There are two ways of looking at the future of museums. One is to take an emotional, theoretical frame of reference. As exemplified by Tom Hennes, this method bases decisions on gut feelings, on emotional reactions, on personal experience and observations within museums. It follows from the inside, out. The other method looks at the statistics provided by official studies to draw conclusions. Both the American Association of Museums (AAM) and the Smithsonian Institution recently launched extensive forecasts based on data about changing demographics, politics, economics, generational attitudes, and technology. This outside-in method looks to outside facts to make decisions. I look to three museums in New York, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Brooklyn Museum, and the Brooklyn Historical Society, to exemplify ways in which object-oriented, community-based, and personal connections can be made through an exhibit, following either the inside-out or outside-in path. Looking outside the buildings, online platforms provide another way to experience both the artifacts and the greater ideas of the museums as well as to solicit participation from visitors all over the world. Finally, a quick run-down of other local exhibits points to what I believe works well today and what could work better for museums tomorrow.
The inside-out approach to examining museums focuses on how the building itself can best serve a community. Hennes is both the principal at Thinc Design and the Exhibitions Editor of Curator magazine. He explains that “exhibits aren’t actually experiences–rather, they are platforms for experiences” (Hennes 2010 25). The space itself, the “placeness” of the museum building, can serve the community members by providing opportunities to see objects, other individuals, and themselves in a new and different light (Hennes 2008 354). For example, when the California Academy was building a new aquarium, it focused a part of its exhibit on the local coral reef and reached out to the surrounding Filipino community. The community, in turn, recognized the objects, the coral reef “as a point of interest and community pride” (353). When the community becomes involved in the actual process of creating the exhibit, or the exhibit’s content, the museum presents an opportunity for encounters between individuals. Whether the exhibit is about a sensitive subject, such as the memorial exhibit about apartheid at the Johannesburg Women’s Jail, or not, such as a group of scientists researching local waterlife, it “not only…present[s] that community in the exhibition but [also] give[s] that community a means to formulate a more coherent knowledge of who it is” (Hennes 2010 31). Finally, the exhibit can turn a visitor’s attention inward, revealing a better understanding–however subtle–about herself. Hennes wonders about “a way to inscribe…subjectiveness into the experience of the museum so that participants in the here-and-now of the exhibition can relate–through their own individual and collective subjectivities–to the there-and-then moment depicted” (24). I’m reminded of a quote from storyteller Garrison Keeler:
I find that if I leave out enough details in my stories, the listener will fill in the blanks with her own hometown, and if a Freeport girl exiled in Manhattan hears the story about Memorial Day, she’ll put it right smack there in that cemetery with those names on the stones, and she may think of her uncle Alcuin who went to France and didn’t return, and get out her hanky and blow. I’m not the reason she’s moved, he is. All I do is say the words: cornfield and Mother and algebra and Chevy pickup and cold beer and Sunday morning and rhubarb and loneliness, and other people put pictures to them (Keillor 26).
Again, the exhibit–a perfect place for story–provides the bridge between the event or object and ourselves. The exhibit is the opportunity and we, as visitors, bring our own meaning and significance to it. Stories “inspire an internal dialogue and thus ensure a real connection” (Bedford 29). In every story, (especially the story of our collective history?) there is something we can relate to, something we can grab hold of. That’s what makes them worth telling.
