'sWhile Six Dimensions of Wellness (National Wellness Institute) was derived around health and well-being overall, I immediately wanted to apply it to a museum setting when I first came across this model. Since I like to “mess around” with new ideas, I thought I’d use this model specifically in the museum context in one little case study. In this small adventure, this blog will detail the use the dimensions in one particular visit (to a new exhibition at the MSU's Eli and Edythe Broad Museum).
 
As in many fields developed since the E­­nlightenment, museums (and the study of them) has been heavily focused on the intellectual aspect of museum-being. Our field, along with many others, has enjoyed a period of intense questioning of assumptions and practices. Perhaps to counter this, the latest movement in museums has been very socially-focused, manifesting (at least in the States) as an intense concentration on the users in a “visitor-centered” approach—an intentional pointing away from an object-centered view. While both of these foci are valid and valuable, they suffer from an either/or viewpoint rather than a both/and mindset, positioning museums as being either about people OR about objects, rather than the relationship between them. Even from the visitor-centered perspective, which has generally been more holistic than the rigid instantiations of object-centered approaches, the view has still been somewhat limited (although there are many who are trying for a fuller approach). From the health industry comes the Whole Person Approach, which takes into consideration just what it sounds like—the WHOLE person, who is at once intellectual, emotional, spiritual, physical, social. This view acknowledges that every person is all of these things, all at once. This is messy. And that is probably why, over the years, we have separated out parts and pieces of people rather than study them in all their glorious messiness. But as a result of shining the light of inquiry on one aspect, we immediately cast the others into shadow. The current debate over the new ICOM museum definition may be a symptom of this swinging pendulum.
 
I will use myself and a recent museum experience as an example. I chose this visit somewhat randomly, as it was the most recent one I have had and thought it best to choose an arbitrary visit rather than one I felt did the work I wanted to show. Here goes.
 
Case Application: In September, I attended the opening of new exhibit at the Eli and Edythe Broad Art Museum at Michigan State University in East Lansing, Michigan. The exhibit was a presentation of the work of Icelandic artist, Katrín Sigurðardóttir. You can take a look here for the overall details of the exhibit. But, for the present purpose of applying the Dimensions, I will focus on one of the galleries, Metamorphic—or, what I personally dubbed “the living room.” This installation consisted of plaster cast furniture from the artist’s childhood, sparsely distributed in a very large, airy gallery, over a floor-based design of craft paper. Each piece had clearly been damaged and repaired. It is described as “immersive,” and the visitor can wander amongst it all without barriers.

Figure 1. Looking through the Broad’s windows, from the exhibit, Metamorphic. Author’s photo.
 
My first experience of this exhibit was physical. The furniture was very sparsely distributed across a very large space, and this space, the Broad at MSU, was exceptionally interesting (the Broad is known for its complete lack of right angles). I took large strides across the room to go to the incredibly alluring window in the corner where I spent a moment looking at the clouds and the light setting over the evening (see Fig.1), taking in the beautiful convergence of building, sky, and light (spiritual). My immediate reaction (emotional) was annoyance—I was thinking, here is another strange installation in a contemporary art museum that I have no clue how to understand (hold on, it gets better). I am a museum studies professor (occupational, intellectual) and I tend to view exhibits from a pedagogical perspective more than as a “typical” visitor. Sometimes, I get impatient with certain kinds of installations (intellectual, emotional), but I decided to give it a chance and put more attention on it by carefully reading the beautifully done handout booklet provided on the wall (intellectual). Reading this helped me to understand what I was seeing and why (by the way, I am not typically a label-reader). The plaster furniture casts’ condition (broken and mended) was actually a part of the process of the installation (physical). It turns out that the artist purposefully ships the pieces unprotected to each new exhibit site. When the pieces arrive (in pieces), each time they break differently and she repairs them for that particular site (Fig.2). At that moment, my intellectual and occupational dimensions kicked into full gear. Much of my museum practice career was in collections management—caring for collections—and so the idea of turning the care ethic on its head completely intrigued me. I was totally fascinated and in love with this particular intention of the artist, that she purposefully used the typical “care” stage to wreck the pieces. It also piqued my interest (emotional) in questioning assumptions (one of my favorite things to do; occupational), and it made me stop and consider, “What is care”? “Who decides”? Later in the evening, I found myself explaining this very cool notion of the artist’s work to two different people (social) and I haven’t stopped thinking of it since. I am now writing about it, reflecting on it (intellectual).

