Discussing the decolonisation of museums in Portugal

Photo: Maria Vlachou

I love museums. I love them for what they are; I love them for what they are not, but can be; I love them for their potential. I especially love them because of the work developed by a number of colleagues around the world so that museums may adapt to new realities, remain or become relevant for people, and even reinvent themselves. I particularly love them lately because of the controversies they cause or face, pushing our thinking and practice forward.

Cultural appropriation: less gatekeepers, more critical thinkers

"La Japonaise" by Claude Monet, Museum of Fine Arts Boston (image taken from http://japaneseamericaninboston.blogspot.com)

For Nandia

My first contact with the concept of cultural appropriation happened in July 2015 because of “Kimono Wednesdays” at the Museum of Fine Arts Boston (MFA). On the occasion of the display of Claude Monet’s “La Japonaise” (a painting of the artist’s wife, surrounded by fans, wearing a blond wig and a bright red kimono), visitors were invited to put on a kimono similar to the one shown on the painting and share their photos on social media. According to the museum, this was a way of engaging with the painting. For some people, though, the activity lacked any context regarding the garment, becoming just “fun”; others criticized it for reinforcing stereotypes and exoticizing Asian Americans; for others, it was blatant racism; (read Seph Rodney’s article). 

“Lindonéia, the suburb’s Gioconda”: my first visit to the Pinacoteca of São Paulo

"Lindonéia, the suburb's Gioconda", Rubens Gerchman, Pinacoteca de São Paulo  (Photo: Maria Vlachou)

“Na frente do espelho
Sem que ninguém a visse
Miss
Linda,feia
Lindonéia desaparecida
Despedaçados, atropelados
Cachorros mortos nas ruas
Policiais vigiando
O sol batendo nas frutas
Sangrando
Ai, meu amor
A solidão vai me matar de dor (...)”

Caetano Veloso, “Lindonéia”

One thing I noticed right from my first visits to the museums of São Paulo (Brazil) was that long introductory texts are greatly appreciated. The exhibition "Brazilian Vanguard of the 1960s – the Roger Wright Collection", at the Pinacoteca of São Paulo, was no exception.

Intellectual access and not an easy way out

All too often, the promotion of intellectual access by some in the cultural sector is discarded as ‘dumbing down’. Recently, I read the following in Rob Riemen’s “The eternal return of fascism”:

“In the culture of this society [the mass-society; our contemporary society] there is an ongoing trend towards the lesser, the lowest level, because this is where one finds most things people can share. This is exactly why university education indicators are levelled down, so that ‘everyone’ can study and obtain a degree. And the same will apply to the arts, because they will have to be accessible to all, not only in what concerns tuition fees, but also at the level of comprehension. After all, the fiercest indignation is directed towards what is difficult. Because what is not understood immediately by everyone is difficult, that is ‘elitist’ and therefore undemocratic.” (my translation from Greek)

Something is happening in Evora

The banner hanging on the façade of the Forum Eugénio de Almeida (FEA) in Évora made me smile ... "What museum do you dream of?" is a kind of promise or invitation to reflect and to dialogue.

It looks like that's just what the FEA and curator Filipa Oliveira seek: "(...) the beginning of a new path and the first moment of a new relationship between the FEA, the city of Évora and Portugal; (...) a programmatic reflection around the dilemma of how to articulate the singularity and specificity of its local context with the challenges posed by international contemporary artistic creation and the currents of thought associated to it."

One good idea, two responses and some lessons

It’s 125 years since Vincent Van Gogh’s death. Starting May 3 and for 125 days, the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam will be answering 125 questions regarding the painter, his life and his work. The museum invites anyone interested to ask a question to send it through their website and a page especifically created to present the results of this Q&A (watch the promotional video and visit the webpage).

Museum Next starts here

Christian Lachel, BRC Imagination Arts (Photo: Maria Vlachou)

It seems to me that the three words that were mostly heard at the 2015 MuseumNext conference were: emotion, stories, engagement. Words that clearly mark the change that has been taking place in museum attitude, aiming to establish, with the help of their collections, a better, more relevant and meaningful relationship with people - more people, different people, common people.

A presentation that was wholly dedicated to this subject was “Emotionalizing the Museum”, by Christian Lachel of BRC Imagination Arts. “Does the experience transform your guests and compel them to share it with others?”, Christian asked. And this is probably the right question to ask. Although the transformation we all so much desire to make happen might take time to be consciously acknowledged by individuals (if it is acknowledged at all), the compelling wish to share with others is a more immediate indicator of the occurance of a meaningful encounter. And the starting point is people’s heart, acoording to Christian. The process of creating an engaging experience is one from the inside to the outside and not vice-versa. One that aims to involve people through a meaningful story, looking then for the right tools and creating the appropriate physical environment for the encounter.

Christian Lachel, BRC Imagination Arts (Photo: Maria Vlachou)

Another issue that repeatedly came up was that of digital vs physical. At the same time that museums are racing to embrace the new digital tools and platforms in order to create more engaging and meaningful experiences, they often seem to take a step back, re-evaluating the advantages and strengths of the physical encounter.

