Growing Site by Site

This post on finding a site from 2012 continues the series on Growing a Museum.

Minnesota Children's Museum today

Should we focus on opening our museum in a permanent site with the space and amenities we really want or should we open sooner in a smaller site and assume we’ll move later?

This is one of the most frequently asked questions from groups starting a museum. Mostly I hear it from children’s museums, but it is no different for virtually any new museum. One would think that being asked this question repeatedly over 30 years that I, and other museum planners, would have a good answer. Nope. There are no simple answers to this question. In fact, no single answer could fit every, or even many, museums’ circumstances.

The question itself reveals the complexity and various trade-offs involved in making a decision with far-reaching implications. Realities of capacity and readiness must play a role in whether a museum is able take on a large, permanent home or is better suited to grow site by site. Often opportunity and even serendipity have a deciding, if invisible, hand in what site shows up, where, when, and with what strings. Inevitably, the relativity of time distorts the meaning of permanent. Three years is forever in the life of a 5-year old organization but merely a pause in a 30-year organizational journey.

First Site

Whether a museum operates with no walls, borrowed walls, or permanent walls, in the end each answers the question of it first site its own way. In my experience starting in an unbelievably small space, moving onto a somewhat bigger second space, and then landing in a good-sized third or fourth space is not unusual. Madison Children’s Museum where I was involved during its mobile years and its first two spaces has grown through multiple moves as has Minnesota Children’s Museum where I worked in its second and third sites. Growing site-by-site aptly describes how more than a few established museums have grown.

• Austin Children's Museum (TX) operated as a museum without walls from 1983 to 1987 when it moved into a 5,000 square foot (s.f.) space. Ten years later it opened in a 20,000 s.f. space in downtown Austin. In May 2012, the Museum broke ground for a 40,000 s.f. building in a mixed-use development northeast of downtown and in 2013, it became the Thinkery.

• Bay Area Discovery Museum (Sausalito, CA) opened in a 2,500 s.f. pilot site at a shopping center in Marin County north of San Francisco, in 1987. In 1991 the Museum relocated to a 7-1/2 acre campus at Fort Baker (under the Golden Gate Bridge) and occupied 21,000 s.f. In 1993 and 1999, additions increased the space to 31,000 s.f. and then 31,500 s.f.  New construction on an entry building with classrooms and performance space, improvements on interior spaces, and development of exterior play areas took place between 2003 and 2005 increasing indoor s.f. to 52,000 plus 1.84 acres of outdoor exhibits.  

• Chicago Children’s Museum opened in the hallways of Chicago Public Library in 1982 and moved to a 7,000 s.f. space in Lincoln Park in 1986. A move to a 21,000 s.f. space in North Pier followed in 1989. The Museum opened in its current home of 57,000 s.f. at Navy Pier in1995. The Museum continues to expand at its site at Navy Pier.

• Explore & More Children’s Museum in East Aurora (NY) opened in 1994 with 500 s.f. of exhibit space in a school and added 500 s.f. more in 1997. In 2000 the Museum relocated to a 6,500 s.f. space in an office-park building in a residential neighborhood. Currently planning is underway for new construction of 25,000 -30,000 s.f. of space in a multi-use development at the western terminus of the Erie Canal in downtown Buffalo. (Opened in July 2019)

Madison Children's Museum's first walls 

• Madison Children’s Museum (WI) shifted from traveling exhibits in public venues to a 500 s.f. basement space in the Wisconsin Academy of Science, Arts and Letters in 1980 and was open on weekends and school holidays until 1985 when it moved into a 5,000 s.f. space in the garden level of an old factory building at the edge of downtown. In 1991 the museum opened 8,000 s.f. of space in a renovated bank building on State Street. Twenty years later, it moved 58,000 s.f. in a renovated a 1929 Montgomery Ward Building right off the Capitol Square.

• Minnesota Children’s Museum opened in 1981 in a 6,000 s.f. space in the Itasca Warehouse along the Minneapolis River front. In 1985, it relocated to an 18,000 s.f. historic railroad building midway between Minneapolis and St. Paul. In 1995 the Museum moved into a newly built 65,000 s.f. building in downtown St. Paul. Recently, the Museum announced a 14,000 s.f. addition to its current building and reconfiguration of interior spaces. (MCM reopened with 10 new exhibits in 2017.)