Figure 2. Chair from Katrín Sigurðardóttir’s Metamorphic installation at the Broad. Author’s Photo.

Now let’s do a simple mini-analysis of my story description. The Whole Person experience was indeed, Whole. All of the aspects of the model occurred in that one visit to one gallery.
Physical=2
Spiritual =1
Emotional=3
Occupational=3
Intellectual=5
Social=1
I would say this spread, in simple numbers, accurately describes the content of my experience. It was more intellectual and occupational than anything else, but did certainly involve the emotional and physical. It was least of all spiritual and social. However, I did have trouble trying to place or categorize wonder, curiosity, and exploration, which made up a lot of my experience after reading the brochure. Were those thoughts intellectual or emotional? It did feel like perhaps a dimension was missing from the model, but of course, it was developed for overall health and well-being, and might not tackle the unique elements of a museum visit. But, I thought the exercise was interesting and made my point at the outset of this blog: a museum visit is not solely about people. A museum visit is not solely about objects. There is a messy complexity to the situation that reveals itself when we attempt to home in on and consider even one aspect (person). In this exercise, that complexity shows.

In a recent conversation with a museum friend, I was reminded of something that’s been troubling me for a very long time during my career. After many years in the field—with a lot more hindsight—I can see a worrisome pattern behind the scenes of many museums. I want to preface this with the fact that I am aware that what I am about to write is probably not a museum-specific issue, but I know museums, and so I focus here on museums. Here it is: Despite the fact that the people who end up working in museums anecdotally do so because of their deep passion and love for objects, visitors, and interpretive processes, many museum professionals are miserable. Behind the scenes, stress levels are so high and the joy of what got them there in the first place is lost because of the angst they feel. I am not presenting a study here, just an observation from many years of working in museums and now many years of working on museums (and with museum professionals).

What can be done? How can we help make museum work more delightful? How can the initial passion a person feels when entering the field, be sustained long after working in the field? Answering these questions will be a big task. First, we need to figure out the reason(s) for such a strong trend. Well, actually, we really need systematic data and analysis to define the trend overall. I have some ideas about the possible reasons, but they are only anecdotal for now. One is the issue of treating a museum like a business and whether or not this is the right tactic for a cultural organization. The other is putting non-museum-trained people at the helm; should a person have museum training and experience or not? These have been perennial debates in museum circles for many years (at least U.S.). Another possibility, that goes without saying is probably the salary issue (museum salaries are notoriously low) but my colleagues (Michelle Epps and Emerging Museum Professionals) have recently done a thorough study on that and I point you to them on that topic.

In my quest to develop a Positive Museology, I am hoping, to help alleviate in some small way, this pressure. But it will take time to build this framework and dissemination much longer. Until then, I recommend a great Self-Care book by my friend and colleague Seema Rao, Objective Lessons: Self-Care for Museum Workers. If you are a museum professional that finds yourself particularly unhappy about your present job, this book might be a big help. It’s really a workbook, meant to guide museum workers to find their own personal meaning in life and in work. It is designed to follow in order (so no more decisions to make), starting with a focus on you, yourself, and only then shifting the focus to you and your work. It is a highly unusual book, filled with spaces and openings, but also exercises and guidance. It is your book, one that you write, draw, and reflect in. And it uses museum ideas and terminology to take you through this process; it is certainly reflective, could even be cathartic, and possibly even fun!


But if this book does not suit you, I might point you to something that I has been helpful to me of late, the Yamas and Niyamas (in particular, see Adele's great book about them). No, this is not a folk band from the 1960s; it is a set of guidelines from ancient Yoga theory (FYI Yoga is a method and theory, not just a set of moves in a yoga studio) that has offered guidance to people across the earth for thousands of years. Derived from the Yoga sutras in the Upanishads, the first two limbs of the 8-fold path, the Yamas (restraints) and Niyamas (observances) are a way to help a person sort out what is meaningful in their life. Adele calls them "jewels" because they are "rare gems of wisdom that give direction to a well-lived and joyful life," (15). Here they are, as defined by Adele:

                Yamas (social):
                                Nonviolence--kindness and compassion for self and others
                                Truthfulness--expressing uniqueness and authenticity
                                Nonstealing--cultivating new skills and abilities
                                Nonexcess--appreciation and pleasure without excess
                                Nonposessiveness--intimacy without possession