An inspiring project of the Brooklyn Museum, the Ask Mobile App, has gone through these stages of thinking and evaluating (which are openly shared on the museum’s blog – a great example of professionalism, generosity, transparency and accountability that more museums should have the courage to implement). As Shelley Bernstein explained to us, at a time when the Brooklyn Museum is re-evaluating a number of points of contact with its visitors (its austere foyer, its confusing reception area, the lack of seating), it also wishes to improve their experience allowing them to ask on-site and in real time any question they might have regarding the objects or the exhibitions in general. The project is still being tested in its details and will be launched in June. 

Shelley Bernstein, Brooklyn Museum (Photo: Maria Vlachou)

At an earlier stage, the museum had members of its staff on floor and discovered that visitors loved engaging in conversation with them. Such a large museum would need a lot of people, though, to be able to cover all areas. In order to optimize the idea of the direct and in-real-time contact with a member of staff, they decided to turn to technology. A team of six people will be available to answer visitor questions sent through their mobiles using the Ask Mobile App. Evaluation so far has shown that people still consider this contact to be personal and the museum is confident that this will be one more way of fulfilling their mission of being “a dynamic and responsive museum that fosters dialogue and sparks conversations”. For one thing, the museum has discovered that people seem to take more time looking at the objects... looking for questions to ask!

Is there anything more personal and physical, though (and funny and inspiring), than being taken to a museum tour tailored to your needs and interests by Museum Hack? “I hate museums!”, this is how Nick Gray started his presentation. And he did hate them... once. Now all he wants is to share his passion for them with people who still hate them, people who feel that museums are not for them. A colleague from the Museum of Architecture and Design in Oslo called Museum Hack “our natural allies”. And aren’t they indeed! Nick’s favourite object at the Metropolitan Museum is the fragment of an Egyptian queen’s face. This is what he had to say about it (quoting from memory): “If these are the lips, can you imagine the rest? How beautiful she must have been? And although we don’t know who she is and which tools were used to make her, we know she’s made of yellow jasper. Yellow jasper was so-so expensive, that the only other object at the Met made of it is this tiny. In a scale of hardness from 1 to 10, where diamond is 10 and marble is 3, jasper is a solid 6. It makes marble feel like rubber...”. Aren’t museums f***ing awesome?!

Nick Grey, Museum Hack (Photos: Maria Vlachou)

My visit to the recently renovated International Red Cross and Red Crescent Museum somehow put all these thoughts and ideas to the test. It’s a museum that greatly combines the physical and the digital, using technology in order to enhance the meaning of the objects, to share powerful stories and to engage the visitor – both emotionally and intellectually – in the discussion of quite sensitive universal questions. The three main chapters of the story are “Defending Human Dignity”, “Restoring Family Links” and “Reducing Natural Risks” and each space/chapter was created by a different architect, proposing quite distinct environments. One of the most touching moments for me was in the room that exhibits the gifts offered by prisoners of different conflicts to the Red Cross delegate in charge of their case. It made me think of the beauty, sensitivity, creativity and humanity that can still emanate after the horror of barbarity, brief glimpses of a renewed hope. I must say, though, that the most powerful moment was touching the extended hand of a witness on a screen, a gesture that would trigger their testimony. A brilliant conception, linking the physical to the digital and creating a profoundly emotional and memorable experience.

I must say that in almost every museum visit, presentation and discussion during the conference, there was an underlying issue for me: can museums fulfill their social and educational role, can they be relevant and engaging, if they don’t also clearly assume their political role? Right on the first day, Gail Dexter Lord introduced the concept of soft power as “the ability to influence behaviour through persuasion, attraction or agenda setting”. How can museums exercise this power? "We cannot take sides", colleagues often exclaim. Oh, but we do... Sometimes with our silence or by pretending to be neutral; more often with the objects we choose to show or not to show, the stories we choose to tell or not to tell.

More than taking sides, though, assuming our political role is to assume that there is actually more than one side to every story and to allow for space for these views to become known, to be discussed, so that citizens may get better informed, see their own views being challenged, meet and listen to the ‘other’, develop empathy and understanding, take a stand. Museums are not islands and, as Tony Butler (Derby Museums / The Happy Museum Project) said, “What’s happening out there is as important as what’s happening inside”. Isn’t it urgent, and doesn’t it make sense, that museums in the 21^st assume their role in promoting democracy?

Gail Dexter Lord (Photo: Maria Vlachou)

More on this blog:

What have we got to do with this?

What have we got to do with this? (ii)

'Just' a museum, 'just' an artist?

The long distance between California and Jerusalem

The educational dimension

Silent and apolitical?



Links that might be of interest:

Black Cultural Archives

Brooklyn Museum blog

cogapp

Curators Without Borders

International Red Cross and Red Crescent Museum

Locatify

Museum Hack

The Happy Museum Project

Uzeeum

Philippe de Montebello revealed

I´ll say it right in the beginning to get it over with: yes, I got upset reading Philippe de Montebello's two statements regarding the issue of restitution in the book “Rendez-vous with art” (p. 54 and p. 208). Having said that, the rest of the book is absolutely charming! A beautiful, inspiring, surprising series of conversations between Montebello and art critic Martin Gayford, revealing the man behind the art historian and long-time director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Following these conversations, we feel an urge to look and to look better, even if it is only a photo in a book – hoping, of course, to be in front of the original one day... As Montebello himself puts it: “(...) nothing can replace the experience, the very physical sensation of being surrounded and engulfed in the actual space.” (p. 51)

Probably one of the most touching moments comes right in the beginning of the book, where Montebello answers Gayford’s question about that single moment, that single experience that may have led him to a life in the arts. Montebello shares with us that very special moment, when he was 15, and his father took home André Malraux’s “Les Voix du Silence”. And suddenly, there was Uta...