When these platforms can catch us off-guard and hook into something real, they can best promote object, communal, and personal reflection. The Museum of Jurassic Technology in Los Angeles (MJT), for example has a completely unique take on exhibits. A visitor is never sure what is real (a Hagop Sandaldjian’s microminiature sculpture of Pope John Paul II?) and what is not (a nineteenth century woman’s horn?). That “[shimmer] between wondering at (the marvels of nature) and wondering whether (any of this could possibly be true)…may constitute the most blessedly wonderful thing about being human:” the ability and desire to wonder (Weschler 60). That is, in forcing us to question what we’re looking at–and why we’re looking at it–MJT creates those very platforms Hennes calls for: ripe with opportunity to reflect on not only the bizarre object itself, but also our own reactions to and feelings for it. Exhibits that succeed in creating this kind of space for an encounter “de-centers the exhibition from a more-or-less rigid definition of ‘education’ toward the various processes of self-formation and meaning-making” (Hennes 2010 27). If an exhibit can have this kind of de-stabilizing, self-reflecting, and wonder-inducing affect on a visitor, she has been changed and could now change the world around her and “changing the world in some way…is the point of all this self-representation” (Hennes 2008 354). It is a tall order.
The other approach to analyzing museums and their future is to see how the museum can change in order to best accommodate the changing population around it. Although both the AAM and the Smithsonian ran extensive research and covered wide-ranging topics, most of the recommendations and predictions fell under a broad “museums will adjust to this demographic/economic/political/technological change and be an important part of the community” heading. I wonder how useful this kind of data collection is. That being said, both forecasts made significant observations. Overall, the population of the future will be older and more ethnically diverse. These changes require structural changes in signage and access, for one. No matter how engaging an encounter with an exhibit is, if the visitor cannot see the type or read the language, it won’t matter. A call for more experiential, less text-based exhibits is perhaps in order.
Both forecasts did acknowledge two major cultural changes that museums have an opportunity to adjust to and utilize: the growing ubiquity and mobile presence of technology and “shifting concepts of narrative” (AAM 18). The technology used today–and primarily by the youngest population–not only opens up a world of information to individuals, but also opens up the world to the thoughts, ideas, and creations of individuals. One study showed that “57% of teens ages 12-17 say they create content online” (Smithsonian 9). This fact opens up museums to a new source of material–their visitors–but challenges the existing role of curator:
The role of the expert that has existed for decades or centuries is quickly eroding and has been supplanted in many fields: sometimes by a network of peers,…the digital masses,…[or] a new set of collective experts (AAM 16).
Wherever the information comes from, visitors will expect to have access to it, to manipulate it, and to share it (Smithsonian 9). I wonder if the long bemoaned curatorial voice isn’t so much out of date or ignored as it is in need of a facelift. When the Costume Institute at the Metropolitan Museum of Art curated “Anglomania,” the audio tour was narrated by John Lydon of the Sex Pistols (12). While I find this choice verging on condescension, it is a step in the right direction. The Smithsonian goes one step further and recommends that “museums…be willing to place young people in positions of real authority to affect programs and outreach” (10). While the prospect of having authority over a museum’s programming or curation may entice young people to visit, I wonder how effective their choices will be for other visitors. That is, I may enjoy sharing my opinion, but when I visit a museum, do I want to hear Bobby or Susie’s version? Maybe. Or maybe I want a trusted, if amateur, opinion–much like a trusted blogger–or even a collection of opinions–like the comment section of a trusted blog. Museums also have the option to create an online experience: “43% of museum visits in 2006 were remote…[and] this percentage is likely to rise, and the content of remote visits to museums will continue to shift from basic information gathering to more complicated forms of engagement” (15). The second part of this observation is critical and I will address how museum websites need to adjust their content later.
The change in narration also poses an interesting option for museums. If storytelling is central to a successful museum, how can museums begin to incorporate narrative structures familiar to today’s younger audiences? The prevalence of games strikes me as the most significant change in narrative structure. According to the Smithsonian study, 81% of online teens identify as gamers (8). The AAM paper references one very immersive exhibit at the Conner Prairie Living History Museum where a visitor becomes the protagonist in a story of the Underground Railroad. This use of role-playing and first-person narrative resonates with a younger audience; what Garrison Keillor describes in storytelling still holds true: the visitor will most strongly connect to the story through her own memories, experiences, and feelings.
