Interpreting something means helping people understand
I started to pontificate a bit on bad interpretation in my description of Plimoth Plantation, but decided it needed a separate post, because though my recent experience was there, WHAT I experienced was not specific to that location.
Museums are important. If you don’t agree with that basic tenet, don’t bother reading on. When I am King of the World, instead of just the rabbits, which I plan to be someday, all museums will be open free on the first weekend of every month, and everyone in the world (dispensations made for those hospitalized or on the space shuttle) will go to A museum once a month and e-mail me one thing that they learned. I realize it’s a lot of e-mail, but I’m a fast reader.
As stated in the last post, I travel to museums under three guises: museum professional, single mother of Rabbit Junior and Bunny Regina, and chaperone for whole grade of whichever of the f1 generation is requiring. Just like, having been a waitress, I prefer to be a good customer than an annoying one when dining out, I prefer to be the sort of museum visitor that interpreters want to interact with when I go to a museum.
As a museum professional, I inevitably get good service (with the notable exception being the USS Constellation where the staff had enormous chips on their shoulders). Interpreters like to talk (that’s why we do it), and they like to share how much they know (that’s why we do it), and good ones want to learn stuff from other interpreters, so they can be better. And that’s fun.
As Rabbit Family, we get okay service. If I manage to slip into a conversation that I work with so-and-so who used to work at your museum, it usually opens doors, but it’s unfortunate to have to do that. Usually complimenting the interpreter on the museum warms them up, but I shouldn’t have to do that either. Sometimes the small rabbits are so interested and ask such good questions that THAT warms them up. Often though, they are treated as small potential criminals who would smear jelly on a painting, or make off with a large dugout canoe if only no one was looking. Usually I tell the docent that it’s okay, my peeps are museum nerds, like their mom, but it doesn’t always work. Once I had a guard at the Portland (ME) Museum of Art follow us around through a whole exhibit (which was FABULOUS, btw, American Masters and their European Influences, with a tremendous set of paintings and really good labels) because he was enjoying MY interpretation of the exhibit to my children so much, and he had learned so much, would I mind if he used some of the information I had bestowed. At which point, two small rabbits looked at their mother and said, “Mom, you are SUCH a nerd.” A fine way to talk to a king.
As members of a school group, by and large, we get terrible service. Some of it is that it is hard to deal with the sheer volume of students to be sure, but some of it is that many interpreters don’t like children. More bias is reflected in the fall, which at New England museums is referred to as “leaf peeper season” for the countless bus tours of previous generation visitors that come to the museum for 45 minutes before going on to their next whirlwind destination. I hate school group season. I hate leaf peeper season. This is what I hear my colleagues at museums far and wide say.
So I say to them, why the hell are you a museum interpreter?! Clearly you aren’t doing it for the great pay. If you don’t like children and can’t speak to them without being rude and condescending, find another line of work. If you can’t talk to the older generation without being insulting and patronizing, hit the road, Jack. And what’s to hate, really? If you take the time to interact with them as individuals, and engage them through something that will appeal to someone of their background, they have a better time and learn something. And guess what, so do you.
There are two things you need in order to be a successful museum interpreter (three, actually, if you count an outside source of revenue): a passion for the knowledge base you must grasp in order to convey factually correct information; a love of people. Sometimes you get people who don’t fit either criterion, sometime just one. But you need both. So if by chance, some museum worker stumbles upon this treatise, think hard about whether you can do both, and if you WANT to do both. Because I don’t want to go to any more museums with my kids (and we, the Rabbit Family, and the few others like us are the lifeblood of museum admissions) where we are treated poorly by the staff. It doesn’t cost any more to be nice, and there’s no better feeling in the business to end a day tired but smiling because you had such fantastic interactions with visitors all day long.
Museums are important. If you don’t agree with that basic tenet, don’t bother reading on. When I am King of the World, instead of just the rabbits, which I plan to be someday, all museums will be open free on the first weekend of every month, and everyone in the world (dispensations made for those hospitalized or on the space shuttle) will go to A museum once a month and e-mail me one thing that they learned. I realize it’s a lot of e-mail, but I’m a fast reader.
As stated in the last post, I travel to museums under three guises: museum professional, single mother of Rabbit Junior and Bunny Regina, and chaperone for whole grade of whichever of the f1 generation is requiring. Just like, having been a waitress, I prefer to be a good customer than an annoying one when dining out, I prefer to be the sort of museum visitor that interpreters want to interact with when I go to a museum.
As a museum professional, I inevitably get good service (with the notable exception being the USS Constellation where the staff had enormous chips on their shoulders). Interpreters like to talk (that’s why we do it), and they like to share how much they know (that’s why we do it), and good ones want to learn stuff from other interpreters, so they can be better. And that’s fun.
As Rabbit Family, we get okay service. If I manage to slip into a conversation that I work with so-and-so who used to work at your museum, it usually opens doors, but it’s unfortunate to have to do that. Usually complimenting the interpreter on the museum warms them up, but I shouldn’t have to do that either. Sometimes the small rabbits are so interested and ask such good questions that THAT warms them up. Often though, they are treated as small potential criminals who would smear jelly on a painting, or make off with a large dugout canoe if only no one was looking. Usually I tell the docent that it’s okay, my peeps are museum nerds, like their mom, but it doesn’t always work. Once I had a guard at the Portland (ME) Museum of Art follow us around through a whole exhibit (which was FABULOUS, btw, American Masters and their European Influences, with a tremendous set of paintings and really good labels) because he was enjoying MY interpretation of the exhibit to my children so much, and he had learned so much, would I mind if he used some of the information I had bestowed. At which point, two small rabbits looked at their mother and said, “Mom, you are SUCH a nerd.” A fine way to talk to a king.
As members of a school group, by and large, we get terrible service. Some of it is that it is hard to deal with the sheer volume of students to be sure, but some of it is that many interpreters don’t like children. More bias is reflected in the fall, which at New England museums is referred to as “leaf peeper season” for the countless bus tours of previous generation visitors that come to the museum for 45 minutes before going on to their next whirlwind destination. I hate school group season. I hate leaf peeper season. This is what I hear my colleagues at museums far and wide say.
So I say to them, why the hell are you a museum interpreter?! Clearly you aren’t doing it for the great pay. If you don’t like children and can’t speak to them without being rude and condescending, find another line of work. If you can’t talk to the older generation without being insulting and patronizing, hit the road, Jack. And what’s to hate, really? If you take the time to interact with them as individuals, and engage them through something that will appeal to someone of their background, they have a better time and learn something. And guess what, so do you.
There are two things you need in order to be a successful museum interpreter (three, actually, if you count an outside source of revenue): a passion for the knowledge base you must grasp in order to convey factually correct information; a love of people. Sometimes you get people who don’t fit either criterion, sometime just one. But you need both. So if by chance, some museum worker stumbles upon this treatise, think hard about whether you can do both, and if you WANT to do both. Because I don’t want to go to any more museums with my kids (and we, the Rabbit Family, and the few others like us are the lifeblood of museum admissions) where we are treated poorly by the staff. It doesn’t cost any more to be nice, and there’s no better feeling in the business to end a day tired but smiling because you had such fantastic interactions with visitors all day long.
posted by kingoftherabbits at
11:04 AM
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