Category Archives: Engagement

A Terrific Guide for Community Conversations During America’s 250th

The U.S. Semiquincentennial offers history organizations an important opportunity to help communities reflect on the past while considering the future they want to build together.

To support that work, the American Association for State and Local History and NxtLevel have developed Building the Next 250 Years: Hosting Community Conversations at Your History Organization, a free facilitation guide designed to help museums, historic sites, and other history organizations convene thoughtful, community-driven discussions.

The guide is terrific: clear, practical, and unusually easy to use. It grew out of a 2025 pilot project involving six history organizations and more than 120 community participants from nearly every region of the country. Turns out that people valued opportunities for deep, intentional conversation rooted in mutual respect and hosted by trusted local history institutions (that’s you!).

Rather than prescribing a single program, the guide provides a flexible framework that organizations can adapt to their mission, audience, resources, and community. It walks users through the entire process, including:

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The Emily Dickinson Museum: A House That Reveals a Poet

Emily Dickinson’s writing table, preserved in her bedroom at the Homestead in Amherst, Massachusetts.

Before visiting the Emily Dickinson Museum in Amherst, Massachusetts, I knew surprisingly little about Emily Dickinson. The Museum encompasses two historic houses: the restored Homestead, where Dickinson was born, died, and wrote most of her poetry, and the unrestored Evergreens, the neighboring home of her brother Austin, his wife Susan, and their family. Although the Museum includes both houses, it was the Homestead that demonstrated how a historic house can become the key to understanding a poet.

I knew Emily Dickinson was one of America’s greatest poets, that she published very little during her lifetime, and that she lived much of her adult life in relative seclusion. I was also familiar with a few of the recurring stories surrounding her life—her correspondence with Thomas Wentworth Higginson, her close relationship with her sister-in-law Susan Gilbert Dickinson, and the questions surrounding her withdrawal from society. Beyond that, she remained something of a mystery. What I did not expect was that the house itself would become the key to understanding her.

Many literary house museums preserve the places where authors lived and worked. The Emily Dickinson Homestead does something more ambitious. Rather than treating the Homestead simply as the place where Emily Dickinson lived, the guide used the house as a framework for understanding the person behind the poet. Each room served as a setting for exploring a different aspect of her life. This was done not through dates and events alone, but through her own poetry, her education, her family relationships, her intellectual curiosity, and her creative choices. In doing so, the house became not simply the setting for Dickinson’s story but an essential part of telling it.

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The Harriet Beecher Stowe Center: What Only A Writer’s House Can Reveal

Harriet Beecher Stowe’s writing desk in her Hartford home.

When we visit the home of a famous writer, what are we hoping to discover? The works have already been written. Their biographies have been published. Their letters have been collected. So what can walking through the rooms where they lived add to our understanding?

Those questions were on my mind as I visited the Harriet Beecher Stowe Center in Hartford, Connecticut. The Center asks visitors to look beyond Uncle Tom’s Cabin and consider how Harriet Beecher Stowe became one of the nineteenth century’s most influential antislavery writers. It is an ambitious interpretive approach, one that emphasizes the firsthand accounts of enslaved and formerly enslaved people, abolitionist networks, and the many individuals whose experiences, testimony, and activism shaped Stowe’s writing.

As I reflected on the tour afterward, however, I found myself asking a different question: What can a historic house contribute to this story that no biography, lecture, or documentary can?

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Beyond Chronology: Interpretation at History Museums in Switzerland

A period room at the Bern History Museum in Switzerland.

We recently returned from a two-week visit to Switzerland, where we visited more than fifty museums and historic sites across the German-, French-, and Italian-speaking regions. In the art museums of German-speaking Switzerland, I noticed a strong tendency to organize galleries around named private collections, or Sammlungen. In the history museums and historic sites, I noticed something different: interpretive practices in transition.

Some sites still rely on familiar approaches: chronological narratives, object identification, and basic descriptions of place. But many museums are clearly rethinking their exhibitions. They are experimenting with new interpretive layers, broader contexts, difficult histories, and more ambitious questions about identity, science, colonialism, and national memory.

The results are uneven, but they are worth attention. Swiss history museums seem to be moving beyond “what happened?” and “what is this object?” toward more complex questions: What systems produced this wealth? How did a person’s life connect to larger social and technological changes? How is national identity constructed? What should be done with inherited installations that no longer speak clearly to visitors?

For museum professionals elsewhere, the Swiss examples offer several useful lessons.

