Haley Stodart

Professors McCleary and Hague

Future of Museums: Focusing on People instead of Objects

Museums are institutions that spend extraordinary amounts of time trying to preserve and

present the past, while simultaneously planning for and improving upon the future. Most often,

this time-focused process is done through the use of objects, as we preserve them, present them,

and plan to acquire more. It is important to remember, however, that the conversation often

becomes so focused on caring for the objects that museums forget to care about the people those

objects are meant to represent and connect with. In her essay, Objects or People? Rainey Tisdale

highlights the desire to improve this conversation when she claims “One of our goals as part of

the Active Collections movement is to explore changes we could make to the museum system

that would help us treat the people in our communities more like family, and care for them

accordingly,” (21). This first step in achieving this goal is by understanding the needs of the

people, which she breaks down into five points; people need equity, healthy relationships with

the material world, a sustainable earth, their whole self, and poetry.

Standards of collections and representation are always changing. Recently museums have

strived to include objects and create exhibits spaces that not only offer open and accepting

environments, but pertain to cultures that have been under-represented and world issues that can

affect us all. Rainey Tisdale draws attention to the need for equity within museums and their

collections (and the world) when she asks two important questions: “So what message does

gallery after gallery filled with objects of power, framed through a lens of privilege—White

objects, colonizing objects, male objects—send to people who don’t share that privilege? What
message do historic house museums send when 99% of them exclusively tell the story of the

1%?” (22). The latter question speaks volumes to me, and is a personal struggle.

I work within a house museum called Georgia’s Old Governor’s Mansion. In truth, the

Mansion would not have been preserved, or become a museum, had it not housed wealthy, white

men who played an influential role in Georgia history. However, its privileged story dates back

to way before the Governor’s themselves moved in. Located in Milledgeville, Georgia the house

was built on colonized land once inhabited by Indigenous peoples. The Creek nation who once

lived in the middle of the state were slowly removed from Georgia after the Compact of 1802,

which was created the year before Milledgeville became the capital. Also, the Mansion was

under construction during the early stages of the most renowned Indigenous displacement in U.S.

history: The Trail of Tears. The house was completed with white governors living inside by

1839; that same year, the last of the Cherokee joined the Trial of Tears out of Georgia to present

day Oklahoma. Despite this timely connection with two influential Indigenous nations, we have

no artifacts pertaining to those who lived on the land the Mansion was built. This is mostly due

to the fact that the Creek and the Cherokee were no longer in the area when the Governor’s

arrived and there is a lack of artifact evidence on site. However, it is important to note that by the

time the Mansion’s construction was imagined, white colonist had taken over the land, turned the

town into a grid system, and created lines that cut through—and cut off—the land and

Indigenous history.

After its completion, the Manion then housed the highest and lowest classes in 19th

century Southern society. Though we have done a great deal to highlight the lives of the

enslaved, women, and other minority classes through specialty tours, regular conversations, and

lecture series, it still often feels as if the top-down view—instead of the bottom-up view—is all
that is remembered. Our guests, who are often older, white individuals, also talk and smile more

around the gold-domed rotunda than they do the work room and enslaved stairwell. It is the

Grand Salon that goes on Instagram, not the Steward’s room. Even object acquisition is difficult,

as “museums have also kept right on acquiring as many objects representing privilege as wealthy

White families or collectors want to donate,” (22). I have to admit, most of our original objects

come from the descendants of the wealthy, white families that once lived there, not the

descendants of the undocumented enslaved who worked there. This is partly due to a lack of

effort during the time to preserve artifacts from the enslaved. Additionally, it was often illegal

for enslave people to learn to read and write, so the personal diaries, letters, and newspaper

correspondence that we value so highly as primary documentation is hard to find from the point

of view of an enslaved person. It is a constant struggle, but one that must continually be

improved upon, because if we want to provide equity in museums, we have to care for and strive

to acquire objects that represent underrepresented people and their cultures.1

However, this does not mean just acquiring any and every object a museum can find that

has a connection to certain people. In the past, museums have often ridden the line between

historical centers and storage units. Presenting an often confusing and unfocused comprehensive

collection does not help bring people’s experiences to attention; it often hinders them.2 In a

society where material acquisition is no longer hard to accomplish and is often within reach—

with supermarkets, shopping centers, and amazon prime—it “is highly likely that what [people]

need now from museums are simple, calming spaces with plenty of room to move and breathe,

where authenticity and quality (narrative, functional, or aesthetic) trump quantity,” (25). This is

apparent specifically within art museums, whose large, open galleries and little noise create an
1
Rainey Tisdale, “Objects or People?” in Active Collections (New York: Routledge, 2018), 23.
2
“We now understand that comprehensive collections are no longer a realistic goal,” (Tisdale 24).
atmosphere for people to create their own appreciation of the objects themselves, not the

abundance of them all at once.

This is more complicated within historic house museums though. Often limited in space

simply by the infrastructure of the house, these museums have to ensure that they provide an

open environment without neglecting important aspects of the home’s history. However, the

natural instinct is to take anything that has a connection to the house or those who lived within it.

For the Old Governor’s Mansion, this can become counterproductive. The house itself was not

just the 19th century home of the Governor’s themselves, but also a barracks, dormitory,

classroom, and 20th century university home and gathering venue. If we were to collect all the

objects that relate to the different moments in the Mansions life (and those who stayed within its

walls), we would have nothing but an unrelatable collection that doesn’t match aesthetically or

historically. A hinderance to visitors, what the Mansion—and all museums—need to provide is a

healthy relationship with the material world. This means “fully appreciating each object and the

spectrum of resources required to produce it, such that we choose to surround ourselves with

fewer objects, but each one ethically and sustainably made and offering deeper meaning,

functionality, or beauty.” (25). Instead of a museum where each historical period is shadowed by

the rest, we choose to focus our material collection on a certain timeframe to create a historical

focus and a healthy connection with its story.

