In which I consider children in the museum

We spent a lot of time today in museology class discussing children's museums. These museums have been around for a hundred years, and are popping up all over the United States (and Canada). Children's museums are categorized by their high level of interactivity, and exhibits that appeal strictly to children. They are like science centres (which I would argue are pretty much children's museums in everything but name - a discovery I made a few summers ago at the Ontario Science Centre) where children are encouraged to run wild, while being stimulated by lights, computers, sound, buttons, cranks etc.

Unfortunately, our discussion relied on a strict dichotomy between children's museums and "traditional" museums, one for kids and the other strictly for adults. It seemed that these traditional "no-touch" museums could not possibly hold any interest for children. This seemed a bit silly to me, since I was an avid museum visitor from a young age and have never stepped foot inside a Children's Museum.

I feel that the vast majority of museums appeal to both adults and kids. They have to - these non-profit institutions could not survive without appealing to families, or anyone under the age of 40. We have discussed in different classes the level of education most museums must assume their audience holds. In the interest of having a wide audience, and not alienating those who may not have university degrees (for instance), museums generally write text panels anywhere from a grade 3-9 level. Besides, as a child in a museum I would have most likely been accompanied by an adult, who could explain a concept I didn't understand. Topics in history museums have always appealed to children, classics such as mummies, dinosaurs, and large machines.

We also discussed in class the nostalgic feeling people have for their local museums, and the sadness when renovations erase this public space people have grown to love. Surely many people began to feel a connection to their museums when they were children?

I definitely did. I have fond memories of visiting various Ottawa museums as a child with my sister and father. The Museum of Nature held dinosaurs, gems and stuffed animals ( I did enjoy these as a child...). The Aviation Museum had large planes - always fun. The Museum of Civilization was always impressive, with its collection of Native artifacts and models of early Canadian life. I visited the National Gallery quite a few times, but usually enjoyed the architecture more than the art. The Museum of Science and Tech was a favourite, though this falls more closely in the category of science centre, since I enjoyed looking at the chicks, climbing in the trains, seeing the model of the Titanic, walking through the Crazy Kitchen and watching the video of space ships blowing up.

I liked museum manager Mary Warner's article, "The Rumble of Little Feet" (Museum News, Sept/Oct 2006), because it argued that children could learn, and, gasp!, have fun in a traditional museum. As she says, children's brains have not changed to the extent we think in the past few generations: they are still curious about the world around them. They don't need overstimulation to get a valuable learning experience.

In which I look at built environments

I have to admit that landscapes were not one of the many historical subjects that have caught my attention before I read this week’s readings, Rebecca Conard’s “Spading Common Ground” and David Glassberg’s “Interpreting Landscapes”, both found in Public History and the Environment, ed. Martin V. Melosi and Philip V. Scarpino (2004). In reading these articles, however, I realized the wealth of information that someone, especially a public historian, can find in these built environments. Everything from shopping malls to tenement buildings, from battlefields to railroads, from Native reservations to national parks, they are all part of the built environment, and hold good historical information for those willing to dig deep.

Conard preaches for a collective approach to preservation, without which the public will lose out on a worthy historical narrative. Land managers, preservationists and environmentalists all have their own agendas, and have rarely collaborated together on large projects. Land managers are usually looking for what’s economically viable. Environmentalists want a return to the wild, while forgetting (or perhaps not seeing) that there is no ‘wilderness’ anymore – land that is seemingly wild and natural can also have been as altered by human activity as a field paved over to make a parking lot. Preservationists, on the other hand, don’t see the ‘wild’, natural landscape at all, but only the artistic and historical merit of old buildings. While there’s nothing wrong with this, the buildings need to be situated in their natural setting to further understand their context. Conard wants to banish this either/or thinking of natural vs built, and find the layers of meaning in the interaction between the two.

Glassberg discusses the importance of involving the citizens of the area in the environmental research. People see their own landscapes differently from outsiders, and even differently from their own neighbours. Their perception can depend on class, race, gender, family history, length of time in that area, almost anything can change their view. Good interpretation can help people feel part of a larger environment, as well as enhance their understanding of their landscape.

So many factors have changed the landscape over hundreds of years. Glassberg argues that economic forces were the first to change the landscape in the years after English settlement in North America. New crops were planted and grown depending on European market forces, while animals were forced into pens. By the 20th century technological changes had made the most impact. Not only did trains create new living areas outside of city centres, but streetcars also changed the face of cities with their linear divisions. Soon people were clamoring for a chance to go back into the wild, and national parks were created to appeal to those looking to go back to 'pure' nature. No matter that these parks were artificially created, with new plant life, animal control and modern amenities for travelers.

