunt down new content on the web. In that way, it’s not unlike looking to your record-obsessed friend for suggestions for new music, or the library cave-dweller for book recommendations. These people are good at finding stuff on the web. But so are you—and the greater the range of people submitting to Digg, the greater its potential value to a diverse audience. (Remember Tim O’Reilly’s first rule of Web 2.0: it gets better the more people use it.)
What would it look like if a museum took on a similar effort with museum content, allowing people to hit a button to “digg” an exhibit, label, artifact, or video in the galleries? The New York Times website does this with its “Most Emailed Articles This Week.” The newpaper, like the web or a museum, has tons of content to offer. These articles are all “New York Times quality;” they aren’t written for a different demographic than the rest of the paper. The “Most Emailed” list is just one of many forms of aggregation that NYT users can access when making decisions about what content to view.
It’s also a potentially useful (or dubious) evaluative instrument. Is the content of these lists used by the editors to make decisions about directions the paper should take? Would museums feel pressured to do the same? Again, the users who engage with the technology (in this case, emailing articles) may represent a small, distinct portion of the NYT readership, in which case the editors may choose to ignore their preferences and think of this as a user service, not an evaluative tool. Part of what makes you digg something or email something is the feeling that you have found a secret gem—a witty article, a wild video. I think implementing a similar service around a museum collection could lead to some experimentation in artifact placement, labeling, lighting, etc… or it could just motivate more people to visit a dusty corner where visitors rarely tread.
But this has value for visitors and museums beyond tracking. The NYT is offering a service that, like a popularity contest, encourages viral expansion of their product and their brand. What museum wouldn’t want those benefits? Digg and the NYT list make content seem personal and relevant—it’s being recommended to you by thousands of Uncle Joe, not some fancy-pants editor or curator. They makes the content seem hip, upcoming, new. They have the potential to turn something you see into something you dig. Dig?
What museum hasn't benefited from a giant blow-up dinosaur on its front lawn? Flying into San Jose yesterday, I laughed out loud when I looked out the window and saw Clifford the Big Red Dog below me, a cheerful addition to the skyline (thanks to the Children's Discovery Museum).
But there are gamers out there doing one better. If a giant blow-up thingy is good, how about a giant blow-up thingy you can interact with?
Enter area/code, an extremely cool NYC-based game company that produces Big Games. According to their manifesto,
Big Games are human-powered software for cities, life-size collaborative hallucinations, and serious fun.
And fun they are. Big Games are technology-rich (using mobile devices, cameras, GPS, etc.) and neighborhood-based. For example, the image above is from a game called BUG (Big Urban Game), developed with the University of Minnesota, in which three teams of players in St. Paul/Minneapolis called in or voted online to determine the movement of large game pieces (see above) each evening throughout the city. Each day, there were newspaper announcements of the pieces' whereabouts, and players could roll giant dice at the site of each piece, accumulating "points" that gave the pieces relative headstarts on each evening's journey. The game allowed for casual drop-in players of all types: on the internet, phone, local media, and on the streets. Like all Big Games, it was highly visual, and served as half-game, half-spectacle.
area/code is perhaps most famous for Pac Manhattan, in which players dress as Pac-Man and the evil Ghosts and run around the Washington Square area of Manhattan. Pac-Man tries to eat dots, and the Ghosts try to tag Pac-Man. All the players in the streets have virtual "control" partners who track their progress via a control panel (which looks much like the real Pac-Man game). The control panel is then broadcast on the internet for anyone not in Manhattan to follow the game.
I love these games because they use web and mobile technology as springboards to facilitate fun in the real world. These games aren't "simulated"--they are physical, visual, of, by, and in the community. By embedding the technology instead of showcasing it, area/code powers unusual in-person experiences. area/code understands that these technologies don't have to exist in opposition to "real world" experiences; they can be used to enhance and expand them.
And thank you Mike Ellis for inspiring this post with a hilarious and highly relevant video of Japanese game show contestants trying (and mostly failing) to play Human Tetris.
Because AAM wants to know about it. The program chair of the Small Museum Administrators Committee, Tracy Sullivan, is seeking examples of small museums (operating budget under $350,000/year) using Web 2.0. Are you podcasting? Blogging? Maintaining a massive social network? Drop a comment here about it (so we can all bask in wonder) and send a note to Tracy Sullivan at TSullivan (at) entnet (dot) org
On this note, Museum 2.0 will soon be rolling out a separate non-blog section that will list and compile a lot of the content covered here, including museum projects in 2.0, explanations of Web 2.0 applications, reviews of exhibits, etc. There will be (simple) ways to contribute your own projects, challenges, and ideas. If there are specific things/topics you'd like to see in this library of content, please leave a comment here or get in touch with me.
Quick. A local fire has devastated 200 local homes. A Russian spy has been poisoned in London. Tuberculosis is traveling business class. Pluto just got demoted. What does your museum have to say about it?
What do visitors expect of museums, and what do museums expect of themselves, when it comes to timeliness? What's more important, timelessness or timeliness? In chapter 6 of Civilizing the Museum, Elaine Gurian, Joy Davis, and Emlyn Koster share the process and conclusions of a three day conversation about timeliness in museums held at the University of Victoria in 2003.