A healthy connection cannot be limited to just the collection, however. Though museums

need to preserve artifacts that relate to people and n advantageous material world, this

preservation process can be at the expense of a healthy planet. The price of preserving an object

is often thought of financially and not environmentally.3 After spending a semester talking about

3
Rainey emphasizes this when she states “the price of preserving each object in a museum collection does not yet
include the carbon footprint required for its maintenance,” (Tisdale 26)
the ways to manage a collection—which include keeping rooms and storage at certain

temperatures and humidity; buying boxes, shelves, sleeves and padding for archival housing;

managing loans; having staff available to collect, care for, and engage with the collection—

museums have to think of how these actions affect the environment at large. If museums are to

have active collections, and fulfill the goal of treating the people within our community like

family by caring for them, then we have to care for the place in which the people inhabit. Rainey

emphasizes this point perfectly when she asks the question “What does it matter whether

museums preserve the world’s heritage for future generations if life on Earth become so unstable

that there are no more future generations left?” (26).

There are several ways in which museums can do this well. One way is to actually think

about the carbon footprint we leave when going about our everyday operations. How much gas is

being used for vehicles to transport loaned objects or staff members into work? How much

energy has to be created to run an HVAC system? How many trees are cut down to create this

packaging? The answers to such questions don’t have to be exact, but they have to start a

conversation about future collecting practices. At the Mansion, we have recycling bins; old

packaging is often transferred over for new uses in personal offices or educational activities; our

lighting system was recently updated to ensure lighting and energy efficiency and ease; and we

do our best to only acquire objects we need, not necessarily collections we would like. This is

something we sometimes struggle with, but continue to strive for. Additionally, the Mansion and

other museums can become centers of influence. As educational entities, it is important that in

the future museums strive to teach guests on the importance of sustainability by means of

example in their own practices.

they must also become active agents by enriching their guests. Society is complex, and

individuals often need to be creative when navigating the challenges of the 21st century. Rainey

believes that in order to do so, museums need to become places where people connect to their

whole selves.4 As informal spaces, museums need to spark the creative, spiritual, vulnerable,

sensory, transformative and cognitive parts of the human existence all at once.5 This is often

done through more immersive experiences and opportunities. Many museums, such as the

Mansion, are creating more sensory options, such as touch objects or listening stations, which

allow guest to connect with the collection in a more authentic manner. However, Covid19 has

altered society again, causing many museums to become more flexible in how they open operate.

This flexibility is just another step to creating a connection with guests’ whole self, as it creates a

more comfortable environment in an unknown and unfamiliar time. By collecting objects and

opening spaces that relate to both familiar yet unexpected history, people can create spiritual and

vulnerable connections to the museum and themselves.

As museums strive to foster vulnerability, this can transition into collecting objects that

also spark other emotions or poetry as Rainey refers to it. Museums often provide information on

objects to guests, but experiencing an object should also present emotion or reflection.6 For

example, at the Mansion, we have a textbook from one of the Governor’s daughters—Nellie

Towns—and in the book, she wrote “Lizzie Robbins, you are the hatefullest girl I ever saw. I do

hate you.” Though this seems to be quite harsh, guests often connect with the raw emotion

behind the statement. Many can remember a time when they disagreed with a classmate or had to

deal with drama. Many can also relate to poor Lizzy Robbins, who is dealing with someone not

4
Rainey Tisdale, “Objects or People?” in Active Collections, 27.
5
Rainey Tisdale, “Objects or People?” in Active Collections, 27-28.
6
Rainey Tisdale, “Objects or People?” in Active Collections, 30.
liking her. Some may even be Nellie’s age right now and currently dealing with these emotions,

or may have a child who is experiencing these intense feelings for the first time. People need

poetry because they are “starving for enlightenment and grounding, for reassurance that

generations and generations of humans have struggled through just as much and survived, and

for the inspiration they need to keep trying and reaching,” (30). All museum must strive in the

future to create human meaning behind their objects. While Nellie’s textbook is a great stepping

stone, we should strive to find collections that also spark emotions by connecting to the cultures

and experiences of our local community. The Mansion, and all museums, cannot just simply

have objects because they are the best thing they can find as of now; they need objects that are

compelling and create connection that makes people in the community feel like family.

Over the past year and a half, I have worked within a museum and attended museum

classes; both situations have provided me with the knowledge of protecting and maintaining

objects within a collection. I know how they should be handled and stored, as well as the

provenance and overarching connection between them and the house they reside in. This

knowledge is important for museums, as the objects within a collection are what provide

museums their credibility and authenticity. However, if this semester—and the analysis of

Rainey Tisdale’s essay—has taught me anything, it is that museums should aspire to create

future collections that are less focused on the objects themselves and more on the way those

objects fill the needs of the people in which they represent, connect to, and engage with. I find

myself more caught up in preserving certain objects than I do ensuring that those objects are

even relevant to our audience or the ever changing, complex society that we all live in. This

focus needs to change, and not just with myself, but across the public history field. Museums

need to be educational, creative, representative, accessible, learning, and engaging centers for
people; not service spaces for objects. It will be a systemic change that is slow, but the public

trust—which we claim to uphold—will be validated and ensured in the long run.