While an environmentalist would want to tear down these buildings and restore the pristine nature beneath the tourist façade, Conard would argue, as a public historian, that these buildings are an integral part of the historical narrative and can tell us much about building projects in the 1930s. Another problem can arise when discussing historical sites – much of the time, what makes the site special is spread over more than one era. Good interpretation can bring these eras to light - such as the example of Fort Ticonderoga, where a woman dressed as an American tourist from the 1830s discussed 18th century military history. Visitors aren't afraid of different historical layers, and interpreters should take full advantage of people's interest in history to explore new ways of unravelling an environment's history.

The somewhat scary thing about these created sites is that the vast majority of people don’t see these creation as anything else but ‘nature’. While it is difficult to look at a forest, or field, and know whether someone has chosen to plant certain foliage there, there are more obvious factors that visitors miss completely. I have to admit I was surprised when I read that the people in charge of Mount Vernon had forbidden any building across the river from the site. I have visited George Washington’s home a few times and had never once pondered why the beautiful view from the back of his home, looking over the Potomac, remained (most likely?) as it was in Washington's time (minus the sailboats, I assume). While this is a small example (perhaps going back to PEI’s national park featuring Anne’s green-gabled house would be more illustrative), it shows how visitors don’t think critically about landscapes, especially when visiting a park or historical site. Conard fears that people will lose the ability to see the difference between a ‘theme park’ and a real site, and thus will be willing to tear down the real site and replace it with the theme park. While this is an extreme fear, I think it’s an important point to ponder. As public historians, we need to figure out how to reach out to people and show them the rich history these changing landscapes hold.

Now that I am more aware of this aspect of public history, I find myself looking for history in the landscapes I know. The house I’m currently renting is a tiny bungalow just south of the UWO campus. Most of the houses in the neighbourhood are just as small, a sign of post-World War II building when people wanted detached housing and large backyards but building supplies were scarce. There are driveways at each house, showing the growing significance of owning a car. In comparison, my house in Ottawa, built in the 1970s, also features a large backyard but also a driveway with a double garage. Even these simple observations tell historians information about these decades. There is a wealth of information to explore in this area of public history, especially with the help of environmentalists, land managers, and the citizens themselves.

In which I look at a photograph

Another museum podcast has inspired an entry. It has brought up some issues we have discussed a few times in class, ideas which I think are important to review for museum studies and public history students. The first issue is everyone's favourite, money, and the second is the museum's effect on perceptions of objects of culture.

This podcast came from the Met, and it featured retired director Philippe de Montebello discussing a photograph, Onesipe Aguado's "Women Seen from the Back", with his curator of photography. The photograph was part of the Howard Gilman collection, a large acquisition made in 2005. Gilman had been collecting photographs from the first one hundred years of photography, and had amassed a large collection in over twenty years. He has been an executive of a paper company, and had his own private curator (!).

The Met had long ago expressed interest in his collection, since they were lacking in this area, and in fact the museum had worked closely with Gilman. Their acquisitions were made with the knowledge of what Gilman had, and he did the same. The museum had long hoped, "with fervent expectation", that Gilman would make a gift or bequest of the collection to the Met upon his death.

They were disappointed (though I think their sentiments were much stronger than what can be mentioned in a podcast) to find that in Gilman's will, there was no mention at all about donating the collection. It then took seven years, rallying support from the Trustees, to fund the major purchase. As Montebello explains in a sidenote, unfortunately, right when they were negotiating the price, there was a "reversal of fortune" for Gilman's paper company, meaning they were no longer in a position to just donate the collection. That doesn't change the fact that Gilman had not made any bequest in his will.

This illustrates many of the financial woes that museums face. After working so long with Gilman, it would have only seemed natural to donate the collection to the Met. Perhaps he believed the Met to be large, and rich enough, despite its being a not-for-profit cultural institution, to support the purchase? What if he had been working with a smaller museum, one that could never afford a large acquisition such as this? Would he still have refused to donate the collection? Economic downturn or no, the real losers in this situation are the public, the visitors to all museums. It's a clear reminder that museums depend on donations to survive, and even large institutions like the Met can have difficulty when prices are put on artifacts. Of course, buying and selling is a normal practice in the art world, and the Met is an art museum. But who sets the price?

