The Maxine & Jesse Whitney Museum

Topic: History Subtopic: General

Ideum User

Case Study

of an Exhibition

by Sanya Pleshakov

Published on June 07, 2007, Modified on October 18, 2007

  • Description and goals

    I have a confession to make: I rarely read all the interpretive text in museums. In fact, I seldom get past the first couple sentences in graphic panels. I suspect I am not alone in this admission though, as a researcher/writer with AldrichPears Associates, I feel particularly guilty. I think my lack of enthusiasm has a lot to do with the fact that interpretive text has a long history of being lengthy, convoluted, irrelevant, and, yes, sometimes just plain boring.

    People often think of text as the easiest way to get the message across. If we can’t communicate an idea with an image, a mechanical interactive, or a video, we can always write about it. But, if text isn’t always the most accessible, emotive, or enjoyable medium for visitors, then doesn’t the message get lost?

    The answer is not to minimize the importance of interpretive writing, but to develop the right context for text through graphics and 3D elements, and to improve the quality of text itself with visitors in mind. By using strategies promoted by the likes of Sam Ham, Beverly Serrell, and Judy Rand, we can use text as a tool to communicate memorable content instead of as an instrument of torture on helpless visitors, as Stephen Bitgood once described it.

    AldrichPears Associates recently completed design work for the new Maxine and Jesse Whitney Museum in Valdez, Alaska. This project provides a good opportunity to see how these strategies have been used in the development of the interpretive text, and to see examples of different writing techniques.

  • Development process and challenges

    When the folks at Prince William Sound Community College decided to move the Whitney Museum from its current location at the airport to a brand-new building at the college, they wanted to redesign the exhibits. Not only did this present the opportunity to display the artifacts in a new physical context, but it gave us the chance to rethink how to interpret this incredibly diverse collection.

    This was an unusual project. The personal collection that Maxine Whitney amassed from the 1940s to the 1970s was eclectic to say the least: from pioneer-era garter belts to taxidermy polar bears, elaborately beaded mukluks to ivory cribbage boards. This wouldn’t normally be considered a challenge, except that the donor required us to display all artifacts—including the seventies-era moose antler loveseat. There was also little to no provenance information for the collection. Much of what we did know was anecdotal. And there was no curator to help navigate the thousands of objects or the history of the collection.

    Despite these challenges, the college was open to new ways of interpreting the artifacts. No institutional mandate or stakeholder messages dictated the content. This allowed a rare opportunity to create something different than what visitors to the museum—mostly tourist traffic from the highway—would have already seen in Alaska.

    From the beginning, we knew that the interpretation had to be incredibly focused so that text and graphics didn’t compete with the numerous artifacts on display. We had to avoid the temptation of trying to tell too many stories. We turned to a number of experts, including academics and curators at the UBC Museum of Anthropology, Arizona State University, and the University of Alaska, to explore possible avenues of interpretation. What resulted was what we hope will be good interpretation as Sam Ham defines it: an exhibit that is relevant, pleasurable, organized, and thematic.

    Thematic interpretation is critical for any good exhibit. It helps lay the foundation for the development of all aspects of the design. So, what’s a theme? A theme is the main idea we’re trying to communicate. Some people call it the big idea, key idea, main point, overarching theme, principle message—or “the moral of the story.” An exhibit has a theme, but so does any interpretive component, whether it’s a graphic panel, a video, or a mechanical interactive. A good theme helps create a cohesive, focused visitor experience.

    Usually, we work with staff and stakeholders to come up with themes. We start by approaching the exhibit from the visitor’s perspective. If I were visiting this exhibit, what would I want to know about this area / topic / object / animal? We identify the audience and their needs, interests, and previous experiences. Last, but not least of all, we look at what we’ve got. What plants, animals, artifacts, experiences do we have that are unique or rare?

    The Whitney collection could provide an entry point to many different topics: mineralogy; biology; archeology; Native culture and art; pioneer history… (the list goes on). But no single theme instantly emerged to draw such a diverse collection together. One idea was to look at the artistic qualities of artifacts and functional design. But what to do with all those stuffed animals?

    An important revelation took place after talking with Maxine about her collection: most of the objects were originally made to sell to tourists and locals as mementos of Alaska. The Yup’ik coiled baskets and the Inupiat ivory pipes weren’t examples of pre-contact material culture, but souvenirs and collectibles made for the market. After learning this key bit of information, it seemed that the only real unifying factors of the collection were that all the objects were Alaskan and they were all collected by one person.

    And so we began to focus the theme around Maxine Whitney, the collector, and the story of collecting in Alaska. Within this framework, the exhibit focuses on the historical context of both the people who made the objects and the people who bought them. But the question still remained: what to do with all those stuffed creatures? Well, since animals were collectibles too, they presented a unique opportunity to interpret the history of sports hunting and trophy mounts in Alaska.