Madison Children's Museum 2012

The earliest spaces these museums called home were modest. Some were so small or incidental–like the hallways Chicago Children’s Museum occupied–that they were not even measured. Some early spaces received minimal preparation and others were renovated. Getting from a first space to a “permanent” home can take 10 years or 30 years. As these timelines illustrate, even when a museum is in its “permanent” home, its physical footprint is likely to change by growing and reconfiguring space. With time, its community footprint will undoubtedly grow and carry greater potential for increased impact. Facility and site changes are a reality; they reflect museums’ responses to changing contexts and to serving visitors whose interests and priorities change.

Bigger Steps

Site by site growth is not the only model for growing a museum. There are fewer, but increasingly more, museums that open “full-size” in a permanent home. Betty Brinn Children’s Museum (Milwaukee, WI) opened in a new 25,000 s.f. space in 1995 without incubating in a previous site. Creative Discovery Museum (Chattanooga, TN) opened in a new 42,5000 s.f. building in 1995. Stepping Stones Museum for Children (Norwalk, CT) opened in a new 19,000 s.f. building in 2000 and opened a 22,000 s.f. addition in 2010.

In 30 years, the arts, culture, and education landscape where museums position themselves has changed across the country. Children’s museums have become more familiar in towns and cities and are relatively established in the lives of American children and childhoods. These days, making the case for a children’s museum or science center doesn’t have to start with an introduction to an unfamiliar museum concept.

With the growth of museums, the start-up and expansion process has consolidated and become somewhat formalized. A group starting a museum will often find and identify their own “benchmarks,” museums in communities of similar size or with a similar vision; they will know their histories and growth. Sharing and developing resources for starting museums have also occurred on several fronts. The Association of Children’s Museums published Collective Vision in 1997. It sponsors an annual emerging museum conference and launched Collective Vision On-line Tool Kit in 2011. The Mid-Atlantic Association of Museums has offered an annual Building Museums symposium. In 2012, Minnesota Historical Society published Building Museums: A Handbook for Small and Midsize Organizations by Robert Herskovitz, Timothy Glines, and David Grabitske.

Navigating Site Questions

The site-growth question is not only common, but is also bound up with other long-term strategic choices a museum faces at an early stage in its development when it has few procedures and precedents for guidance. Site questions will always interact with larger questions of a museum’s vision, process, and position. Site and facility are more tangible ways for a board to approach larger, more abstract issues of mission or what the museum is and will become. The relative concreteness of a site’s size, its address, and related costs can offer a kind of comfort in searching for a site compared to exploring intangibles like experience, quality, or learning value.

Finding a first site–or perhaps any site–also requires distinguishing among size-related considerations like location, quality, or vision. For some museums, questions of site and facility are actually a proxy for other issues like fundraising goals (modest or ambitious?); personal or professional relationships in the real estate, construction, or development sectors; or values related to diversity and access. Finally a sense of urgency to find a site can be so insistent for founders and board members that it dominates the other business of starting a museum, overshadows other possible ways the museum could pursue growth, and at times actually derails a museum project.

Learning from Experience, Proceeding with Confidence

There is no formula for finding the right site at the right time in a relatively simple process. A few guidelines do emerge, however, from scanning the experiences–successful and otherwise–of other museums that have wrestled with finding a site.

• Vision: Maintain a roomy vision for the museum, even if it will take a long time to physically grow into that big vision. Keep the vision.

• Discuss. Engage in lots of lively discussion about site and size. Bring new questions and new information to these discussions. Be honest and respectful in discussing the museum’s capacity to successfully raise funds, create an outstanding experience, and effectively operate a site.

• Evaluate. Develop a really solid set of site selection criteria to help frame what is required of a site and to compare sites. Revisit the criteria periodically because circumstances change. This does not mean changing the criteria every month. It does mean bringing new information, perspectives, and questions to the criteria to test, refine, clarify, and strengthen them and the candidates. This builds a strong, shared sense of what they mean–and don’t mean–for longer-term and newer board members. When the real site decision comes up, things can move very fast. 

