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.
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:
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 OutcomeLevel 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.
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?
AASLH has released Understanding the Public History Workforce, a major new study examining who works in history organizations and how they experience their jobs. Read on its own, it offers important insights into burnout, compensation, inclusion, and professional climate. But its full significance becomes clearer when placed alongside two earlier field-wide studies: the National Museum Salary Survey (AAM, 2017) and the National Census of History Organizations(AASLH, 2022).
Together, these three efforts give us something rare in the cultural sector: a layered dataset. The Census tells us the size and structure of the history organization field. The Salary Survey establishes a compensation range for the museum field as a whole. The new Workforce Report adds the human experience dimension in history organizations. They don’t align perfectly, but sufficiently to make some findings and recommendations for history museums, historical societies, preservation organizations, and historic sites.
Start With Scale and Structure
The 2022 Census identified 21,588 history organizations in the United States —more than all other museum types combined. History organizations are ubiquitous, present in nearly every community. The Census also emphasizes the field’s distinctive “hybrid” character: it’s often a partnership between government agencies and nonprofit organizations.
This structure matters. A field composed largely of small, community-based institutions operating within hybrid public–nonprofit governance systems will behave differently than corporate sectors or centralized public systems. Authority is diffuse. Revenue is mixed (appropriations, philanthropy, earned income). Asset accumulation is limited. Management is complex.
One of the things I keep returning to in my teaching and consulting is how much museum work actually lives along a spectrum—not in binary terms of success or failure, right or wrong, compliant or noncompliant.
This is one of the persistent challenges of working with professional standards. Standards are essential. They articulate shared values, define public trust, and help the field hold itself accountable. But by their nature, standards can imply an all-or-nothing logic: either you are doing the thing or you are not. And if you are not, that’s a problem.
Museum management, of course, is far more complex.
Museums and historic sites operate with widely varying levels of capacity, expertise, staffing, governance maturity, and external pressure. Boards change. Funding fluctuates. Crises intervene. Even within a single organization, some areas of work may be highly developed while others lag behind—not because of neglect or incompetence, but because of constrained resources and competing priorities.
Over time, I’ve become interested in how we might better describe and normalize that reality for the field—without lowering expectations or abandoning standards altogether.
Why a Matrix (Not a Scorecard)
In different contexts, I’ve heard similar tools described as rubrics, spectrums, continuums, or maturity models. In my own work, I’ve settled on calling this a matrix, for a very specific reason: it allows us to look across multiple areas of practice at once.
Over the years, I’ve noticed something consistent in my museum management courses: graduate students are well-prepared to write academic papers, but many struggle when asked to write professional memos—the format that museum directors, CEOs, and board members actually read.
This isn’t a flaw in their abilities; it’s a mismatch between what universities traditionally teach and what museums need. Academic writing is designed to demonstrate thinking. Managerial writing is designed to support decisions.
In the museum field, we write memos all the time—to recommend actions, summarize findings, or prepare leaders for decisions. That’s why many of the assignments in my courses require students to write to a real audience: a museum director, board chair, or CEO. Students practice being clear, concise, and actionable—skills that will serve them throughout their careers.
At recent professional conferences, I’ve also heard colleagues say that emerging professionals often struggle with executive communication. They know their subject matter, but don’t always know how to structure recommendations for decision-makers. Supervisors want to help, but explaining “how to write a memo” can be surprisingly difficult without concrete models.
Still, many students found it challenging because executive writing feels so different from college writing. So I created a new two-page memo about memos: “Writing Professional Memos in Managerial Format” (available as a free download at the end).
Move beyond what we tell visitors to what they actually do—and discover how eight types of experiences can deepen learning and meaning.
When we think about interpretation in museums and historic sites, we often focus on what we want to say—the stories, facts, and insights that bring history to life. But what if we focused instead on what visitors do?
That simple shift—from content to experience—changes how we design tours, exhibitions, and programs. It encourages us to move beyond “telling” and toward engaging, offering visitors a range of ways to learn, reflect, and connect.