Evidence of both approaches to future museums–inside-out and outside-in–can be seen in exhibits and museums today. The Metropolitan Museum of Art is champion of the object-oriented exhibit. Based on a “blockbuster” model, the Met is keen to hype temporary exhibits and new acquisitions–you “go see” the Vermeer show as you would a movie on opening weekend. (I visited the Met last fall because I, too, had to see the Vermeer. When I asked one of the fantastic security guards–they are some of the best trained and most knowledgeable–where the exhibit was, his response was, “Well, did you see the Superheroes show?” Of course I had! I see all the blockbusters at the Met. Obvi.) The MJT is also successful as an object-based platform, but in an anti-blockbuster method.
The success of the Brooklyn Museum’s First Saturdays, as well as other museums’ late-night, free admission hours, speaks to the opportunity for community building and group reflection. There is a true sense of ownership when community members can enter and use the building for socializing, relaxing, and maybe looking at a painting or ancient artifact or two. In a very direct way, the placeness of the museum becomes significant as a platform for connection, even if the museum objects take a very far back backseat. Taking an opposite approach, the Museum of Chinese in America also provides opportunities for a communal experience. One of their methods is to create walking tours which allow for community members and museum visitors to come together not in the museum building, but in the greater community of Chinatown through the museum’s efforts and under the museum’s narrative. In this way, the museum opens its doors and grows its network to the rest of the city.
Also in Brooklyn, the Brooklyn Historical Society’s (BHS) year-long exhibit “In Our Own Words” provides a great example of a personal encounter. Photography, oral history, and artifacts come together to present very real stories of Vietnam veterans from Brooklyn. A visitor faces a photograph of a veteran and his or her story begins to play from an overhead ultrasonic speaker “like a whisper…The effect is remarkably intimate” (Wilson). Though the stories may not be as crafted as ones from Lake Wobegon, I suspect the deeply personal nature of the vets’ stories opens the same kinds of pathways for connection. What I found the most interesting and effective about this exhibit, however, was the way in which it extended throughout the museum and the museum’s programming. BHS hosts Oral History Open Houses twice a month to continue collecting stories from other Vietnam veterans. A lecture series centered around Iraqi war veterans in an effort to link generations of soldiers. The beautiful library that lives on the second floor of the BHS hints at the endless possibilities of future interdisciplinary exhibits.
Museums have made attempts further their community online, too. Most websites simply include an online gallery of the museums’ acquisitions. This choice is problematic: the auras of the objects don’t transmit over the web, the organization necessary to catalogue so many artifacts makes for complicated browsing, and the site is rarely looked at in a group and almost never with a stranger, eliminating any group connection. At the same time, these repositories can be helpful in research efforts. Some sites, like that of the Hammer Museum in Los Angeles, have begun to include their other programming online. Unfortunately, watching a lecture or Q&A video on the web falls victim to similar problems. I find it hard enough to sit through an hour of Q&A, even with someone as adorable as Michael Cerra. If there is no possibility of participation or live communication, as on a web site, I won’t sit through it. I would, however, be interested in watching selected clips or a summary montage. What works (because it is) live does not work online.
Other museums have broadened the content available online. I’ve often sent e-cards from the Museum of Modern Art’s (MoMA) collection. The Exploratorium in San Francisco recently made available interesting images from their archives for download. They’re intended to be used as wallpaper for one’s desktop, laptop, or iPhone, though just to have an image from them in my own collection could be worth the download. Other online communities have developed alongside official museum sites. The steve museum (written in lowercase), though which now appears to be defunct, was an effort to organize museums’ collections by allowing visitors to tag the museums’ works and artifacts. After an initial research cycle, the developers behind steve released an open-source tagging software that museums could install for their own collections. Versions at both the Metropolitan Museum and the Indianapolis Museum of Art were successfully implemented. Through steve’s software, community members could organize and search the collections in a way they felt to be the most conducive and constructive. Podcasting, both online and available for download as well as in the museum itself, has been a successful way of providing museum-based information to a greater audience and of including user-generated material within the museum walls.