• Compare. Build a strong list of promising sites well informed by an understanding of the real estate market, neighborhoods, zoning issues, and the health of other culturals. Visit the sites. Always–always– look at multiple sites and compare and contrast.

• Realism. Be realistic about the museum’s challenges and capacity. Be aware of committing to a larger facility than the museum will be able to support financially and will have the capacity to operate well. At the same time, avoid frequent moves. Relocating is demanding. It takes a lot out of a museum staff; and it can be challenging to bring visitors along to a new location.

• Setbacks. It’s not unusual to find an “ideal” site that then falls through. In hindsight, that site turns out not to be as good as it seemed at the time: the area didn’t take off or a site of a better size came along.

• Caution. Even the best-managed site processes can become enmeshed in controversial issues that initially seem minor. Be alert to the early signs of a pubic fuss arising about a site, especially if the museum is associated with it. Contact museums that have had to navigate similar situations and learn from their experiences.

• Opportunity. Keep an eye out for opportunity. Listen for the knock.

You Don’t Have to Build the Whole Taj Mahal

ArtZeum! Telfair Museum, Savannah GA

When I wrote about children, the world of things, and museums in a recent post, I looked at the role physical context serves in how children experience and engage with objects. While only one part of a larger exploration, I have found myself thinking more about contextual approaches museums use for their audiences, what these approaches accomplish, and how.

Everything Exists Within a Context

At a small or large scale, context surrounds us and influences how we experience something, even though we may be unaware of the role context is playing. Just as context gives helpful clues to a word’s meaning in a sentence, physical context provides clues about a space, its purpose, and possibilities. When we come upon an object, the context casts light on what we are experiencing. A piece of broken pottery or some bones are understood very differently if they are found in the garden, in an archeological site, or in a discovery room at a museum. 

In interpreting contextual clues—spatial dimensions, light, color, sound, material qualities, and large and small objects—we filter information and make sense of our experience of a space, its contents, activities, and even of those sharing a space with us. We blend our immediate experience of the features and qualities of a space or place with ones we have experienced previously.

One way context is understood in museums is illustrated in Falk and Dierking’s “contextual model” of learning (1992 and 2000). A visitor’s physical, socio-cultural, and personal backgrounds, or contexts, are factors influencing their experience of and learning in a museum.

Because the potential of physical context in museums—both indoor and outdoor spaces—is so great for shaping, enriching, and deepening the visitor experience, it receives significant attention in many phases of planning. Architects and designers plan, design, and adjust dimensions of the physical environment to express intentions for the space at both large and small scales. While not fully determining what will or won’t occur there, these choices open up some possibilities and reduce others. Will the room hold many people? Is there room for movement or views? Is it planned for a single function or many? What spaces are adjacent?

Physical contexts vary widely across museums and even within a single museum. A large black box exhibition hall and a small pristine white gallery both provide context for experiences, but of a very different nature. Across a museum, particular contextual approaches are selected to advance the goals of a particular exhibition, installation, studio, or social space, or to differentiate an area from adjacent spaces. Whether simple or elaborate, subtle or dramatic, contextual approaches convey mood and meaning and establish focus. Design context contributes what is essential to an experience but is otherwise difficult to express.

Creating Context

Frank Lloyd Wright Hallway (Photo credit: mia)

The contextual set-up for experiences can be an elaborate reconstruction like the Frank Lloyd Wright Hallway at mia in Minneapolis or the deep immersion into changing light, darkness, and color of a James Turrell installation. While meaningful context in an exhibition doesn’t require building the whole Taj Mahal, a forest primeval or an entire food market, generally the gesture involves more than a backdrop to an object and a label.

Often experienced visually and physically, designed context is visitor centered. Creating contexts consider who will use a space, how they will occupy it, and how they might be engaged. Selected cues tap into an individual’s funds of experience, personal knowledge, likely affiliations, and capabilities as active agents in constructing their museum experience. For novice audiences like children who draw on their senses and relatively limited previous experiences for getting to know objects or explore ideas, material qualities and spatial dimensions carry valuable information and clues about a space and what it is about. Reading environmental cues can be easier for visitors who are not inclined or able to read text. And for visitors of any age who are typically grounded in the present time and place, changes in context can move them into a different time or a distant place.