                Niyamas (personal):
                                Purity--cleansing our bodies, speech, thoughts (brings clarity)
                                Contentment--falling in love with your own life (brings joy)
                                Self-discipline--consciously choosing discipline and growth (brings refinement)
                                Self-study--knowing the self (brings freedom)
                                Surrender--paying attention to what life is asking of us (brings harmony)

The guidelines are meant to be understood and practiced together but my interest here is in self-care of museum professionals and this leans more heavily on the Niyamas end of things. Here, the idea is to "plant" these five "seeds" and nurture them. Applying them is about living skillfully, with the curiosity and spirit of adventure. Ultimately the goal is to strive toward the perfection of these and by doing so bringing to yourself clarity, joy, refinement, freedom, and harmony. Sounds good, eh? But it takes practice—that means persistent work and in fact, never-ending striving. No one ever said that life was easy; living skillfully takes skill and skill take practice.


Perhaps if nothing else, this is the lesson of this blog post—that nothing comes without practice. Even happiness. But, remember that it is important to take care of yourself first because only then can you care effectively for others (remember what they say about the oxygen mask on the airplane?)?


References:
Adele, D. (2009). The yamas & niyamas: Exploring yoga's ethical practice. Duluth, MN: On-Word Bound Books.

Rao, S. (2017). Objective lessons: Self-care for museum workers. Scotts Valley, CA: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform. 

From https://www.authentichappiness.sas.upenn.edu/learn

[Originally posted on the MuseLab blog November 15, 2018.]

In trying to sort out what a Positive Museology might look like (see Blog from August 15, 2018), I am going to play around with different sets of concepts and frameworks out there in other fields and philosophies. The first one is from Positive Psychology, specifically the classification of Character Strengths and Virtues. If you are interested in this, you can find it here. Let’s go over these, and as we do, let’s think of them as a way to study or understand museums.
 
The Classification itself is a handbook developed from many years of work by multiple positive psychology researchers whose intention was to “create a systematic classification and measurements of widely valued positive traits” (Positive Psychology Program, 2016) by providing a theoretical framework to help practitioners in the field. Here are the six classes of virtues and under these are 24 character strengths.

When I first read about this classification, I noticed that it rang true for me, but the ringing wasn’t just personal or psychological. It was ringing bells in my museological thinking. Look these over and you’ll start to notice that all of the Virtues are areas that we talk about in museum work and theory, whether it is about the purpose of the museum or the content of a program of some sort.
 
The first Virtue: one cannot argue that museums are about some sort of knowledge, and in some cases, wisdom. In this Virtue category, we find creativity (yes), curiosity (of course!), judgement, love of learning and perspective. We’ll need to dig further into those in another blog. For now, let’s move on to the other virtues. 
 
Courage might seem like an odd one to include in museological thinking but, in this case, let’s focus on the character of the museum itself: bravery, persistence, honesty, zest. Why shouldn’t a museum have these strengths? Why not aim for it? Bravery could refer to doing what is right versus “being safe” (we’ve seen lots of examples of those in the past). And certainly, I would hope all museums aim for honesty.
 
The third Virtue is Humanity, another one that seems obvious for museums as this is a large part of what museums aim to represent. This Virtue is made up of three simple, but powerful strengths: love, kindness, and social intelligence. Imagine the world that could be if our museums aimed for love and kindness. Even in the midst of telling difficult stories, if there is an intention of love and kindness always threading its way through, how might this affect museum visitors?
 
The fourth Virtue is my personal favorite, Transcendence: appreciation of beauty, hope, humor, gratitude, and spirituality. For me, this is the area in which I would class my research (another reason I like this framework is to help guide research on museums). If you gave me this Virtue alone for a museum, I would be satisfied. Many museums are about the appreciation of beauty; not necessarily beauty itself but the appreciation of it (beauty is in the eye of the beholder, of course, but the ability to see it is an amazing gift). I firmly believe that we need more humor in most things, and especially in museums. This could manifest in the outer museum (exhibits, programs, front line, visitor services) but also in the inner museum, with staff who should enjoy their work, have fun doing it, and play around with ideas and each other. Spirituality in museums is something I have a bit of experience with and am working on fervently in my recent research. I take this word “spiritual” to not be religious but to mean, as Matthieu Ricard says, “something to do with the mind, dealing precisely with the mind and the way you experience the world” (On being podcast, date). Why have we veered away from the museum as a sacred space?
 