“She was Marchioness Uta in Naumburg Cathedral and I loved her as a woman (...) with her wonderful high collar and her puffed eyelids, as though after a night of lovemaking” (p.10; image taken from Wikipedia)

I was left thinking: would he have ever put this on a museum label? How many people would have looked, looked better, looked more, should they had read something like this about a statue?

Montebello goes on to admit something we rarely hear from curators, but which is true about most museum visitors: “I have found that when I have forced myself – often with the help of curators – to look at things about which I was indifferent or that even repelled me, I discovered that, with a little knoweldge, what had been hidden from me became manifest.” (p. 59)

What kind of knowledge is needed for this ‘epiphany’ to occur, one might ask. Not facts about the artist’s life, not a detailed and dry description of stylistic elements; not in the first place, not for the non-specialist visitor (the majority, that is, of museum visitors). One seems to find all the answers in Freeman Tilden’s “Interpreting our Heritage”: “What lies behind what the eye sees is far greater than that which is visible” (p.20); (...) “the  purpose of interpretation is to stimulate the reader or hearer toward a desire to widen his horizon of interests and knowledge and to gain an understanding of the greater truths that lie behind any statement of fact” (p. 59); (...) “Not with the names of things, but by exposing the soul of things – those truths that lie behind what you are showing your visitor. Nor yet by sermonizing; nor yet by lecturing; not by instruction, but by provocation” (p.67).

Another couple of examples from Montebello’s book might illustrate these points:

“(...) it’s utterly delighftul. The shoe flying off into the air, heading for the statue of Cupid at the side, that enchanting tree so frothy and unlike a real tree: it’s all like a décor de théâtre, a theatre set. This is a gorgeous painting about having a good time and about which one doesn’t have to think very hard, just abandon onself to the sheer pleasure it provides: a picture I’d have no trouble at all living with.” (p. 81, Jean-Honoré Fragonard, The Swing, 1767; image taken from www.thebingbanglife.com)

“(...) I then focused on the deep burn marks at the bottom of the frame, obviously made by votive candles, confirming that this was indeed a devotional picture. Just a few additional details resuted from close examination, not the least of which was that the picture was in impeccable condition, a rare thing when it comes to Trecento gold-ground pictures, as most works have suffered greatly over time, mostly I’m afraid at the hands of restorers.” (p.65, Duccio di Buoninsegna, Madonna and Child, c.1290-1300; image taken from www.theopenacademy.com)

“But I am happy just to enjoy the expression on Adam’s face, so sweet, and the way he is holding the apple branch – it is not a fig leaf – with two fingers, as well as the foliage required to cover his nakedness. Dürer has so engagingly endowed his classically inspired figures with tender sensuality; and I love Eve, Venus-like with her pretty Nürnberg fräulein’s face. You see: no art history, just my own very personal response.” (p124, Albrecht Dürer, Adam and Eve, 1507; image taken from www.pictify.com)

I don’t believe most people visit museums looking for an art history lesson on their panels and labels – or physics or music or any other discipline for that matter (some do, of course, and their needs are equally legitimate, but museums usually cater for them with various other means). People do not visit museums looking for someone to tell them what they should feel or think either, as defended by Alain de Botton in Art is Therapy (Rijksmuseum), where one finds labels such as this: "You suffer from fragility, guilt, a split personality, self disgust. You are probably a bit like this picture" (regarding Jan Steen's painting The Feast of Saint Nicholas). I think that most of us are first of all looking for something that can be meaningful to us, something that may delight us, surprise us, make us feel good or richer or more conscious of ourselves and of the world. Many of us are looking for stories, stories of other people, human beings we can connect to - either those depicted or those wishing to share their knowledge with us.

Deciding which story to tell is not an easy choice for a museum; writing it in a clear and concise way is equally difficult. But it is not impossible, as Montebello shows us in his book, where he abandons his ‘institutional self’ and manages to share his enormous knowledge as an art historian in a simple and human way that is meaningful and relevant for many more people. It is not impossible, as Paula Moura Pinheiro shows us every week in her TV programme “Visita Guiada” (Guided Tour), where we discover that curators and art experts in Portugal are fascinating people, able to share with us much more than the facts usually presented on labels and make us wish to know more, to visit the museum, to be able to see the object - or to go back and see it again, after what has been revealed to us).

It is possible. It is a question of choice and skill. It doesn’t lack scientific content and it communicates.