In creating rich visitor experiences, indoors or out, context fosters interactions, directs movement, challenges sensory perceptions, and shifts perspectives, temporal, cultural, and physical. In advancing a topic or a theme, contextual clues can create emotional connections to an object, artwork, animal, or place or make the connections between ideas visible. Passing through an arch or crossing a threshold into a space might elicit memories, evoke feelings of surprise or delight, or imbue a place with a sense of the sacred or sublime.

Not just a design element, nor a gimmick, a contextual approach addresses the question, how can a museum use the physical context to engage visitors, advance its goals, and connect content? Spatial dimensions, materials, and objects interact with one another to inform and support the relationship between the visitor and the experience, often allowing a more personal and immediate experience. Treatment of floor, wall, and ceiling surfaces; defining edges; placement of iconic elements; scale manipulation; dramatic views; and, often, a slight twist on the ordinary work together to create a new space within a space, a distinct moment in or out of time.

The designed context in museums defines and distinguishes spaces physically and experientially for the visitor and serves one or more of six broad roles in the visitor experience.

Guthrie Center, Tulsa, OK (Photo credit: Vergeront)

Creating focus, supporting connections. Contextual choices related to sight lines, the placement and juxtaposition of objects, or unusual use of a space’s full volume can focus visitor attention on a main idea, object, or message. Defining a more intimate space and limiting distractions can invite visitors to notice details, find connections, reflect, talk, and extend engagement, helping to strengthen the relationship between a visitor and an object or between an idea and an object. Repeated use of an object or shape makes a point about what’s important here.

Defining space, moving beyond the ordinary. Just as play is understood to take place outside of an ordinary frame of life, so too are transformative moments that occur in the presence of beauty and amazement. Contextual choices help separate the ordinary and mundane from the extraordinary and exceptional, often making room for fantasy and imagination. Light, color, unusual quantities of objects or materials, enclosure, or progressions in a space invite visitors to conjure up and inhabit a new or imaginary space.

Umbrella Sky Project, Agueda Portugal

Do-Seum, San Antonio TX (Photo credit: Vergeront)

Changing perspectives. Contextual choices can place visitors in a bigger picture, in the frame of a larger narrative, or place them in an unlikely situation. Contextual cues—a giant map, walking through a frame—can shift the visitor’s experience from being a spectator outside to being a player inside of an experience. A visitor’s point of view or sense of where their body is in space might also change.

SnowBall, Minensota Children's Museum
Photo credit: Vergeront

Science North, Sudbury ON.
Photo credit: Vergeront

Challenging perceptions. Because context always surrounds us, and influences how we encounter our world, manipulating contextual clues can change visitors’ perceptions, their bearings, and their experiences. Playing with scale, proportion, perspective, or distance can create distortions and illusions, heighten senses, and even send confusing or ambiguous cues. Selected materials and contradictory cues can create unusual effects and disrupt someone’s orientation in space.   

Distorted Room
(Photo credit: The Exploratorium)

Walk-in Kaleidoscope

Voyage to Vietnam (Photo credit: Vergeront)

Stepping into another time and place. Structural elements that physically define a space along with materials and objects from other eras or cultures work together to create a sense of being in a different time and place. A beaver pelt on a rough wooden counter suggests a fur post in Northern Minnesota. A scooter anchors a slice-of-life vignette exploring the Tet Festival in modern day Vietnam. Maps, props and loose parts, and signs in another language provide multiple clues the visitor is somewhere else.  

Sand Quarry, Children's Museum of
Southern Minnesota (Photo credit: Vergeront)

Grounding in place. Sometimes, just a relatively small gesture establishes a strong connection, to a particular place, time, or event. Materials, an emblematic image, iconic piece of furniture, or a particular view is an easily recognized reference. Giant quarried stone blocks not only create a boundary around the large sand area at the Children’s Museum of Southern Minnesota, but they also are a specific reference to the quarries in the region.