Recently, I’ve been revisiting an idea from educational research called the Eight Learning Events Model, developed at the University of Liège in Belgium. It identifies eight ways people learn: receiving, imitating, practicing, experimenting, exploring, creating, debating, and reflecting. Although the language in their articles is academic (and a bit European in tone), the concept translates beautifully into the world of museums. With a little adaptation, I’ve reimagined these eight learning events as the “Eight Ways to Engage Visitors.”
A Spectrum of Engagement
At one end of the spectrum, visitors receive information. They listen, read, or watch as museums provide structure and context—through a guided tour, an introductory panel, or a short video.
The next few experiences—observing, practicing, and experimenting—invite more active participation. Visitors watch a demonstration, try out a skill, or test how something works. These steps increase a visitor’s sense of agency. The museum moves from telling to showing to inviting.
Back in 2014, I shared a classic business matrix as a tool to help museums and historic sites think more strategically about their programs and activities. It plotted mission alignment on one axis and financial sustainability on the other, providing a quick visual way to categorize whether something was worth continuing, needed revision, or should be reconsidered altogether, using metaphors of stars, hearts, cash cows, and bunnies.
The response was strong—many found it useful for internal discussions, staff retreats, and board meetings. But since then, my thinking has evolved.
Over the last decade, I’ve come to see that we need a broader lens. It’s not enough to think about money and mission alone. Sustainability today must account for more than just dollars, and impact is shaped not only by mission statements, but also by vision and values.
A Matrix for Today
Here’s the updated version:
The vertical axis is now Impact, encompassing not just your mission but also your vision and values—your full organizational purpose.
The horizontal axis is now Sustainability, which considers financial, social, and environmental dimensions.
This updated Impact-Sustainability Matrix helps museum professionals assess whether a program or initiative is aligned with what matters most and whether it can endure in a resource-constrained world.
A Living Metaphor: From Bloom to Root
To make the matrix easier to understand and more memorable, I’m using a botanical metaphor. Every program or initiative can be thought of as a kind of plant—some deeply rooted and thriving, others beautiful but short-lived, and a few that are sadly distractions. I’m not sure if the metaphor is as clear and apt as my previous star/heart/cash cow/bunny matrix, so I’d love your thoughts and suggestions in the comments below.
Below are descriptions of each quadrant using this metaphor:
The museum field has always been a challenging place for job seekers. Even in the best of times, there are often more talented people than positions available, and salaries tend to lag behind comparable roles in business or government. But with the recent elimination of federal funding through IMLS and NEH, and with looming threats of layoffs at the Smithsonian Institution, National Park Service, and National Gallery of Art, the situation is becoming even more precarious. I’m deeply concerned about what lies ahead for our field, not just for those losing jobs, but for the ripple effects on institutions, communities, and careers.
Fifteen years ago, I faced a similar moment when the National Trust for Historic Preservation laid off about a third of its staff. I was fortunate: I had a generous severance package and a consulting project waiting (thank you, Jim Vaughan!). But not everyone will be so lucky this time. In that difficult season, a few books proved invaluable to me, and I strongly recommend them to anyone now facing an unexpected job search:
Strong research and writing skills are essential for museum professionals, whether you’re publishing an article, preparing grant proposals, or mentoring new colleagues. That’s why I created a new eight-minute video, Chicago Style Basics, to introduce the fundamentals of citation and documentation using the Chicago Manual of Style — just updated with its 18th edition ($75!).
The video walks through what a citation is, why citations matter, and the basic parts of a properly formatted citation. It also provides real examples of how to cite a book with one author, a chapter within a larger book, and a journal article — essential formats for anyone writing in our field. The video closes with a quick summary and a few resource suggestions for those who want to dig deeper.
At the Museum Studies Program at George Washington University, we require our graduate students to demonstrate professional-level research and writing, and this video was created to support those expectations. But it’s also a useful refresher for anyone preparing manuscripts for publication, developing course materials, or helping new professionals get their footing.
Engaging Places 