The basic conclusion of the conversation is that timeliness in museums is "societally useful," especially in an era when museums are shifting away from being "refuge[s] of authority and stability" to "resource[s] for the public good." This is partially driven by museums, which want to be seen as "forums" for discourse, but also by the expectations of a media-saturated public. One of the things that most confounds non-museum folks about museums is the glacial pace of exhibit and program development; I've heard many friends (and some museum execs from other fields) ask why we aren't showing something immediately after a news event related to museum content occurs. In a world where everything is available up to the minute, museums' resistance to involvement doesn't communicate thoughtfulness or solidity--it communicates out of dateness. In the public eye, museums aren't compared to timeless entities like the ocean. They're called dinosaurs instead.
Of course, there's a basic tension for museums that feel both "the obligation to be reflective and considerate, and the seeming imperative to react to emergent issues." The good news about timeliness is that when it comes to news, the public doesn't expect fancy exhibitry; they expect recognition, exposition, and flexible interpretation. I'm always amazed to see visitors pouring over "SCIENCE IN THE NEWS" and similar clipping bulletin boards in museums. The authors share several examples of museums responding to current events, such as the National Air and Space Museum, which responded to the 2003 Columbia Shuttle explosion "by bringing a television set on the floor and stationing an expert to interpret the information for the public in real time." There are also other museums, such as the Monterey Bay Aquarium and Holocaust Museum discussed yesterday, that incorporate ongoing advocacy for content-related issues (conservation and genocide prevention, respectively) into their exhibits and programs, connecting the timeless to the right now. In the Aquarium example, staff found that giving visitors an opportunity for advocacy with a specific (and well-displayed) deadline encouraged greater participation than non-time specific advocacy; the chance for visitors to affect something "right now" is appealing.
More interestingly, the authors higlighted several museums that have attempted to work timeliness into their mission and ongoing operations. The Royal British Columbia Museum launched a (now defunct) Quick Response Team (QRT) initiative in which team members created exhibits and programs with the goal of being public-ready within one month of an event of concern. The Boston Museum of Science includes the Current Science and Technology center (CS&T), which puts up modular exhibits and revolving programs on contemporary science issues. As the authors comment,
Perhaps the most significant dilemma that confronts museums seeking to be timely is the capacity and willingness of staff to sustain such a commitment. While many staff embrace the notion that museums must be relevant, and therefore timely, their professional education and training, skill sets, disciplinary specialization, commitment to thorough, well-researched exhibitions and programs, and lengthy work processes all mitigate against rapid responses to emergent concerns.
To be timely, the authors argue, requires an institutional mindset that supports fast decision-making, engagement with controversial issues, exposition of works in progress, and time and training for rapid gathering and dissemination of content. The authors also suggest that maintaining strong relationships with external organizations and community groups as collaborators promotes both the development and successful deployment of such programming.
Perhaps most of all, to respond to contemprary events, museum staff need to be light on their feet, to have interest and ability to work flexibly and quickly. In the Royal British Columbia Museum's case, the QRT program was canceled "due to lack of curatorial resources and issue-related expertise." Many museum blogs have disappeared for the same reason; museum staff were unwilling or unable to create and manage content on an ongoing basis. It doesn't matter how much visitors love it if it's too hard for an institution to sustain based on fundamental priorities and abilities.
There's also a branding issue here. I was a visitor and employee of the Boston Museum of Science for several years without "getting" that CS&T was doing something fundamentally different and more timely than what was going on in the rest of the museum. To me as a visitor, it appeared to be just another area where I could interact with content and programs about science. I didn't differentiate that this was "the place" for fast-breaking news, and sometimes I was confused that the exhibits didn't seem as "developed" as those in other areas. Now that I know more about CS&T and some of the very cool forums and programs they produce, I understand that there's a fundamental difference. But as a visitor, how do you make the connection that your museum is now offering something more timely?
To some extent, timeliness is in the eye of the beholder. As the authors put it,
museum staff who are interested in the choice of relevant and timely topics need to ask: 'Relevant to whom?' For some participants, this very question of timeliness and relevance had to do with shared authority among partners, creating a standing relationship with members of the community, and breaking the traditional relationship between staff as authority and visitors as recipients.
Sound familiar? Ultimately, from the visitor perspective, timeliness and personal relevance may be intrinsically linked. Perhaps the best way to create an experience that visitors perceive as timely is to ask them for their ideas. Global warming is nothing new, but it's hot right now--so people perceive related exhibits and programs as timely. Similarly, content that expresses contemporary visitors' perspectives and reactions can breathe "now" into "then."
One of the striking things about Web 2.0 is the way that the connections feel immediate, evolving, and energized--even when the content is the same recycled junk about relationships or politics. In many cases, it's not the content but the attitudes with which content is presented that marks whether you are riding the crest of a new wave or adding to the fossil record. What do you think of as "now" experiences? Where's the "now" in your museum? Where do you want to see it, and where doesn't it belong?
Next week, Chapter 5, Choosing Among the Options: an opinion about museum definitions. Hopefully a timely choice considering the recent discussion on the ASTC listserv about the differences (semantic? real?) between science museums and science centers.
This week, a look at Chapters 16 and 17 of Elaine Gurian's Civilizing the Museum. These essays are of a pair and represent one of my favorite things about Elaine's personal philosophy: support for contradiction, for ANDing what others might OR.
From 2006-2019, Museum 2.0 was authored by Nina Simon. Nina is the founder/CEO of 