National World War I Museum and memorial
Kansas City (Photo Credit: New York Times)

Mid-winter Museum Meander

Annual Luminary Loppet on Lake of the Isles

Winters are cold in Minnesota. We’re used to it and make the most of it. Even in winter folks in the Twin Cities walk, commute by bike, and go to the dog park. In winter we skate and ski on the lakes. People ice fish and celebrate the ice shanty as art. Some people even go skijorling on the city lakes–skiing pulled by dogs. Annual events like the Lumiary Loppet celebrate the beauty of cold, dark, and precious light.

In a recent run of sub-zero nights (the longest since the 1890’s…yes, 1890’s) and blizzard conditions accompanying deep-sub-zero daytime temperatures, I took a walk among beauty, surprise, and remarkable views. I visited the MIA (or mia), Minneapolis Institute of Arts. A mere 1.5 miles from my house, the MIA has what feel like miles of galleries and halls on 3 floors across almost 500,000 square feet of space. Its free general admission is a blessing, especially in this weather.

After shedding layers of fleece and down at the coat check, I climbed to the third floor and arrived in Europe and America 1600 – 1900. I started my stroll through some of the 43 galleries covering 1600 – 1900 including period rooms, walking, slowing, reading labels, watching people, eavesdropping (just a little), and resting now and then. As I went, I speeded up and slowed down, pausing for what caught my eye: a writing desk c. 1870 attributed to William Howard an enslaved and later free man; a 19^th century Arrangement with Flowers by Georgius Jacobus Van Os; Delacroix’s Convulsionists of Tangier painted from 1837-1838; a sculpture of Diana with a Bow (1890) by Frederick William MacMonnies; and, for good snowy measure, Paul Signac’s Snow, Boulevard de Clichy, Paris, 1886. 

Snow falling on the park and city

My ramble through the 19^th century was in some ways much like a city stroll. Views of paintings and sculptures alternated with views of snow falling on trees and shrubs in the adjacent park capped by the city skyline.

A quiet moment in the period reading room

Judging from the traffic near the period rooms, I wasn’t alone in searching out a mid-winter museum meander to escape from the cold. Traffic was thick and punctuated by comments and conversation around the 10-12 period rooms. Maybe configuration of the rooms opening off a long narrow gallery suggested a neighborhood, a casual ramble, and friendly comments to passersby. A family looking into the Duluth Living Room shared its questions with one another and with strangers who were also leaning over the rail. “Who made that furniture, Dad?” “Didn’t we see that lake before?” “Look at that telephone.” “It’s so dark in there.”

MIA’s Living Rooms, temporary installations in selected period rooms, animated the spaces and informed visitor interactions and conversations. As light transformed a 17^th century drawing room from day to night, visitors guessed the time of day, shivered at an eerie feel of the room, and imagined they were at the party playing cards. 

Jet-pack powered sisters explore the universe for art

In the Jane Austen Reading Room, I came across a women–a visitor–lounging in a chair, reading, and looking very much at home. She had taken the theme of the next room, Science and Sociability quite seriously. 

Mid-afternoon, the Europe and America 1600 – 1900 galleries and Period Rooms started filling with families with young children. As the second Sunday of the month, it was Family Day. Its theme was, “To the Moon!” Children were wearing the jet-packs they had constructed, carried the lunar landscapes they’d painted, and worked with their families on a Gallery Hunt for art that promised to be, “out of this world.” Families were huddled around maps; children checked labels up close and argued their case for clues to the artwork being described on the hunt. Other children wandered off finding a painting to look at quietly.

When my meander was finished I stood in line to pick up my winter layers. Surrounded by children also waiting for their gear, I heard one child after another talk about what they’d been doing. Some described the clues they’d found; some mentioned children who had helped others put clues together; some relished reliving the moment they found objects in the painting. Then we all left the warmth of the mid-winter museum meander and headed into the cold and snowy north. 

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The Museum Environment as Teacher

What does this space say about learning?
(Photo credit: Atelier of water Energy: Agriturismo Il Ginepro)

Twenty-five years ago I first came across the image of the environment as the third teacher in a brochure for The Hundred Languages of Children exhibit from the Municipal Schools in Reggio Emilia (IT). I was intrigued and delighted with the idea that the environment, along with parents and the teacher, was understood to promote the child’s well-being, offer learning opportunities, and support independence, in beautiful, thoughtfully arranged settings.  