Which brings us to the second point brought up in the podcast - the museum's ability to place value, both cultural and financial, on an object, by displaying it, or collecting it in the first place. All museum activities are interpretive: "merely by collecting or choosing to place an object on view, museum staffs were interpreting the object, attributing importance to it within the museum's subject matter, and anticipating the expectations of visitors viewing the artifact or artwork." [1].

This particular photo, "Woman Seen from the Back", had been relatively unknown until the Met placed the picture on the front of the catalogue for the first major exposition of the Gilman photographs. "Did we not create its celebrity?" Montebello asks. He points out a museum's incredible responsibility, and their effect on perceptions of works of art, especially large institutions like the Met. The curator believed it to be their mission to shine a spotlight on these lesser-known works, and not to rely solely on famous artists and their works. I believe the Met is right in their way of thinking. While it can't be forgotten that most of the public perceives museums, especially art museums, as upper-class, more temple than forum, the Met should be lauded in attempting to introduce something new to the public, a work that has power, and beauty, but may have been ignored because it didn't have a famous name attached to it.

Museums must also be careful, however, and must remember that "Museums make judgements and... ascribe meaning (and power) to the objects and the very institutions that contain them." [2]. It is their responsibility to showcase a wide range of artworks, from ancient times to 2009, from different artists with different messages. The authority of a museum is highly valuable, Montebello explains, since the photograph is now in the canon of photographic works. But it must not turn to authoritarianism. Museums must use this power to explore new messages, new artists, and make sure different viewpoints are represented.



[1] Edward P. Alexander and Mary Alexander. Museums in Motion: An Introduction to the History and Functions of Museums. 2nd ed. Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press, 2008, 257.

[2] Ibid, 258.

In which I do oral history

As part of our public history project this semester, each of us had to do one oral history interview with a past employee of a hospital here in London, Ontario.

Oral history interviews are a very popular way of doing public history, and they can be an enriching experience for both the historian and the person being interviewed. The historian can gain primary knowledge from someone whose story perhaps has not been told yet, or about how certain historical events are understood by different people. The interviewee may enjoy looking back on past experiences, in either a nostalgic or perhaps a therapeutic way.

Of course, as Alessandro Portelli explains in "Peculiarities of Oral History", the transcription of the interview implies manipulation of the information in some way or another. Historians need to be careful of limiting this problem as much as they can, since most interviews end up in written form after they are recorded. Even video documentaries are edited, spliced together, and usually erase the interviewer from the situation along with their original questions. In printed transcriptions, gestures may be forgotten, the speed at which the person spoke and the tone of their voice could be erased. Keeping the audio record, as well as keeping a detailed transcription with comments about important changes in the person's narrative, should be essential to be able to get the richest record possible.

I did my oral interview back at the very end of January. My interviewee was an elderly man, and I felt very honoured to be invited into his house for the sole purpose of learning about his experience working at the hospital. Even the original phone call to set up the meeting made me nervous; one classmate mentioned she thought her interviewee might just hang up the phone, not knowing who she was. I don't think my interviewee remembered being contacted previously, but he very readily invited me over without any qualms.

I admit at first it was a bit strange. His wife was watching The Young and the Restless in the room next to us, and I felt slightly as if I was intruding on their lives. But he was very friendly, if a bit baffled perhaps. He wasn't clear on the details of the project, and how exactly we would use this information. I think the fact that we were doing a group project, and building an exhibit rather than writing a thesis, was hard at first to understand - even fellow UWO students think it to be a bit strange.

I had a sheet of questions ready when I arrived, but I knew I might not get through them all. That's the fun part of doing interviews - your interviewee may mention a topic you hadn't thought about, or seem very passionate about another subject, and I would say it's only fair to let them tell you what they wish. My questions led the conversation, of course, since I was there as a historian to gather certain information. But he himself came up with a few statements I just had to follow up with more questions.

I think I was most worried about sounding too official. I hadn't thought of this before, but when I began asking questions, I felt very much like a journalist. When you're talking one on one with someone, you want to answer them in a comfortable manner, since they are talking to you in an unrehearsed way. Sometimes he would go on a long tangent, or tell an interesting anecdote, and it would feel strange to follow up with a perfectly formulated question out of my notebook. I didn't change many questions, but I found myself rewording them as I asked, or asking them in a few different ways, so they wouldn't sound so rehearsed. But then sometimes, they would come out sounding unprepared, as if I was unsure of what I should ask.

This was the first time I had interviewed anyone, especially someone who was so much older than myself, and whom I had had no previous contact. It was natural to be a bit nervous, but overall I think it went very well. He wasn't guarded, he was happy to answer my questions and seemed interested, if not excited, to tell me about his experiences.