The Virtue Justice seems to be to be a hot one these days in museums so I doubt anyone would argue against its relevance to museum work. Just look at the strengths that make this up—teamwork, fairness and leadership—all things we have been doing in museums for a long time.
 
The final Virtue, Moderation, which includes forgiveness, modesty, prudence, self-control may seem more difficult to fit. But I am willing to work on this, in the interest of doing an exercise, one that works our way towards a Positive Museology. You’ll see more of these brief meditations on positive and contemplative models from me in future blogs.
 
References
Positive Psychology Program. (2016, August 30). What is the classification of character strengths and virtues. Retrieved from https://positivepsychologyprogram.com/classification-character-strengths-virtues/

[Originally posted on the MuseLab blog September 15, 2018.]

The Slow Museum Movement. It sounds lovely, doesn’t it? Images of peaceful and serene spaces and calm experiences abound at the mention of it. I'm not sure this movement actually exists in museums as a whole yet, but there is certainly a trend in art museums (see for example, the Slow Art Day project). Dubbed the Slow Art Movement which follows other Slow trends such as slow food, slow space, slow exercise, slow professor (Berg & Seeber, 2017), and more, the idea is to focus on experience and observation and to enjoy the moment rather than racing on to do and see everything (Honoré, 2004),.

When I was growing up, I used to visit the Detroit Institute of Arts regularly. It became a comfortable place to go, a familiar place. And it was quiet and peaceful. I looked forward to my regular, quiet and personally meaningful visits. Ironically, it is that very peace that has somehow been taken for elitism in art museums (see a recent Washington Post article on this, Kennicot, 2018). For nearly two decades now, museums have become more and more frenetic, with blockbusters and masses of people coming to check a particular famous artwork off their list or to get a selfie with a well-known iconic object. In other words, museums have succumbed to the “mall” syndrome so famously described by Gopnik (2007) nearly 10 years ago. 

I miss the peaceful museum. I am saddened that these potentially contemplative and transformative spaces are becoming a circus—loud, busy, and impersonal. Case in point, I finally saw the Mona Lisa this summer. I know, it's crazy that a museum scholar (who works overseas a lot) has not yet witnessed this work of art. I've even facilitated an exhibition around her (see MLX4). But the first time I went to the Louvre, many many years ago, the gallery to the Mona Lisa was closed, so I was not able to see it. This year while I was in Paris, I put it on my "checklist," but interestingly enough, I was not excited to see it. I knew well about the crowds, about the impossibility of actually getting anywhere near the painting. But I wanted to experience it, crowds and all. And I had another goal. To turn around and look at what the Mona Lisa was looking at. Latour and Lowe (2010) wrote a fabulous article (you should read it!) about Benjamin’s notion of the “aura” and the relationship between originals and copies. In it, they focused on Veronese’s La Nozze di Cana, a HUGE painting taken from a Venetian monastery and installed in the Louvre. Recently, a full-scale digital replica was made and installed in the painting’s original location in Venice. It is the original painting—that was removed from its home many years ago—that the Mona Lisa looks at day after day. And it is this painting, that few pay attention to when they visit the far more famous painting across the room.

​My adventure began by trying to find the Mona Lisa in the massive labyrinths of the Louvre (not very good wayfinding there, phew!). When I finally stepped into the stream that was clearly the "way to La Jaconde," I smiled the whole way. The increase in crowds made me laugh out loud; it was so extreme that it was funny. And of course, I got there, and couldn't get anywhere near her. The crowd was thick, the glow of the phones bright. But that didn't matter to me. I took pictures of people taking pictures of her. I wondered, was anyone actually looking at her? Could anyone be having a calming, transformative experience with her? I don’t think so. Maybe the awakened Buddhist monk could have focused on her, but it was a madhouse and for me, there was no way to have a peaceful experience. I purposefully spent time facing the Mona Lisa, before I turned around, giving my full attention to La Nozze di Cana. It took my breath away. The space in front of it was nearly empty. I imagined the tale of the copy told by Latour and Lowe and tried to visualize that giant painting in its original home in Venice, with its tall ceilings and natural light (as opposed to the hideous drop ceilings and canned lighting in the Louvre gallery). I tuned out the crowds and imagined standing in the monastery, feeling the grandness of this huge painting. Even though the crowd was still on the other side, it felt quieter when I was looking at La Nozze. Overall, it was a much nicer experience than the one with the Mona Lisa. [I even sent the MuseLab a postcard from the Louvre with this painting as a focus.]