The idea wasn’t new to me. My graduate work had focused on the relationship between humans and the environment, between behavior and space. This vivid image, however, expanded my thinking and inspired me to imagine ways in which museum learning spaces could be harnessed for learning.  

The Environments of Our Lives

Environments are the lived-in containers of our lives. They are the spaces we inhabit, that shelter and protect us, inspire and give us pleasure. They make both daily life and grand occasions possible. At all points in the lifespan, environments represent an emergent context and force that shape behavior, inform choices, and deliver information.

The physical environment is more than the shape of a space or its full volume. It is more than the arrangement of furniture, the materials and finishes that cover surfaces, the combinations of walls and openings, light and sound. Our environment surrounds us. We engage with it directly, on many levels, and throughout our lives.

What does this space say about learning?
(Milwaukee Art Museum. Photo credit: Vergeront)

Contexts layered with meaning, environments signal what goes on in a space and at successive scales. This is a playground; that is a place to worship; this is a place for commercial exchange, that is a public gathering space, a place for sports, or a private, personal space. Scale and the configuration of space; qualities of light, sound, and smells; materials and surfaces add to the broad clues of function. Is this school welcoming? Is this park safe? Can I accomplish my tasks? Can I stay here and explore?

Although clearly physical, built and natural environments are also emotional, social, and cognitive spaces. They affect us across a range of emotions, making us feel at ease or anxious, competent or inadequate, motivated or discouraged. Some spaces encourage social interactions; they bring us together, facilitate connections, and invite conversations; and other spaces isolate us. We can be intellectually invigorated by our surroundings, intrigued by materials and objects that encourage us to ask questions, have ideas, investigate, and pursue choices.

An environment may be consistent with our expectations, facilitate our intentions, and support our capabilities. Sometimes, however, its goals–or those of its creators–are at odds with our own. The interaction of features, materials, light, and sound can be problematic; they can challenge our understanding of where we are and how to find our way. While soft, ambient sounds can create a soothing backdrop to conversation, loud sounds amplified by hard surfaces make conversation difficult, especially for people with limited hearing.

Surroundings with a sense of soul that resonate deeply with our own invite us to linger while a soulless container hurries us to leave. Across all domains, environments can facilitate or interfere with a feeling of well-being, a sense of accomplishment, rewarding interactions with others, and bold imaginings.

Ever-present, Reaching, and Teaching

While the concept of the environment as the third teacher emerges from the schools in Reggio, this idea is neither limited to children nor to schools and Italy.

Art, history, science, natural history, or children’s museums, historic houses or zoos; indoor or outdoor, purpose built or adapted spaces are functional and experiential entities with purpose. At least since the 1992 publication of the Association of American Museum’s Excellence and Equity, education has been recognized as central to museums' public service.

What does this space say about learning?
(Children's Museum of Southern Minnesota. Photo credit: Vergeront)

Museums advance their learning interests and serve their learners using a wide array of opportunities and resources. Text and labels; demonstrations, lectures and programs; objects and collections; curricula and interpretation; blogs and digital resources; phenomena and planned discovery are familiar approaches to learning in museums.

Museum visitors, however, are not just learners when they are in a classroom or reading a label. Like all learners, they are minds-on, senses-on, hands-on learners engaging directly with their surroundings and with others wherever they are and whatever they are doing. Even when shopping, standing in line, or relaxing in areas a museum doesn’t think of as educational, visitors are sensing, thinking, and learning.

And the environment is ever-present, reaching and teaching them. Space and scale; sound and light; visual and physical access; materials, textures, colors, and objects are encouraging exploration, facilitating connections with others and with ideas, and supporting meaning making. Conversely, these same features may be discouraging curiosity, interfering with connections, and overwhelming the senses. 