The difficult choice now is deciding how to use all this information my classmates and I have collected. I would love to put a full transcript up on our website, but realistically thinking, not many visitors will voluntarily read through 10+ pages of an interview, and especially not 15 of them. Pulling out interesting quotes seems like a better idea, but then again people don't generally speak in quick, catchy quotes, especially people looking back on their lives, and putting their memories into words, perhaps for the first time. My interviewee often spent five minutes answering one question, and I would feel as if I was doing him a disservice by cutting out all but little bits. One classmate suggested choosing questions from our class' list, and putting up a few responses. This could also be problematic, however, because of the nature of interviews. We were interviewing people in different positions, and so our questions were tailored to their experience. Maybe we didn't get to ask all of our questions, because the conversation might have taken a more interesting turn. I know personally I didn't make it through all my questions in the hour I was doing my interview. I have a feeling each interview may be quite different, and it will take some time to decide how to represent this valuable information in our exhibit.

I think oral history interviews are a great way to introduce students to a different way of doing history. Most history undergraduates use books, articles, and other print sources for their research. Many graduate students probably don't use interviews either, even if they are looking into 20th century history. But talking one on one with someone, hearing firsthand their experiences, is a valuable tool for historians, especially those looking to show audiences multiple viewpoints, as Jo Blatti points out in "Public History and Oral History". It can also be a personally enriching experience for the historian, and I hope as well for my interviewee.

In which I write for the public

As other UWO public history blogs have mentioned, we recently completed an exercise of writing a newspaper-type article (an op-ed) on a historical topic. It had to be a specific length (no more than 400 words), have a snappy opener and closer, catch people's interest, and answer everyone's favourite question about history: "So what?" How did this topic relate to life today?

At first, I got a bit worried. I never read the newspaper, nor even op-eds online, so I wasn't sure how to proceed, what style or tone was expected, what kind of subjects to discuss. I was also not a student of modern (19-20th century) history, nor North American history, and could hardly imagine relating a topic from the early modern period to the present day. We also had a tight deadline - just under two days - which left me with little time to research a new topic. I began to think of anniversaries, as these are many exhibit planners, writer, archivists, etc favourite way of bringing the past to life. I remembered my earlier blog post about Henry VIII and the 500th anniversary of his ascension to the throne. Sounded good - but how to relate it to the present day?

I began to think of the 'thesis' of the article, the message I wanted to get across - that the Henry VIII constantly represented in pop culture is an older, more angry Henry. In 1509 Henry was a very young, athletic, handsome man, educated, artistically talented, and the country was filled with hope. The image of Obama popped into my head and the idea of a very strange comparison between the two came to mind.

Here is the article:

He killed his wives, he created his own Church, and he was a big fat slob. Say the name Henry VIII to anyone and those will be the first thoughts to come to their minds. A lot can change in a thirty-eight-year reign, however, and many people forget that when Henry came to power, he was only two months shy of his eighteenth birthday and beloved by his subjects. He was young, charismatic, and the first non-disputed king in almost one hundred years.
2009 marks the 500th anniversary of Henry’s accession to the throne, and England is throwing one hell of a party for their most memorable and controversial king. New exhibits, ghost tours and a jousting tournament are in the works. I cannot think of a historical figure that has captured the public’s attention more so than this larger-than-life king. His immense popularity in pop culture is reflected in the Showtime series The Tudors, starring a brooding, womanizing Jonathan Rhys Meyers as Henry, as well as in last year’s film The Other Boleyn Girl, though it’s popularity may have been due to featuring two young, popular actresses who spent two hours purring “I love you, sister” into each other’s ears while their breasts heaved inside their corsets.
While the sixteenth century may feel like the dark ages to most, there is much about the excitement and hope surrounding Henry’s accession we can understand, even today. Our American neighbours’ new president came to power with similar fanfare and recognition that a new era was about to start. Like Obama, with his degrees from Columbia and Harvard Law, Henry was bright and educated by the best tutors in England. Like Bush, Henry’s predecessor, his father Henry VII, was seen as old, stodgy, unpopular and conservative, and international communities breathed a sigh of relief over both new regime changes. At eighteen, Henry was in the best shape of his life, and enjoyed dancing, hunting, and jousting. For Christmas this year, many people got to enjoy the ubiquitous pictures of a topless Obama frolicking on a Hawaiian beach. Both men definitely caught the public’s attention.
It seems there’s something about Henry VIII that keeps us coming back for more. Perhaps it’s our infatuation with the rich and powerful. Perhaps it’s our innate respect and excitement for someone who ushers in a period of change. Or perhaps everyone just likes a good sex scandal.

~~~

One of the hardest challenges was getting the word count down to 400. Historians like to use large words, such as subject jargon, and they don't like to edit. As Professor Vance quipped, "Why use ten words when you can use twenty?" This is fine for an academic audience, but a short newspaper article, being read by those without historical backgrounds meant that this article needed to be short, easy to understand, and interesting.

I decided to go out on a limb with this piece, and I don't regret the attempt. I think it worked out pretty well in the end. While some did comment that the Obama section was a bit surprising, I still agree with my original sentiment - that by comparing the hope that Obama brought with him to the presidency, people would better understand an event that happened 500 years ago. Perhaps a story like this would peak someone's interest, and instead of renting The Tudors they might visit a library to learn more. Isn't that what public history is all about?

In which I think of new forms of exhibits

This week in museology we've been reading about exhibits - who is listening and looking (students? the upper class? the 'public'?), who is talking (curators? designers? educators?), the problems with interpretation, the concerns with 'blockbusters', the ethical questions that need to be thought through. "Museums are not museums without exhibitions", writes Kathleen McLean, and they are "the soul of a museum experience". I thought I would share with you, readers, a very interesting exhibit I saw recently: the Met's The Philippe de Montebello Years: Curators Celebrate Three Decades of Acquisitions.

This was a very strange exhibit for me, especially as a public history student. Traditionally exhibits are thought of as visually appealing, 3-D versions of an academic paper, in the way that there is a thesis, and objects are used to illustrate this idea. We are used to exhibits talking about one historical subject, perhaps two; but this exhibit was very different.

Philippe de Montebello was the director of the Met until his recent retirement. His 30+ year influence, as well as the respect given to him by his colleagues, is obvious. The show really is a celebration of his time at the museum, and it was well-advertised; the Met's Special Exhibition podcast had been doing shows about the objects featured in the exhibit for months.

This exhibit was not on one historical topic, nor did it centre on one historical era or country, and it didn't talk about a certain art movement. Th exhibit featured the Met's most important acquisitions over the past thirty years, most important being defined in this case as the most transformative to its collections. As the exhibit website describes, it is a celebration of the diversity of the museum's collection. Three hundred objects were placed in the gallery's largest exhibition space, and in it was created "an explosive kaleidoscope of works in various materials representing artistic traditions that range across the globe and across time".

The show was organized in a completely different way than a usual art gallery. The objects were organized solely by acquisition date, meaning that a visitor moved from an 18th century French dress, to a 4th century BC Egyptian figure, to a 14th century Burgundian deck of cards, to a 5th century Indian Buddha, to a Sienese medieval painting, to a picture of Marilyn Monroe. The artifacts spanned thousands of years, hundreds of countries (even Easter Island), and included everything from famous painters (Rembrandt, Picasso, van Gogh) to little-known 19th century photography, from clothing to quilts, from pistols to armour.

Walking through the exhibit was slightly overwhelming. I'd never seen an exhibit that literally centred around acquisitions and ignored any sort of thematic organization. But I, as well as my father who was with me, both agreed it was a new and wonderful way to see the objects. There was no attempt to relate the objects to one another; the accompanying text panels spoke only of the individual artifact. The exhibit let the visitors make their own connections between the objects, between styles, between countries, between eras. It also did a great job at illustrating the sheer size of a world-class art museum like the Met, whose collections mandate must be very long indeed.