After visiting many of the museums and cultural centers in New York City, I have a brief list of others I found successful, for one reason or another. At the Children’s Museum of Manhattan (CMM), an exhibit on Ancient Greece inspired curators to set out (fake) red-figured urns. Unlike the (real) urns at the Metropolitan Museum, these were touchable. While the aura of an authentic urn may be lost, the young visitor received an excellent introduction to the objects.
The Jewish Museum attempted to open up its exhibit on Mayer Kirshenblatt, who was not a professional painter but illustrated his memories from his childhood in Poland, to visitors by asking them to draw and describe their own childhood memories. A plaque explained that some cards would be chosen to be displayed and some might even end up on the website (if your memory was interesting enough). While I have some issues with the competitive overtone of this structure, it seemed like an effective way to solicit contributions; there was an entire wall of visitors’ drawings at the end of the exhibit. The choice of Kirshenblatt was interesting in that it revealed the museum’s attention to his stories and their historical significance–his paintings are charming but not artistically masterful. His paintings became historical objects.
At the Center for Jewish History, a collection of published material all pertaining to young Jews was displayed behind a glass case. While there was no fancy, interactive display, I was drawn to the interdisciplinary and cross-historical method of organization. It was fascinating to see different points of view, different issues addressed, and especially different time periods among the photos and essays. It was a unique way to link present and past artifacts from a particular population within a culture.
The Rubin Museum’s exhibit “What Is It?” also succeeded in presenting different facets of a particular theme. The floor was organized into different sections: What, Where, How, and Why. Various Eastern artifacts filled the floor, but a visitor could learn about a particular aspect depending on which section she was in. The How Is It? section, for example, had a painting on display as well as the materials used to create it.
Both the Central Park Zoo and the Frick Gallery made excellent use of their space. Walking just a few blocks into the park, the Zoo slowly emerges like a site-specific masterpiece. As a visitor, there are many points of entry: you can saunter by, you can rush past, you can walk, see the seals, and turn around to get your ticket. This variety of opportunities continues throughout the zoo, seen especially in the use of literature and poetry throughout the space. As stuffy as the Frick can be, the building is one of the most beautiful in the city and it maintains its character as a home. In some ways, the domestic setting makes the paintings more accessible–this is just Uncle Hank’s Vermeer that he hangs in his library–though in other ways there is a greater sense of authority, properness, and rules.
Finally, the American Natural History Museum (ANHM) has a space filled with great opportunity, though it not used to its full potential. While ANHM cannot go the route of the MJT, there is a ready platform for the museum to engage its visitors on a similarly meta level. That is, the Roosevelt Hall of North American Animals is an exhibit of historical exhibits. While one could sincerely enjoy the dioramas of grizzly bears, I believe there is a (missed) opportunity to find some of the de-stability, some of the shimmer between real and fake or past and present, within these halls.
What do people–all potential museum visitors–want and why do I want to know? As the AAM forecast notes, “nearly all [museum advocates] have a distinct memory of a specific, seminal museum experience” (AAM 6). I am no exception. I love museums. My background in performance has made me particularly attuned to audience interaction and storytelling. After teaching elementary school for two years, I recognize the capabilities of a museum and the power of object-based learning. Finally, the AAM note goes on to say the “seminal museum experience usually [occurs] between the ages of 5 and 9” and the effects of my mother, a studio art teacher, and our personal tours of the Met are everlasting (AAM 6). How can emotional experiences–or rather, opportunities for experiences–be made more available to more people? People instinctively desire that kind of encounter with objects and with information. How is that information best shared? If it’s online, then what can the online platform offer that the real life museum cannot? The internet is perfect for sharing bits of text, pieces of images, for sharing small amounts of media and links between ideas. At the same time, how can the placeness of the museum best serve a community by bringing it together, by helping it identify itself, and by opening avenues to greater communities. In the end, it is important to stick to the question, What do people want? as opposed to What can a museum invent? The inventions will come.