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A Thank-You Note Worth Remembering

Museums spend a lot of time thinking about how to ask people for support. We spend far less time thinking about what happens after someone says yes.

Recently, I made a gift to President Lincoln’s Cottage in Washington, D.C., in support of Students Opposing Slavery, a project I have long admired. Within a short time, a small box arrived in the mail. Before I even opened it, the package already looked intentional: a Team Lincoln logo with a blue accent on a sturdy thin white box. What could this possibly contain?

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Rethinking Learning Outcomes for Historic Sites

For several years, I have been adapting L. Dee Fink’s taxonomy of significant learning for use in museums and historic sites. Fink’s framework is enormously useful in formal education because it pushes teachers beyond simple content delivery (i.e., foundational knowledge) to application, integration, human dimension, caring, and learning how to learn. That is a helpful corrective in classrooms, where learning unfolds over a semester and where students can be asked to practice, reflect, revise, and demonstrate growth.  But I am increasingly convinced that this framework does not translate as easily as I hoped to the interpretation of house museums and historic sites.

The problem is not Fink’s taxonomy itself. The problem is that historic site visitors are usually not students in a course. They are often there by choice, joined by family or friends, have uneven prior knowledge, and motivated by many different reasons: curiosity, leisure, family activity, travel, identity, or a search for meaning. They may spend 45 minutes in a guided tour, 20 minutes in an exhibition, or an afternoon in the gardens. We need a framework that recognizes these distinct conditions.

My earlier handout, “Verbs for Significant Learning Outcomes,” tried to help museums define what they wanted visitors to know, feel, or do and to create relevant, meaningful experiences. That part still feels right. The challenge is that the categories remained too close to classroom learning. Some verbs—apply, execute, operate, practice, monitor—make sense for students or professional training but are less useful for visitors at a historic house. Because house museums and historic sites interpret history, the framework should also reflect the discipline’s core practices: using evidence, recognizing perspective, acknowledging uncertainty, connecting local stories to broader patterns, and inviting public dialogue about the past.  More importantly, the framework did not clearly align with the visitor journey from first encounter to deeper meaning.

That’s a lot to juggle and I may be dropping a few balls, so here’s my preliminary draft work-in-progress revised framework organized around two related ideas: Outcome Level and Outcome Ambition.

Outcome Levels

The Outcome Level describes the kind of visitor change an interpretive experience is designed to support. In plain terms, it asks: What kind of change are we trying to create in visitors? Imagine levels as a journey on a nature trail:  getting oriented at the trailhead; noticing plants, insects, animals, and geology; seeing how parts of the ecosystem connect; pausing at an overlook to understand the larger landscape; and leaving with a clearer sense of what you learned, what matters to you, and what you might do next. 

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Photography, Permission, and Fair Use: Where Museum Policies Get Complicated

Do I need permission to take photos of a guided tour in a museum?

In the previous posts in this series, I looked at visitor codes of conduct, visitor photography policies, and commercial or media photography policies. Those policies are becoming more visible because photography is no longer a simple matter of “Can I take a picture?” A single image can be a personal memory, a social media post, a teaching tool, a scholarly document, a news illustration, a commercial asset, or evidence in a public debate.

This final post turns to the more complicated issues: fair use, copyright, photo releases, privacy, and ethics. As a reminder, I am not a lawyer, and this is not legal advice. Museums should consult an attorney when writing policies involving copyright, image permissions, privacy, publicity rights, releases, commercial use, or contracts. My purpose here is to identify common points of confusion that arise when museums, visitors, writers, teachers, scholars, and photographers try to understand what permission is needed and from whom.

I encounter these questions in my own work. As someone who photographs museums and historic sites for this blog, teaching, consulting, and research, I occasionally wonder: should I ask permission from the museum before publishing a photograph of an exhibition? Do I need a model release if visitors appear in the background? Is it appropriate to photograph a historic house where people still live nearby? Does it matter if I am writing criticism, promoting the museum, or using the image in a paid presentation?

These questions are often confused with a different issue: what museums need to do when they use images of visitors for their own promotional purposes. A visitor taking a photograph in a gallery, a museum using a child’s image in a fundraising campaign, and a company filming a commercial in a sculpture garden are not the same thing. They raise different legal, ethical, and managerial questions. Policies should be clear enough that frontline staff can explain them without being expected to interpret copyright law, privacy law, or fair use on the spot.