While it might seem counterintuitive for curators to put together a large exhibit without a historical (or artistic) theme and which had no prescribed learned message for visitors, this sort of exhibit still worked. It let visitors see objects that had never been displayed together in the same room, allowing for new meanings to come out of the objects. It broke traditional museum rules and moved some of the interpretation from the curators to the visitors. Overall it celebrated the efforts of a single man, who helped the Met become one of the most important art museums in the world.

In which I think back to historical novels

I am blatantly stealing Jenna's idea, so I hope she doesn't mind!

I too became interested in history through more popular means than my 'Integrated Studies' classes of grades seven and eight (and yes, for some reason geography and history were lumped together under that unappealing name). Something about fur-traders and the plaines d'Abraham just didn't peak my interest. But I read many historical novels for 'tweens' - or whatever we were called back then - and I thought I would share some of my favourites.



Karleen Bradford, The Nine Days Queen

I loved this book when I read it. It got me completely interested in Henry VIII and his wives. The book revolves around the short life of Jane Grey, whose mother was first cousin to Henry. When Henry's son, King Edward VI dies, a Protestant faction puts her unwillingly on the throne for nine days, until she is unceremoniously thrown in the Tower of London by the true queen, Mary I. Later she is beheaded. The fact that it was a true story made it such an exciting book, and it had everything: royalty, Renaissance England, murder, sex scandals. Young readers will be completely engrossed by the fact that Jane is only a few years older than them.


The Diary of Anne Frank

Though not a novel, this is a must-read for anyone young person, even if they're not interested in history. It is an incredibly powerful book and will give any young person a real glimpse into the horrors of WWII (I doubt I'm spoiling anything when I say that everyone except her father dies in concentration camps). Anne is a great narrator, however, sharing every personal detail of her life hiding from the Nazis - how she hates her parents, when she got her period, even how she has a crush on the boy they live with. Incredibly poignant, and a great introduction for kids interested in learning about WWII.


Ruth Park, Playing Beatie Bow

I read this book in school, and good thing I did. It really is one of my favourite children's books of all time. I was slightly obsessed with time travel books, and this book is a great example of the genre done well. Unhappy Abigail is intrigued by a game played by some kids in the park called Beatie Bow, and her search (as well as a piece of Victorian lace she has just bought) leads her to travel back to 19th century Sydney. I loved time travel books because it let the reader see very clearly the differences in past and modern life, and the modern narrator's comments were always the same as my own. It let you imagine what you, the reader, would do in the same situation. Abigail discovers new friends, a new life, grows up a bit and learns to appreciate what she has. Sounds simple, but it works.


Kit Pearson, The Daring Game

Okay, so this one isn't too historical, though it is set in the 1960s. I just had to put a Kit Pearson book on this list because she's such a great children's writer, and I loved all her books. This is her first one, and it's a great story about a girl who moves to a boarding school, and gets into some fun/trouble with a game played by her roommates. Pearson also wrote a fabulous time travel book called A Handful of Time, where an unhappy girl accidentally goes back in time to when her mother was young while she's at a family cottage. She's well-known for her Guests of War trilogy about English children who come to Canada to escape the war.

History will always be in the popular imagination, and as long as authors and directors find new ways of bringing it to life, kids will gain an interest in history that might even translate to a life-long hobby or even further study. I find it hard to believe that kids can't get excited about history when it is so prevalent in novels, movies, even video games. It's true that history classes in school can be dry and unimpressive, but hopefully kids can discover the wealth of popular history that is out there, like I, and most likely many of my history grad colleagues, did.

In which I consider the musee imaginaire

I was listening to one of my favourite podcasts, from the National Gallery (UK), when an interesting concept was discussed, that of Andre Malraux's musee imaginaire.

Sophie Howeth, director of the English School of Life, describes the idea as a "museum without walls". Malraux's original idea had to do with the ever increasing number of art reproductions available in the 20th (and now 21st) centuries, and art's subsequent ability to reach out beyond hallowed halls to influence everyone and everyday life. The National Gallery used this idea to answer the age-old question: how is culture (Shakespeare, Caravaggio, Stravinsky) revelant to us now? Or, as asked by high school students everywhere: What's the point?

Sophie Howeth's answer, luckily for us public historians, is a resounding affirmation of the importance of culture, even in our daily lives. She explains that while visiting a gallery, for instance, we aren't blank slates. Our families, our jobs, whatever happened in our day - we are still carrying these things around with us. When we leave the gallery, we want to take a piece of it, a part of that sanctuary, back with us.

We all have a musee imaginaire in our heads, or we bring it to life with scrapbooks, or postcards on the fridge, or even blogs. It is our way of collecting those pieces of art, or music, or writing, that really inspire us, mean something to us, and speak to us on a different level. Whether we realize it or not, we all have this going on in our heads - we've all got our own museum without walls.