The environment may speak louder than words, labels, and intentions to children and adults in how the museum:

• … is welcoming, creates a sense of belonging, puts them at ease; and assures safety;

• … values learners as competent, active agents in their own learning;

• … supports values such as creativity, caring, inclusiveness, or experimentation;

• … engages the learner’s curiosity and interests and removes barriers to participation;

• … encourages connections and promotes enjoyable interactions among visitors and with staff;

• … increases comfort and relieves fatigue;

• … creates ways for learners to see traces of their doing, thinking, and learning;

• … offers opportunities to explore, browse, reflect;

• … values alternative perspectives and learning in different ways;

• … creates moments of delight and beauty.

Harnessing the Environment for Learning

There are points in a museum’s life when it does focus deliberately on its environment from various perspectives. Typically this is when a museum constructs a new building, remodels a space, reconfigures the entry and lobby, opens an exhibition, adds a maker space, or upgrades exhibit components. A museum team, often working with architects and designers, considers the size and shape of a space, how it must work for its primary purpose and users, adjacencies and flow of spaces, the look and feel of the space, the furniture and equipment needed. After the opening, the space shifts to operations mode with regular cleaning and scheduled maintenance. Taking stock of the space is unlikely until the next remodel.

But spaces are dynamic. As living systems that morph over time, affected by use, misuse, and inevitable micro

What does this space say about learning?
(NYSCi. Photo credit: Andrew Kelly)

changes, museum spaces evolve. Strategic goals change, program schedules and formats are adjusted, visitor patterns shift, and new technologies arrive as the old disappear. Some spaces groan from over use, some are under-used, and some attract unwelcome activities.

The environment is an essential element of a museum’s learning value and its public service. Harnessing this great potential to serve its learners relies on a museum understanding its own learning interests, being attuned to the environment, and integrating these insights into museum-wide procedures, practices, and decisions. This on-going work requires the perspective of people from across the museum: designers, educators, visitor service, operations, and facilities staff. And visitors. The following practices work together and inform one another to help accomplish this.

1. Align museum goals and interests with the environment. Museums have goals, values, and guiding principles. They may aspire to be a more connected community, inspire innovation, strengthen families, or promote wellbeing. By identifying examples of how these driving principles can–and do–play out in the environment, a museum builds a shared vocabulary around the environment as teacher that contributes to experience planning, operations, and increasing impact. (See # 2, 4 & 5)  

2. Build space planning into experience planning. Each step in experience planning is an opening to focusing on how qualities and features of the environment can support learning. For instance, if a museum wants the visitor to try something new or take a risk, what conditions must be present for someone to experience a situation as safe, recognize new pathways, and perceive invitations to be creative? (See # 1 & 3)

3. Design, Not Rules and Signs. What museums hope to encourage visitors to do can be facilitated or obstructed by the environment; even a single feature can interfere with safety, comfort, or access. Spaces may create a bottleneck; invite racing, chasing, climbing; tempt leaning on cases. A museum can make rules and put up signs. Or it can address the problem through design solutions and decisions about the environment. (See # 2 & 4)

What does this space say about learning?
(Photo credit: New-York Historical Society Museum and Library)

4. Modify spaces based on information. Understanding how a space is informing the learning that takes place emerges from information and insights. Observation, asking questions, and listening to visitors help identify the physical qualities that encourage learning. Where is the flow of activity, traffic, and interactions positive and humming? What qualities are present? These insights can inform the vocabulary, experience planning, and dialogues about space. (See # 2, 3 & 5)

5. Open dialogues about museum spaces. Conversation among staff, volunteers, members, community partners, people of different ages, backgrounds, and abilities expands the environment’s capacity to support learning. These exchanges may probe what the environment says about the museum’s view of learning, how learning opportunities are best supported, and possible improvements. When a museum and its friends explore these questions together, a bigger, more visible view of the museum environment as teacher develops. (See #1 and #4)

What does your museum environment say about learning?

Related Museum Notes Posts

• The Museum Entry Experience

• Observation: Seeing Un-seeing, and Re-seeing

• More Varied Places for Children

… we value space for its power to organize, promote pleasant relationships between children of different ages, create a handsome environment, provide changes, promote choices and activity and its potential for sparking all kinds of social and affective learning. All this contributes to a sense of well-being and security in children.

Loris Malaguzzi