I tell this story as a reminder that looking, observing, and just sitting are ok things to do, especially in museums. We have become so accustomed to busy-ness that we seem to forget that we need quiet-ness as well. Thankfully, some museums understand this need. The Isabella Stewart Gardner museum, for example, offers a series of workshops, focused on slowing down—using the senses, silence, poetry, and looking at one single object. And, for many years, museum educator, Annie Storr has been developing her technique for attentive looking in (mostly) art museums, called Exercises for the Quiet Eye where slow looking is often paramount. Art museums are on to something and all kinds of museums would benefit from trying out some slow practices and offerings. Outside of art museums, the examples are thinner but still quite good. For example, the Manchester Museum in the UK, a university natural and cultural history museum, has been offering quiet morning hours for several years now. Initially developed for families with autistic children, the have now launched the Museum of Calm for visitors for find the noisy and busy conditions in the Museum not conducive to engagement.
 
There is value to slowing down, and the museum can be a particularly good site for such activity. In fact, the issue gives us pause, an opportunity to consider what we expect from a museum experience. Think of a time when you visited a museum that left you feeling rejuvenated, calm, peaceful, and gratified. What was that visit like? Who were you with? What was happening around you? What facilitated your positive experience? 
 
References
Berg, M., & Seeber, B. K. (2017). Slow professor: Challenging the culture of speed in the academy. Toronto: Univ. of Toronto Press.
 
Gopnik, A. (December 01, 2007). The Mindful Museum. Museum News, 36.
 
Honoré, C. (2005). In praise of slow: How a worldwide movement is challenging the cult of speed. London: Orion.
 
Latour, B., & Lowe, A. (2010). The migration of the aura, or how to explore the original through its facsimiles. In T. Bartscherer (Ed.), Switching Codes (pp. 275–297). University Of Chicago Press.
 
Smith, J. S., & Zimmermann, C. (2017). The sanctuary series: Co-creating transformative museum experiences. Journal of Museum Education, 42(4), 362–368. https://doi.org/10.1080/10598650.2017.1371520

[Originally posted on the MuseLab blog August 15, 2018.]

​Over the past year, I have been digging deeply into more positive approaches to everything—from business to psychology to personal meaning-making (mindfulness). I am still at the beginning of this journey but I sense there is something really good here for museums and museum studies. I thought I would take a moment to see how I might answer my own question: What might the positive museum look like? In that vein, then, I am working towards answering a bigger question: What is Positive Museology?
 
Let’s start by looking at other fields that have taken a positive (not positivist) turn. Starting the trend is Positive Psychology, the scientific study of human flourishing, an applied approach to optimal functioning of human beings. It is the first field to re-direct its traditional approach to human functioning through a positive lens. Other fields are following suit, such as positive education, positive neuroscience, positive sociology, positive organizational theory, and positive (constructive) journalism. All of these focus on strengths and virtues that enable individuals, communities, and organizations to thrive (Gable & Haidt, 2005; Sheldon & King, 2001). And all are clear that they are not there to replace traditional versions of their disciplines, but rather to complement them. All use language and concepts (and conduct research) that focus on positive approaches to the world. Some examples of these are: optimism, gratitude, resilience, grit, character strengths and virtues, emotional agility, slow thinking, and authentic happiness. Interestingly, all of these were reactions to deficit models of human functioning.
 
How can museums (and museum studies) build on this positive movement? Do we in museums (and museum studies) have a deficit approach? That is, do we have a dominant negative approach hidden under the surface? I don’t know that we have gone that far, but I do see two things that show we might need to rethink our approach or at least, reflect on our views a bit. The first is the health of workers in museums; they are not happy. Museum professionals have the coolest jobs on earth yet I rarely hear that workers are satisfied. Something is awry. The second is more subtle but present nevertheless. Our talk amongst ourselves—about visitors, exhibition content, collections choices, and more—is full of angst:

• we are holding visitors back (eg. no matter what we do, we seem to be doing it wrong and need to “fix” it);
• we are not talking about the right things (eg. why are we trying to be neutral? Take a side!);
• we cannot agree on so many things (eg. what is the main thing a museum should do?).