So how do we engage with this personal cultural collection? In the same way we usually feel a personal connection with a piece of art - when it is working on answering the same questions we are asking. Howeth explains how we turn to art when we feel the need to know someone else is battling with the same important, enduring questions we are - art can help solve the universal feeling of not being alone. Artists put into words, music, paint strokes, whatever, the different emotions we feel.

I felt this podcast was quite timely, as one of the big museum news stories in the past few weeks was the closing of the Rose Art Gallery at Brandeis University in Massachusetts. The university trustees' decision to sell the collection to pay for school administrative costs had art museum directors raising their voices in anger. Art collections shouldn't be seen as expendable income, they should be held in the public trust for educative purposes, not sold in our failing economy to pay for the university's deficit. Not to mention that selling collections goes against the code of ethics of most museum organizations unless the proper deaccessioning rules are followed and the money is put back into the collection.

So this question, of the relevance and societal importance of culture, is increasingly being asked and pondered over, especially in our current economic climate. I have a feeling that Brandeis university is not the only institution battling financial problems, and starting to see their art or artifact collections as assets, instead of a rich cultural collection with the ability to teach and inspire. Unfortunately culture, heritage and the arts is often forgotten in budgets, or the first to be cut out of them.

Maybe we should all sit back and think about our own musee imaginaires, stroll through an art gallery, pick up that classic book we've always meant to read, or go walk through a new museum, and remember the role culture can play in our personal lives.

Smithsonian 2.0

It's safe to say the internet has been around for awhile. It seems almost cliche to talk about how revolutionary this tool has been, how it has changed lives, the world. I have had an internet connection in my home(s) for the past 13 years. There are teenagers who probably don't legitimately remember a time without e-mail, MSN Messenger and illegal downloading. MySpace is old news, Facebook is getting tired, the New York Times is almost bankrupt. Internet behaviour has already changed - welcome to Web 2.0. Or are we onto something new already? Either way, the internet is hardly new, and our world has been adapting for quite some time.

So why did I feel like I had jumped back in time while reading the Washington Post's Jan 26th article, Smithsonian Clicks-n-Drags Itself Forward? Great quotes like Smithsonian Secretary G. Wayne Clough's "With digitization and with the Web, we can see it all. We can see it all!" almost made me laugh out loud. Maybe museums do deserve the stodgy, old, static reputation they have earned over the years. It's almost sad that it took the revered institution this long to realize the power the web can have. The Smithsonian holds 137 million artifacts (and yes, you read that correctly). As with most museums, only about 1 % are on display, and that's only in the D.C, area. Fortunately, they are now realizing the great role the internet can play in reaching a wide audience, of all classes, in all cities.

The good news is that because it's the Smithsonian, they can afford to get the best. At a recent VIP weekend, Wired's Chris Anderson (he of the Long Tail) gave a talk - where he proclaimed that curators needed to "get over themselves." He argues that the Web has made them obsolete. He argues that the best curators are the people out in the Web who are passionate about their specialized hobbies. If the Smithsonian put their objects on the web, they could put out a call to attract these people - a theory that is very similar to Jeff Howe's Crowdsourcing. "There aren't enough of you", he argues, and I can only imagine the reaction among the curators in the audience.

The main message was that the Smithsonian had to join the 21st century, as much as this task may boggle the mind. I can't even imagine the day when the world's largest museum complex will get even one million objects digitized and available to the public. But they have reached the first step - the recognition of the internet's power as a public resource - and hopefully they'll be well on their way to keeping museums relevant into the next century.

In which I look at a museum blog

Eric Espig, one of the creators of F Blog, had sent out an e-mail on a Museum listserv asking for comments on his work. He and his partner, both museum studies graduates, were organizing an exhibit called Cold War Berlin: Life at the Breaking Point for the Diefenbunker in Ottawa, to open May 2009. And they are documenting the entire installation.

The first question is, why? Why go to all the trouble to create a blog and post about the everyday issues that come up while installing a museum exhibit? My first thought would be that they were first and foremost posting this information for themselves, as a keepsake of a large project they had put months of work into - maybe their first large self-designed exhibit. Reading through the posts, however, makes it clear that this blog contains great advice on the practicalities of physically transforming a space into an historical exhibit. It shows the background work that most visitors don't even think about. It shows that those wanting to work in museums must have a lot of extra knowledge, and special skills, that they may not have thought about before.

Did you know that most masking tape will only stay sticky for 7-8 days? Or that you should use a low V.O.C. acrylic paint in a museum environment? These two bloggers let the public know the best tips to create a maquette, how to write a curatorial essay, and where to get cheap exhibit cases (and what tools you'll need to disassemble them). They show how they created their title panel in Photoshop, how they changed their design for maximum visitor flow and how they created stencils for the walls.

