Sara Bremen | work and research

1. The AMNH has a unique relationship with the site it’s on.  Because of the accessibility to the park surrounding the building, the building seems like an extension of the park.  It’s almost like a giant clubhouse in the middle of the park.

2. Inside the AMNH, it continues to feel like a park.  The volume level and speed of the (mostly) children inside were same as those kids outside.  At one point, in the dinosaur hall, I began to imagine the museum turned inside out.  Could there be a “real” museum outside?  Does it become something else?  Public art, maybe?  And then where would they all go when it rains?

I had been forewarned about the “bigness” of the AMNH.  I had gone once or twice as a little girl, but don’t remember much.  When I went this time, however, I was not ready for the bigness.  It took us forever to find the right ticket line, I had no idea where I was, and there weren’t any maps in English.  Overwhelmed.  And, like a big park, people were everywhere.  To the museum’s credit, I never felt crowded or pushed, there were just a lot of people (and this was a sunny weekend).  In addition to bodies, there were words everywhere.  Every little thing seemed to have paragraphs to read.  I skimmed and caught one or two words here or there.

The technology, for the most part, like the text, was both overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time.  Maybe that combination is what creates Confusion.  One touch screen in particular, had no explanation of what it was showing.  I knew to touch different parts of the screen and that the information reflected had something to do with atmospheric disintegration, but I couldn’t look at so many different colors for long.  Later, I observed two young boys (9 or 10?) poking at it.  They actually seemed to be understanding it more, or at least were more interested.

Some of the technology I overlooked almost by accident.  A projection globe (in the same geological exhibit) had a soothing voice-over connected to it; there were even ampitheater-like seats.  I was reminded of the chapter on The Social Context: Groups in the Museum and its description of modeling.  It wasn’t until I saw two women, sitting down, and listening to the voice-over while watching the globe that I really put everything together.  Suddenly, I was much more interested in the globe and its voice.

As the chapter also referenced, I overheard a lot of the kind of personal connections people make to what they are seeing.  Back at the dinosaurs, one little boy declared “This is the daddy and that’s the baby” of the stegesauruses.  I also saw a family interacting with another screen, also in the dino hall.  The daughter had discovered it and called everyone else over.  They all stayed at the screen long enough to get at least a sense of what it was trying to communicate.

As much as I loved the dinosaur hall, there seemed to be some basic problems in terms of the displays.  First of all, the skeletons themselves are just awesome.  Awesome!  I could look at the all day.  They’re HUGE and they’re RIGHT THERE and they’re SO AWESOME.  Despite all the potentially fragile bones and fossils, kids ran around as much here as in the solar system exhibit.  There were ramps and railings constantly being pulled on and tugged at.  People weren’t constantly yelling, but every now and then there would be a shout across the space, either to get someone’s attention or just to say hi.

Again, though some of the descriptions were just downright confusing.  I guess I understand why there’s a picture of pointe shoes (to show that this dinosaur walked on his toes?).  But it’s weird and incongruous and a little silly.

I was excited to come across a part of the exhibit I could touch.  (I wanted so much to just reach up and pet the brontosaurus tail).  But I realized quickly that the height of the touchable footprint makes it impossible for kids to see it on their own and only accessible to kids being picked up (bad grandmas or class trips).

Before we made it to the dinosaur hall, Tom and I walked through the Roosevelt Hall of North American animals.

I loved this hall.  I don’t know how much of me sincerely loved it and how much of me loved it in a Jurassic Technology way.  I know that the animals themselves were really cool to look at.  Like the dinos, you could get really close.  This hall reminded me of a zoo–there is a somewhat innate interest in animals and when you can get this close–even though they’re not moving–it’s satisfies a certain curiosity.  The painted backdrops were stunning and added a quality to the dioramas I couldn’t quite explain.

In addition, the signs and the text and the way in which the hall was very dimly lit added a musty quality, as if we were walking through an attic from the past.  Every element in the hall, the wood and the fading signs, made us feel as if we had been transported to the nineteenth century.  It was like we were seeing the Natural History of the Natural History Museum.

In terms of the general museum things, AMNH had bathrooms everywhere and lots of benches.  There were also shops everywhere, cleverly selling merchandise from whatever exhibit was closest.  We did pass by one “special exhibit.”  I strangely had no desire to go in.  Maybe the neon signs and velvet ropes appeal to a younger generation, but it looked dark inside, and like I wouldn’t be able to leave easily.  We passed Extreme Mammals.

Tom grew up on the upper west side.  Throughout our (admittedly brief) tour, I casually interviewed him about his experiences then and now.  He said he remembers coming to the museum a couple of times, all with school trips.  He remembered the buildings as much as anything.  He remembered the dinos and dodos, too, but mostly the stairs.  He also remembered where everything was.  I kept complaining about how lost I felt and he would answer, don’t worry, the Asian people are this way.  At one point he said, it’s a museum that doesn’t really change anything.  It was a classic contradiction of wanting new things but loving how everything’s the same.

The AMNH really seems like the perfect place for a parent/nannie and one or two younger than 9 kids on a rainy day.  Even in one visit, I got the impression that there were things I wanted to see over and over again–like the dinosaurs–and some things that once will do–like the rocks.  There are enough of those “single visits,” though, to last more than a few rainy afternoons.  The special exhibits give you a reason to make it a special event, too.  The somewhat rowdy atmosphere seems to match the attention spans of both adults and kids.  While everyone is still calm and interest, there are signs to look at and screens to touch together.  Then, once everyone gets a little tired, parents/nannie don’t need to worry about kids running around a little bit–it’s still like a giant park.

I wouldn’t think, though, that grandma or grandpa or another senior citizen, would be as comfortable.  While there are benches often throughout the halls, there is still a lot of walking.  The elevators are out of the way compared to the stairs.  And, as fun as it is for the kids to run up and down the ramps and stairs in the dinosaur hall, granddad may not be able to keep up very well.

I did notice many non-English speakers.  Like at a zoo, the appeal of animals is somewhat universal.  While (all) the text is in English, they had plenty of maps and brochures in other languages.  The displays in general are very visual (is that the reason behind the pointe shoes?).  I think the relatively high volume level is also nice for non-English speakers because everyone is talking and there’s no need to hide or mask talking.  Though I didn’t walk through all the cultural halls, Tom and I did make our way through Asia and peeked into evolution of man.  The museum is definitely western-centric.  I wonder what foreign tourists or non-English speakers think about those choices.  What does it mean that there are no mannequins of “Europeans” behind glass?  What does it mean for “natives” that there are “others” walking around in the museum, right next to us?