“I’m not sure I would be thrilled because I am so focused, so absorbed and captivated by the perfection of what is there; that my pleasure – and it is intense pleasure – is marvelling at what my eye sees, not some abstraction that, in a more art historical mode, I might conjure up. It’s like a book that you love and you simply don’t want to see the movie. You’ve already imagined the hero or the heroine in a certain way. In truth, with the yellow jasper lips, I have never really tried to imagine the missing parts.” (p.8, Fragment of a Queen’s Face, New Kingdom Period, c. 1353-1336 BC, Egypt; image taken from the Metropolitan Museum website)

More on this blog

What lies beyond

Curiosity killed the visitor

Show me the people

More readings

Philippe de Montebello and Martin Gayford (2014), Rendez-vous with Art. Thames and Hudson

Maria Isabel Roque, Título, autor e data: o que diz uma tabela?

Maria Isabel Roque, Tanto esplendor e glória para tão pouco contar

Adrian Searle, Art is Therapy review – de Botton as doorstepping self-help evangelist

Sahil Chinoy, Off the beat: Art apathy, museum misery

Video: An acquiring mind: Philippe de Montebello and the Metropolitan Museum of Art

What lies beyond?

Freeman Tilden

When reading Elaine Heumann Gurian´s “Civilizing the Museum”, a bit more than a year ago, I remember having one thought and two feelings. I thought how it was possible to have come for the first time across her writings and visionary thinking about museums so late, after studying and working in the field for almost 20 years. I had a warm feeling of comfort, realizing that ideas and concerns constantly on my mind were not exactly new and that someone like Elaine had expressed them so beautifully and thoroughly before, influencing a number of people and institutions she worked for. But I also had a bitter feeling of frustration, realizing how slow really change is, since things Elaine has pointed out some time ago and worked for are still an issue today.

When I finished Freeman Tilden´s “Interpreting Our Heritage” last month, I smiled. I had the same one thought and two feelings. How is it possible to only read Tilden now?! How inspiring his writing, how clear everything becomes when one goes through his six principles of interpretation and numerous examples. And how disappointing to see that, more than half a century later, we´ve learnt little and practiced even less.

Tilden wrote the book in 1957, when he was 74 years old and after a long career as journalist, novelist and playwright. As Russell E. Dickenson points out in the forward of the fourth edition, “In his association with parks, Tilden developed an interest in how the national parks shaped American identity as well as individual identity, urging citizens to derive meaning and inspiration for and from precious natural and historical resources.”

This is what Tilden wished for citizens and this is where his expectations of interpretation and interpreters lied. “Interpreters decide what stories to tell, how to tell them and who to tell them to, a serious responsibility [p.2]; (...) The visitor´s chief interest is in whatever touches his personality, his experiences and his ideals [p.36]; (...) But the purpose of interpretation is to stimulate the reader or hearer toward a desire to widen his horizons of interest and knowledge and to gain an understanding of the greater truths that lie behind any statement of fact [p. 59]; (...) Not with the names of things, but by exposing the soul of things -  those truths that lie behind what you are showing your visitor. Not yet by sermonizing; nor yet by lecturing; not by instruction but by provocation [p. 67]; (...) to put your visitor in possession of at least one disturbing idea that may grow into a fruitful interest [p. 128]”.

His vision thus summarised, here are Tilden´s six principles of interpretation:

1. Any interpretation that does not somehow relate what is being displayed or described to something within the personality or experience of the visitor will be sterile.

2. Information, as such, is not Interpretation. Interpretation is revelation based upon information. But they are entirely different things. However all interpretation includes information.

3. Interpretation is an art, which combines many arts, whether the materials presented are scientific, historical or architectural. Any art is in some degree teachable.

4. The chief aim of interpretation is not instruction, but provocation.

5. Interpretation should aim to present a whole rather than a part, and must address itself to the whole man rather than any phase.

6. Interpretation addressed to children (say up to the age of twelve) should not be a dilution of the presentation to adults, but should follow a fundamentally different approach. To be at its best it will require a separate program.

When reading this, I did, of course, think of museums; of the richness that lies within them which is inaccessible to so many. In many cases, by choice: the choice of those who have the great responsibility of interpreting, of revealing, of provoking, of touching most peoples souls and not just the brains of a few, but, although having the power to decide, their main concern is to communicate with and be acknoweldged by their peers. This is one reason, in my opinion, the most important, the most determinant. Another reason is that, in this context, professionals who have technical preparation in this field struggle to be heard and, all too often, lose the battle. Another reason still is that many other people working in this field haven´t got technical preparation for what they are asked to do, and they are not given any either. I remember once at a training course, during a heated discussion regarding the resonsibilities of museum people working for themselves and their peers, one lady raised her hand and said: “Please, don´t say that we are only worried about ourselves and our peers. I just don´t know how to do things differently, and this is why I am here”....

It is the combination of these factors that makes Heumann Gurian, Tilden, Cotton Dana (to mention another favourite of mine) sound bitterly relevant and contemporary, more than 20 or 50 or 100 years later.

It happens that I finished Tilden´s book and started writing these lines in the middle of a national park, that of Tzoumerka in Greece. The beauty of the scenery was breathtaking. I kept thinking of his words: “Interpretation takes the visitor beyond the point of his aesthetic joy, toward a realization of the material forces that have joined to produce the beauty around him.” And this is what the people I met did for me. They took me - with simplicity, enthusiasm, and a profound knowledge of things - beyond, much beyond what was visible to me. They were not all professionals, but they were people with a love for that place, wishing to share it. And they made my whole experience even greater.