Blogs like this can showcase one's skill and even passion in creating something for the public. Comments from blog visitors could add different ideas and advice to the new museum worker. And of course, all publicity is good publicity. The power of the internet has proven itself once again, and thankfully young museum fanatics are taking full advantage.

In which I share some news

An interesting article was brought to my attention through a Dan Cohen blog post the other day, though the story itself is from December 2008.

It is easy to forget that not every country, or government at least, is thrilled when new historical projects are dreamt up. In Russia, a human rights group called Memorial had been creating a digital repository concerning Stalin's reign of Terror. They had been collecting photographs of gulags, oral histories, artifacts and had been planning a 'Virtual Museum of the Gulag'. Unfortunately, masked men raided their office in broad daylight and stole over 20 years worth of work.

Memorial had been attempting to collect information from many small Russian museums, almost 300 of them, and wanted to help disseminate their important historical message in a more national way. No wonder scholars were outraged when they heard that the government was trying to stop their research.

Stalin is still a very controversial topic on Russia, and this story really raises awareness of how powerful even a virtual museum, or any type of information repository, can be seen as messengers of history. Museums are the key to public memory, and it's almost unbelievable that such a direct action would be taken to stop Memorial's work with Russia's non-elite population.

Read the original story from the Times UK.

In which I consider audiences

I was in Washington, D.C. for part of my Christmas vacation and, as usual, visits to the Smithsonian museums were our chosen activity. Washington excels at featuring interesting, important (and FREE!) museums set in beautiful, public spaces - I would suggest a visit to anyone interested. My father and I first visited the National Portrait Gallery, which we hadn't visited before. One large permanent exhibit they have is America's Presidents, and as we wandered, the text panel for a portrait of George Washington caught my eye:

"As the general who led us to victory in the American Revolution and as our first president, George Washington was often painted and sculpted. Everyone, it seemed, wanted the hero's portrait. But it is this portrait that stands for all time as the image that best represents what Washington meant to us when we were a new nation and continues to mean to us in the twenty-first century... This was the man who told us what this new kind of leader-an elected president-could be and whose maturity and resolve gave us confidence in our future. " [from the NPG website] There was also extensive use of 'we' - "We can see.." "We can say.." "We are lucky..."

I pointed this out to my father, who retorted, "Well, what do you expect? It's the US. Of course they're self-centred."

But it began to bug me. I couldn't remember being in a museum or gallery where the text panel used such familiar language, where it assumed that the person reading it would not only be American but would believe in such glowing praise of one historical figure - and in such poetic language! It really got me thinking - should text panels contain an omniscient, third person narrative or speak to an intended audience? How does a visitor, or tourist, relate then to the historical information when it is presented so one-dimensionally? Who decides who this intended audience should be?

A city like Washington, D.C. is visited by many non-American tourists - such as myself - and despite the fact I was in a National Gallery in the national capital, I was still surprised that the writers would focus solely on a receptive, national audience. I am not naive enough to believe that a text panel can ever be truly opinion-free - there is historical interpretation at all levels - but should it speak so personally, instead of trying to give facts? The website claims that "this exhibition lies at the heart of the Portrait Gallery’s mission to tell the American story through the individuals who have shaped it." But tell the story to whom?

In contrast, we also visited the National Museum of the American Indian, whose website states its goals : "To protect and foster their cultures by reaffirming traditions and beliefs, encouraging contemporary artistic expression, and empowering the Indian voice." The intended audience, for the most part, seemed to be non-Native people. Being a large, national institution situated in downtown Washington, this doesn't seem surprising. Even the website statement says "their cultures", showing that many of the people (not all, of course) behind the project were non-Native. Is this just because Native populations are in the minority? In that case, is the Portrait Gallery correct in writing with a majority audience in mind? What about the rest of us?

Do different museums have different audiences? To me, museums seem like one of the largest tourist draws in large cities, so narrowing to an intended audience seems detrimental. Even if a certain gallery has a narrow focus, such as American Presidents, is it right to lose the third-person, impersonal narrative that academic historians thrive on? Does it lose credibility? Or is it just a product of public history, trying to personally and emotionally interact with visitors and perhaps pluck a heartstring or two? But isn't part of public history gaining the interest of a wide audience, no matter the subject?

I am aware that many museums do have in mind the goal of educating a certain audience, for example when Native populations use the money gained from casinos on their land to finance an educational museum, mostly for their own people. Various national museums come to mind as well, which is why I was not surprised the National Portrait Gallery would be so glowing in their text panels re: important American figures. I believe, however, that the best way to portray their historical information would be in a less personal manner so as to include all possible audiences. Museums are there to educate as many as possible, not to make people feel excluded because they are not part of that group, nation, etc. I feel non-Americans looking for a more in-depth, more scholarly, and less personal history will be disappointed.