Four Issues That Often Get Confused

Photography policies often blend several distinct issues:

  • Copyright: who owns the rights to the artwork, photograph, exhibition label, design, film, or other creative work that appears in the image?
  • Access: what conditions did the museum place on photography as part of admission, ticketing, visitor conduct, or use of its property?
  • Privacy and publicity: are identifiable people shown in the image, and is their likeness being used in a way that requires permission?
  • Ethics: even if a photograph is legally permissible, is it respectful, accurate, safe, and consistent with the museum’s values and the dignity of the people, places, and stories involved?
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When Museums Become Backdrops: Managing Commercial and Media Photography

Wedding photo taken at the Cincinnati Museum of Art. Credit: Sherri Barber Photography.

In the previous post in this series, I looked at visitor photography policies: whether visitors can take pictures, where they can take them, what equipment they can use, and how museums distinguish casual personal photography from behavior that disrupts the visitor experience. But there is another side to museum photography policies.

When photography moves beyond ordinary visitor memory-making, the questions become more complicated. A museum gallery, historic house, a picturesque barn, sculpture garden, or historic landscape can quickly become a backdrop for someone else’s project: a wedding shoot, fashion session, graduation portrait, influencer campaign, documentary film, news segment, advertisement, stock photography shoot, or corporate video. That shift changes the issue. The question is no longer simply, “Can I take a picture?” It becomes: who benefits from the image, what resources are being used, what risks are created, and how is the museum’s name, space, collection, or reputation being presented?

As with the earlier posts, this is not a scientific or comprehensive study. I reviewed a selection of commercial, media, and photography policies from museums and historic sites to identify patterns in current practice. I am not a lawyer, and this is not legal advice. Museums should consult an attorney when developing policies involving copyright, releases, insurance, contracts, filming agreements, or commercial use. My interest here is in how these policies reflect museum management, visitor experience, institutional risk, and revenue. Just a warning: this is a loooong post because of the complexity of this topic—and I’ll only be touching the surface.

From Visitor Photography to Site Use

The most useful distinction is between photographing a museum and using a museum as a setting. A visitor photographing a child in a gallery, a favorite object, a historic room, or a garden path is usually documenting a visit. A photographer staging an engagement session, fashion shoot, commercial, product video, or sponsored social media post is using the museum as a resource. Those are different activities. They require different policies.

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Can I Take a Picture?

Sign at the entrance to the Albuquerque Museum in New Mexico.

What Museum Photography Policies Reveal About Visitor Experiences

While examining visitor codes of conduct, I started noticing another kind of museum policy that is becoming more visible: photography policies. They appear on websites, ticketing pages, “Know Before You Go” guides, and signs in galleries, historic houses, gardens, and exhibitions. Like codes of conduct, photography policies have always existed in some form, but they now seem more detailed, more prominent, and more complicated.

At first glance, the question seems simple: can visitors take pictures? But museum photography policies reveal that this is no longer a yes-or-no issue. The better question is: what kind of photography, by whom, for what purpose, in what space, and with what effect on collections, staff, visitors, and the experience?

To explore this question, I reviewed photography rules embedded in dozens of visitor codes of conduct and visitor policy pages from museums and historic sites. This was not a scientific or comprehensive study. It was an initial scan of current practice to identify common patterns and management issues. I am not offering legal advice here; museums should consult an attorney on copyright, releases, privacy, and commercial use. My interest is in how these policies shape visitor experience and staff decision-making.

The broad trend is clear: casual, personal photography is increasingly welcomed, but excessive equipment and disruptive, staged, or commercial photography is increasingly controlled.

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Why Are Visitor Codes of Conduct Suddenly Everywhere?

To purchase tickets online for the Emily Dickinson Museum requires compliance with their Code of Conduct.

I’m encountering codes of conduct more frequently as I visit museums and historic sites. They’re not only posted near entrances, but increasingly appear on websites as I buy tickets or plan a visit. Museums and historic sites have always had expectations for visitors—don’t touch, no food—but they’ve never seemed so prominent.

That made me wonder: are our efforts to be more inclusive and welcoming attracting visitors who are unfamiliar with our expectations? Has the current political climate encouraged more conflict and confrontation in public spaces? Are front-line staff experiencing more difficult visitor behavior? Or are museums simply becoming more explicit about rules that were once assumed?

To find out, I examined dozens of visitor codes of conduct from museums and historic sites in the United States that were available online using Google’s search feature. This was not a scientific or comprehensive study. It was more of an initial exploration of what seems to be happening in the field.

What I found is that visitor codes of conduct are no longer just about protecting collections. They are becoming management tools.

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