Still on this blog

Curiosity killed the visitor

Museums: new churches?

Show me the people

Plaka Bridge, National Park of Tzoumerka, Greece

Curiosity killed the visitor

Art Museum of Estonia. One reads on the label: "Villu Jaanisoo, 1963 / Chair I - II, 2001. Motor tyres. Art Museum of Estonia". (Photo: Maria Vlachou)

Last Saturday I attended a small conference entitled “The audiences of MNAC” (National Museum of Contemporary Art – Museum of Chiado), on the occasion of the 20th anniversary of the reopening of the museum after the fire in Chiado (Lisbon). During the almost three hours of presentations and debate, in which little was said about the audiences, I sat next to a label that was related to the work of art exhibited on the wall. One could read:

“Mockba, 2004

Oil on canvas, oil on acrylliv sheet

VPV Collection”

I looked at it a number of times as I was listening about the history of the museum in the last 20 years told by its directors (very interesting details I was not aware of), its collection, the name it should have, its purpose, the building that should house it, etc. I looked at the label thinking that the work exhibited did not mean something to me either aesthetically or conceptually, but, curious in undestanding if there was something more to it, something I could not grasp, I would have liked to have something more (and more interesting) than those three lines. After all, the option to exhibit that work of art had a reason behind it and I would have liked to understand better.

It happens to me many times in museums. I am that kind of visitor who has got a number of diplomas, but does not pretend to know and to understand all languages and to be able to unveil every mystery. I am also that kind of visitor who feels self-confident, who doesn´t feel embarrassed (or stupid) in admitting that he doesn´t understand, that he would like to know more, to have more interesting and relevant information, in an undestandable language. I tend to think that the person who opted to put that label on the wall doesn´t understand (and perhaps is not interested in understanding) who I am and what I am looking for. Thus, I am that kind of minority visitor. Many others feel stupid and blame themselves for it. They don´t come back, they lose their interest, they retract, they don´t “dare” again, they never take their children.   

I was faced with this issue a number of times in the last weeks. When visiting Vhils´ exhibition at the Electricity Museum, I found in one of the rooms a label repeating six times “Laser-carved old wooden doors”, followed by the dimensions of the doors. What is the purpose of such a label? Why and who was it made for?

Another recent visit was at the Municipal Museum of Aljustrel, which tells the story of the mines in that area of Portugal. A story told in this way:

The translation is mine. Apologies for any gross mistakes.

Another exhibition that caught my attention was that of Helen Mirra at Culturgest. It´s an exhibition of strips made of fabric and painted in single colours. At first glance, they don´t mean much to me and this was the reason why I was very interested in getting more information. When I fould it in the brochure, it became clear to me that my curiosity was not going to be satisfied and that this exhibition was not for me.

Extract taken from the brochure.

In the various training courses I gave in the last two months, we discussed in length communication and language. At times the trainees, although they would recognize that the language used was not efficient and the story told was not that interesting, they would express incomprehension as to how this communication could take another form, one that would fulfill the museum´s or the exhibition´s objectives and at the same time meet the visitors´ needs, the majority being non-specialists.

The example of two Portuguese convents comes to mind: the Convent of Tomar and the Monastery of Alcobaça. They both aim to tell visitors the story of the building they find themselves in, nevertheless, the approach, the option of the story to be told is clealy distinct. Which serves the needs of the museum AND the visitors better?

Texts from panels at the Convent of Tomar.

Texts from panels at the Monastery of Alcobaça.

It´s not impossible to communicate differently, to say interesting things in a simple way. By simple, I don´t mean to say infantilising, turning banal, compromising the scientific quality of the information that is being shared. What is truly impossible is to continue listening to politically correct statements on how museums are for everyone, how they need to be relevant, welcoming, to create a feeling of belonging in people, while at the same time in practice we continue to despise and depreciate the needs of those same people, we continue to offend their intelligence. I believe it is perfectly legitimate to do an exhibition for experts, one of the many target audiences a museum or an exhinition is called to serve. But one must admit this, so that the rest of the audience may consider to be “warned”. To continue writing in order to communicate with specialists, while saying that the exhibition is for all increasingly indicates, in my point of view, a certain lack of honesty on behalf of those responsible. The theory is good, it is clear, we all know it. What does it take to put it into practice? And more, do we wish to put it in practice?

Still on this blog

Museums: new churches?

Show me the people

Show me the people

I often think that panels and labels in art or history museums fail to convey passion, marvel, joy, pride, sadness, despair, enthusiasm; to talk to people about other people; to create empathy, the need to read more, to find out more. The language is usually dry, academic, factual, incomprehensible – I am sure – to a number (perhaps the majority?) of museum visitors.

These thoughts came back to me while visiting the Benfica Museum in Lisbon. It’s the city´s newest museum, it opened its doors in July 2013 and has had almost 43.000 visitors so far (entry is not free, adults have to pay €10,00). Its aim is to tell the story of the club and its different sports - football being, of course, the one overshadowing every other.