 
It’s no wonder our visitors are not entirely happy all the time. Like it or not, these internal conversations filter their way to our most important customers, our visitors. Our angst comes through. Can we turn these things around and talk about them in a different way?
 
If we were to take an intentionally positive approach to doing our work, to doing museological things, what would that look like? Maybe a better question would be how do we create a flourishing museum? What would a flourishing museum look like? In order to talk about it, let’s first imagine the museum as two intertwining parts of a larger system, the inner museum and the outer museum (Latham and Simmons, year), with the inner representing the activities that go on daily, behind the scenes, and are often hidden from the public and the outer museum as the museum that most people think of as the museum, the activities that are visible to everyone. A flourishing inner museum would be healthy, with its workers content and satisfied with the work they do, the relationships they have at the museum. A flourishing outer museum is one that provides a place for people to find joy, compassion, connection, understanding, personal growth, and self-efficacy; positive museums will be a place to enable people to thrive. What this might consist of, I am not yet sure. Does it mean creating exhibitions that show the strengths and virtues of a people, place event rather than the more negative aspects? Do we intentionally create slow offerings, provide a place for contemplation and quiet inspection? Or does it mean that the museum’s goals are more positively oriented (language and goals are shifted) and so the flourishing is awash over all things done in the museum? Does it mean we provide opportunities for gratitude and compassion, for oneself and for others?
 
Positive Museology then, focuses on human flourishing in museal contexts, that is, in those spaces and places where humans and objects interact in meaningful ways. Using positive concepts, theories, approaches, applications and intentions, we can work towards making the museum a place for people to flourish, for well-being, mindfulness, compassion, gratitude, resilience, strength of character. The bigger question now is, how can we use the good work that is going on in these other positive fields to create a flourishing museum? That in particular, is what I will keep working on in the near future. I want to end this post with the introduction found on the Center for Positive Organization’s website. See if you can fill in “positive museology,” “museum,” “museum studies” or another related word where applicable (I’ve highlighted some suggested places) and if you think this might be a something we should be doing:
Welcome
The Center for Positive Organizations is a community dedicated to positively energizing and transforming organizations and the people who lead them through Positive Organizational Scholarship. The study and perspective of Positive Organizational Scholarship is committed to revealing and nurturing the highest level of human potential, and it strives to answer questions like: What makes employees feel like they’re thriving? How can I bring my organization through difficult times stronger than before? What creates the positive energy a team needs to be successful?
Positive Organizational Scholarship has become a major focus for organizations and empowers leaders to create positive work environments, improving the culture of their workplace and helping them discover what is possible with their employees and within their organizations. By bringing empathy, compassion, and energy into the workplace, leaders are able to enhance engagement and performance, and inspire their employees to innovate, find opportunity, and strive for excellence. Positive Organizational Scholarship principles create a generative business setting and act as a catalyst in the discovery of human potential.

Did I find any?
Well, not many. I found this piece and that piece, but not like the scenario at CMA (with a couple exceptions, the Boerhaave in Leiden and Nobel Peace Center in Oslo). But more than not I did not find much digital mediation, I did however, begin to see a pattern, something that is very interesting and of great use to me. On this trip, I found that I could group the digital components I saw overall into two categories: digital mediators and digital labels (or support). Digital mediators where those that used the digital to connect, they were more integrated and intentional and their presence was woven into the whole exhibit and topic of interest. Digital “labels” or supports where sort of like text labels, or what a web search might serve, providing more information on something related to something nearby. This finding was helpful and maybe a little surprising to me. From my vantage point as a museum studies educator, there is a lot of chatter about “the digital” in museums. Now, there are many ways this can be applied, of course, but I expected to see a lot more (and better) use of digital media in galleries based on the extensive discussions in the field. Instead, the bulk of what I saw was of the digital label type, which feels very much like an add-on much of the time. Indeed, it is good to provide the opportunity to dig deeper for those who want more, so I am not disparaging this approach. What was disappointing was how often this was used instead of the more integrated approach. It’s not often that we get to see 36 museums in 32 days and this kind of viewing allows patterns to be seen more quickly and more obviously. I feel fortunate to have had this opportunity. But now, this is where I stop to mull, to do more literature research, to think more about this phenomenon and see how it might play into my more formal research study. I would love to hear from others about this so please comment if you have something to say. What do you think of my two groupings? What have you seen out there in museum-land? Let me know.​