    This approach allowed us to get at some of the issues around the history and ethics of collecting. The exhibit is meant to be provocative—to get visitors to reexamine their own values, especially in light of their own experience with collecting. While visitors will be able to enjoy seeing the richness of the collection on display through Maxine’s eyes, they will also be encouraged to look at objects in new ways.

  • Lessons learned, mistakes we made (and what we did about them)

    In general, the development of an exhibit is an incredibly collaborative process. Designers work with curators, stakeholders, and experts as a team to flesh out ideas and to ensure that the design meets the interpretive goals. When it comes to interpretive text, the process is a little more solitary. Writing by committee rarely results in clear, engaging copy. That’s not to say there are no checks and balances. Typically, we produce two or three drafts of text for review before anything becomes final. But it’s helpful if those commenting on the interpretive writing understand how text works within the exhibit.

    Writing interpretive text is not like writing a book—the text doesn’t stand alone. Images, artifacts, props, recreated environments, and lighting all form the context in which visitors read text. We have to think about the space and about sequence. How will visitors approach each graphic panel? Given the visually stimulating artifact displays at the new Whitney Museum, the complex theories behind of some of the content, and the type of visitors that are expected, I set out to make the text as simple, short, and engaging as I could. And guiding the way were Sam Ham’s four qualities of good interpretation: thematic, organized, relevant, and pleasurable.

    When we develop the content, we try to ensure that each graphic panel is written with a theme in mind that is “worthy” of being the panel’s central idea. The theme is one of a writer’s most useful tools. It acts as a filter by establishing criteria for content. This helps avoid the panels-jam-packed-full-of-messages syndrome. For example, I could have written about mountain goats and their habitat or mountain goats and adaptation, but those topics didn’t fit the theme of the exhibit. Instead, I wrote about why mountain goats were especially prized collectibles for trophy hunters.

    When writing thematically, a handy strategy to keep in mind is to use the panel heading (and prcis) to reveal the theme. This is particularly useful considering that many visitors—myself included—won’t read to the end of the panel. This ensures that visitors will be able to scan graphic panels and quickly understand the exhibit theme as a whole.

    The rest of the text on a graphic panel (the body) should be clearly organized so that visitors don’t have to work to understand the story. A common principle of organization is chronological, but there are many others, including climactic, contrast, cause and effect, most to least familiar, simplest to most complex, and so on. Changing it up keeps visitors on their toes.

    We use different techniques to make interpretive writing a pleasure to read and relevant for visitors. Surprising facts, analogies, and quotes can help illuminate a panel’s theme. For example, short historical quotes throughout the new Whitney Museum exhibit go a long way in building evidence to support the main point of each panel. These very readable excerpts also add historical flavor and bring in personal perspectives.

    Getting personal is strategy we commonly use. The new Whitney Museum interpretive text often addresses visitors directly by asking questions that are provocative and prompt self-reflection. For example, at different points throughout the museum, the text asks visitors why they came to Alaska, what they think the expression “authentic Native art” means, and why we find French tapestries in art galleries and nineteenth-century totem poles in natural history museums. These kinds of questions will help visitors relate better to theoretical or historical concepts, and, hopefully, make those concepts resonate with them.

    Getting personal isn’t just limited to direct address (using “we” and “you”). I tried as much as possible to give concrete examples of real people and real events that visitors can identify with. Another way I tried to make the text more personal was through labeling, pointing out how visitors have more in common with historical figures and processes than they might think. For example, the exhibit text starts out with: “Most of us have dabbled in collecting, whether it was souvenir spoons, recipe books, hockey cards or antiques.”

    Overall, the new Whitney Museum text is much like all interpretive text we write. It’s quite short—every panel has no more than 1-2 paragraphs of 2-4 sentences that are 10-15 words each. It’s written for a general audience, using simple language to ease readability. And the tone—informal, conversational, and friendly—is consistent throughout the museum.

    The new Whitney Museum is unlike most projects. Though there were challenges, I was essentially given a blank check to develop the content. This allowed me the opportunity to try out new strategies to make the interpretive writing as relevant, pleasurable, organized, and thematic as I could. Although interpretive writers write with visitors first and foremost in mind, it’s satisfying to be able to please our harshest critics: ourselves.

  • Exhibition Opened: 2007

  • Traveling Exhibition: No

  • Location: Valdez, AK, United States

  • Estimated Cost: $100,000 to $500,000 (US)

  • Size: 3,000 to 5,000

  • Website(s):  http://www.pwscc.edu/museum.shtml