There are lots of things to say about the museum, but I would like to concentrate on the message and feeling it conveys through written communication and the connections it creates to people.

This is clearly a museum for and about people. A museum about passions. It aims to tell a story in a way people, all kinds of people, will understand it and feel related to it and involved in it. With art or history museums in mind, I would say that the option here is not to simply narrate facts or to explain techniques. The option is to reinforce the club’s identity – by presentings its values, objectives, achievements, contribution to the country as a whole and to individual lives.

(joining of two photos)

When it comes to people, one finds in this museum both the ‘artists’ (football players, other athletes, coaches) and those who enjoy the ‘art’ (famous people and anonymous members and fans). Everyone´s thoughts and feelings have a place on the museum’s walls, nobody is more important than someone else. Thus, we find an installation with the faces of club members, as well as a special setting quoting writers, singers, actors and other public figures who support the club.

(joining of two photos)

“It’s different, it’s football”, you might say. “They’ve got money, it makes a whole lot of a difference”, you might say.

Starting from the latter, it´s not about money. It´s about attitude. Money may allow a museum like the Benfica Museum to use a number of audiovisuals and other expensive tricks that enhance the experience. But all museums, no matter how much money they’ve got, have panels and labels (and leaflets and websites). The language they use, the story they choose to tell, the people they address are options that have got nothing to do with money.

Does football appeal to more people than art or history or archaeology? At a first glance, maybe, yes. But if we give it a second thought, maybe art and history and archaeolgy have a big appeal too, but not when presented in museums... Maybe when a friend tells us a story and raises our curiosity; when we watch a report or documentary on television; when we read a piece of news on the Internet or Facebook. In other words, when we find ourselves in a comfortable context where someone is talking to us in a language we understand , shares his/her knowledge and enthusiasm about a subject wishing to communicate with us,  puts feeling into the narrative, makes it a normal conversation among people.

Can´t museums talk and write about art and history and archaeology and many other subjects conveying passion, marvel, joy, pride, sadness, despair, enthusiasm? Can’t they talk and write to people about other people? Can´t they create empathy, the need to read more, to find out more? I believe they do, some do, but many others choose not to. The need to impress and get the approval of our peers becomes in many cases the priority when making this kind of decisions. We say “We are here for everyone, museums are for people”, but the practice does not confirm the rhetoric.

The difference between the Benfica Museum and many other museums I´ve visited is that it stays true to its mission. It´s a museum for and about people and this is not just rhetoric, it’s something one may confirm in every option (more or less successful; more or less necessary) of telling the story. In the Benfica Museum I felt the people, I felt their passions, their pride, their anguish, their sadness, their joy. And that ended up keeping me in the museum much longer than I had initially expected.

More on this blog

Just like in football

Museums: new churches?

What´s the problem with classical music? Apparently, none...

Gustavo Dudamel (photo taken from the blog Opera Fanatics)

Gustavo Dudamel is, at this moment, the face of classical music´s popularity. I recently read that his latest album is nr. 3 on the swedish pop chart (ahead of Madonna). I don´t know whether I am wrong, but I think that we hadn´t seen something like this since the time of the three tenors. I do believe it is fortunate when one can count with the contribution of such ‘phenomena’, who, through their art and their great capacity to communicate, manage to open windows for thousands of people to things they had never experienced before. Thanks to them, this world (and also those of opera and ballet) – seen by many as closed, elitist, incomprehensible, uninteresting, ‘stuffy’ – becomes demystified, surprises, enthuses, touches, gets a place in people´s lives. In the meantime, there are many more professionals (artists, but also programming directors, managers, communication and education professionals) who also contribute, although at a different scale, so that more and more people may get in tuch with the world of classical music, discover it, share it.

Guest post: "Me, you and the others", by Eva-Kaia Vabamäe (Estonia)

I met Eva-Kaia Vabamäe during a training course last September. A few days ago, she surprised me with a text she wrote, inspired by a recent post of mine, on the challenges faced by estonian museums when presenting the history of their 20-year-old country. I asked for permission to re-publish her text. This made me think that there are always so many realities we don´t know about, so in the next few weeks there will be more texts from Spain, Brazil, Egypt, Ukraine, the USA and Nigeria. And I hope more will follow. mv

Model of the National Museum of Estonia´s new building (image taken from the website  A10.eu - New European Architecture)

Maria Vlachou, a Greek museologist who currently lives and works in Portugal, raises the topic of telling stories in the museum context in her blog Musing on Culture. She focuses primarily on how one story can sound totally different depending on the nation that is telling it (for example the never-ending conflict between neighbouring countries Greece and Turkey). This reminded me of the important role museums play when it comes to rethinking and explaining history to the public.

Coming from a tiny (although, of course, huge in spirit) country like Estonia, with a population of less than 1,5 million, we are used to imagining that we are in opposition with other nations. It’s been a survival strategy through various occupation periods, when the oppressors tried to absorb us into other, bigger, nations. Our history mostly consists of battles for our identity; battles for the opportunity to have our own republic and our own culture. Of course, that means that there has often been someone else to be opposed to, someone who has won the game by just being heavier. Therefore, success stories in Estonian history usually consist of tales about a nation that is clever as a fox, incredibly persistent and wins the fight with incredibly simple tricks (who would believe that a nation can sing itself free, but yet it’s a true story). As US anthropologist Paul Firnhaber pointed out in the Estonian NationalMuseum’s latest museums masterclass, we’ve only had one military hero, Lembitu, who lived in the 1200s and didn’t actually accomplish much.

When this background is taken into account, it is in fact not a great wonder that usually we just tell stories from our own, Estonian, point of view. We’ve only been independent again for a bit more than 20 years and before that it was the Soviet occupation, known for its habit of rewriting history to suit political ambitions. Obviously then, the historians have had their hands full with setting things right and there’s still a lot to re-evaluate. But how often do we think about how other nations have seen the same events? What would the stories of our ethnic minorities be like? What would the stories of our neighbours be like or how did it all look like on the other side of the ocean? We are only beginning to tell these stories and it will be a great challenge for a tiny nation that has mainly been fighting for its own survival.

Volunteers gathering on the pathway to Raadi Manor to clean the territory. Raadi is a place that could tell very controversial stories. Among fields and meadows, it became a Baltic German manor in the 19th century; then the Estonian National Museum’s first exhibition hall in the 1920s; then a Soviet military airfield during the cold war; and finally, in the 2000s, the area designated for the ENM building, the construction of the main building is to begin shortly. (Photo: courtesy of NME).

Like Maria Vlachou also writes, people used to turning to museums to find the “truth”. Museums have the authority to decide what and how will be displayed. This places a huge amount of responsibility on the shoulders of museum specialists, because, as I am sure each and every one of us has noticed,  there’s rarely only one ‘right’, objective, view on world history. Current museology already tells us that museums shouldn’t be the dictators of truth, but offer a variety of different narratives.  More simply put, this theory is similar to the proverb that says: “Don’t give the hungry man a fish, but a fish hook”, which means that the museum must trust its visitor enough to let him, based on these different narratives, decide for himself.

The Department of Ethnic Cultures of the National Museum of Estonia is currently helping Valga Museum with developing an inclusive exhibition project with and about the local Roma community. The start has been quite rocky, especially on the ‘inclusion’ side. We’ve had to do a lot of explaining that we’re not making any money with this project, because the Roma community has had negative experiences with former projects, when they’ve felt that they’d only been used for statistics and no real input was expected of them.

As part of the preparation process, my colleague and I attended a seminar last week. It was a seminar for teachers and a Roma woman, who runs the local cultural Roma NGO, was asked to speak about their culture. This time, like before, she again asked the question: “Why now? Nobody cared about us for hundreds of years, why now?”. I think it’s because we’re finally ready to tell more stories than just our own. And based on the question that one participant (let me remind you that they were teachers!) asked: “Why should I respect you, when I know nothing about you?”, I’d say it’s more than necessary to start telling them!

[Text originally published in the Eesti Rahva Muuseumi blog (National Museum of Estonia)]

Eva-Kaia Vabamäe currently works for the National Museum of Estonia (NME) in the Department of Ethnic Cultures. Her job is to assist different types of museums in the fields of museum education, exhibitions and communication strategies. This includes organizing workshops and courses, but also working in a variety of other museum development projects. Current projects include developing a community-inclusive exhibition hall for the NME´s new building, creating a summer programme on ethnic cultures for children, creating workshops for museum educators, the above-mentioned exhibition about the Roma community, etc. Born and raised in Estonia, she has formal training in design and conservation and lately graduated from the University of Tartu with a Master´s degree in Art History and a thesis concentrating on the elaborate historic interiors of Baltic Germans, formerly a very significant minority group, both in cultural and economic terms.

The stories we tell ourselves

When I was 11 years old and our car broke down during a visit to Constantinople, I was very surprised that a number of people came to assist us and they neither gave up nor did they attack us when they found out we were Greeks (we were supposed to be hating each other). At the age of 12, I was shocked to hear in a foreign documentary that Alexander the Great was an imperialist and a people´s murderer (everybody was supposed to admire and acknowledge his greatness). At 19, again in Turkey, in Smyrna, I felt puzzled when an old fisherman started crying when he found out we were Greeks and said he was from Crete (wasn´t he supposed to speak greek then?). During that same trip, arriving at Afyonkarahisar, I felt disturbed when I saw in the central square a statue representing a battle between a Turk and a Greek, the latter being on the ground (the Greeks were supposed to be always on their feet). At 23, while visiting a history museum in the town of Halifax (UK), I felt outraged when I saw photos of fighters of the cypriot resistance against british rule where they were being identified as “terrorists” (they were supposed to be honoured by everyone as heroes).



Afyonkarahisar, Turkey (Photo: mv)

These are some of the moments when ‘my story’ was challenged. The clash was considerable at all of them. Useful, as well. Because, as the surprise, the shock, the puzzlement or the outrage subsided – but, also, the more I traveled, the more people I got to know – I was becoming more and more conscious of the existance of more stories, apart from mine, but which related to me too, they came to complement my own, at times contradicting it. There have been more moments like these, but now they are somehow ‘expected’, they are welcome, they bring the pleasure of discovery and knowledge, they provide an approach, a different understanding, without necessarily resulting into an agreement.

In one way or the other, museums of all kinds tell stories, make interpretations. Almost 20 years ago, I was starting my studies in museology. In my first readings, preparing my first courseworks, I often came across references regarding the fact that people acknowledged the ‘authority’ of museums, were looking for the ‘truth’ in them, trusted them and recognized their importance, even those who didn´t visit. At that time, it seemed to me that that´s how it should be and I recognized the enormous responsibility this trust brought upon museum professionals when interpreting collections, an interpretation that should be ‘objective’. Almost 20 years later, the museums I like the best are those which don´t consider themselves to be an ‘authority’, don´t aim to be ‘objective’, accept the plurality of narratives (coming also from non-specialists) and are not afraid to provide space for them to be expressed and shared. The museums I like the most are those which question themselves and question me, question ‘my story’.

A recent visit to the Musée do Quai Branly, my first, made me think again about these issues. I remembered all the controversy that surrounded the creation of this museum, that brought together the collections of the ethnology laboratory of the Musée de l´Homme and of the Musée des Arts de l´Afrique et de l´Océanie. In the words of President Jacques Chirac at the inauguration, this museum represents the rejection of ethnocentrism, of this unreasonable and unacceptable pretension of the West to hold within itself the destiny of humanity. It represents the rejection of the false evolutionism that claims that some peoples remain in a previous stage of human evolution and that their so-called “primitive” cultures are merely worth serving as objects of study for the anthropologist or, at best, as an inspiration for the Western artist.

In the period that preceded the opening of the museum, a survey was carried out with the aim to find out what was the public´s point of view regarding its creation. The results, presented in the article Du MAAO au Musée du Quai-Branly: Le point de vue des publics sur une mutation culturelle, allow us to conclude that the citizens´ worries and expectations concentrated on two issues: should Quai Branly be an art or an ethnology museum; and should it be a museum about colonialism or rather a kind of full stop in an uncomfortable and painful story and a new starting point. These same issues were the object of reflection and criticism on behalf of the specialists too.

In Quai Branly´s permanent exhibition I found an art museum. A museum that invited me to simply contemplate and appreciate beautiful objects. This wasn´t what I was looking for and I don´t think that through this kind of approach one manages to “reject ethnocentrism” and elevate the cultures of other peoples to the status they “deserve”. The permanent exhibition does not actually tell any story, much less that of the creation of this collection.

(Image taken from the Musée du Quai Branly website)

Nevertheless, Quai Branly offers much more: temporary exhibitions (those, yes, inquisitive, perplexing, surprising, such as, at this moment, Exhibitions: L´invention du sauvage), conferences, guided tours, workshops, cinema, theatre, dance, music. A very rich parallel programme that aims to complement the permanent exhibition, explore it, scrutinize it, to actually bring cultures to dialogue (the museum motto is Là où dialoguent les cultures).

Even though, I felt that there might still exist a ‘but’. I felt that the dialogue might just be between ‘our’ culture and ‘theirs’ (and maybe even a kind of apology, ‘ours’ towards ‘them’). In the article The Opening of the Musée du Quai Branly: Valuing/Displaying the "Other" in Post-Colonial France, of 2006, one can read that the museum was conceived and built without getting in touch with the minorities, except in the week of inauguration – a marketing manoeuvre, according to an interviewee -, in order to guarantee a positive response. On the other hand, in The Public Sphere as Wilderness: Le Musée du Quai Branly (which dates from 2009 and is a very interesting account of the museum´s first years of existance, with an extensive list of references in the end), we can see that, at the time, just one third of the museum visitors were tourists (meaning ‘foreign tourists´), while among the rest, 60% were frequent museum goers and 40% a new museum-going public, attracted by the links the museum provided between them and their cultures of origin. These are the statistics. In a very entertaining session with an African storyteller on a Sunday morning, I just saw white families. In the photos that illustrate the brochure of the March-May programme we also see just white audiences. Could this be a coincidence?

(Photo: mv)

Although the challenge of shared ‘authority’ is common to all museums, I always felt that the task was somehow more complex in what concerned history or ethnology museums. Museums which deal with life stories, with political events, with traumas, conflicts, hatred, with ‘us’ and ‘the others’, with people. I always visit them with the enormous curiosity to find out if they accepted the challenge and how they dealt with it. By coincidence, a few weeks before visiting Quai Branly, I watched this video with Nigerian writer Chimamanda Adichie about “The stories Europe tells itself about its colonial history”. Knowing the ‘other’ is hearing his voice. In the first person. And in order for this to happen, an encounter must be provided. This is what good museums know how to do: create spaces of encounter. Of dialogue as well.

Still on this blog

Places of encounter

More readings

Angela Charlton, Human Zoos: Quai Branly Museum Puts Humans On Display

Edward Rothstein, French Museums Atone for a Colonial History

Jeremy Harding, At Quai Branly

Jonathan Jones, To Timbuktu and beyond
Lisa Karlsson Blom, Mikela Lundahl, Haunted museums: Ethnography, coloniality and sore pointsMike Murawski, Object stories: Rejecting the single story in museums