Curators for Everything

Being in South Kensington for the morning, I decided to do the rounds of the museums in the area. I can imagine that this cluster of British institutions is a major convenience to culture-loving parents, what with there being a direct subway route to all the spaces (no need for map-reading skills), cafes in abundance and many child-friendly interactive exhibits. The Science Museum and Natural History Museum are particular specialists in garish colours and eliminating those pesky sharp corners that children will inevitably skewer themselves on. On this occasion I bypassed the screaming and the colouring-in sheet display for the smooth, slick serenity of the new Darwin Centre at the far end of the Natural History Museum. I have to confess that I’m not completely clear about how the Centre fits in with the rest of the Museum structurally, which must partly be a result of my poor orientation skills, lack of architectural knowledge, and the ambiguity of the Centre’s website. At present, I’m assuming that the sophisticated, light-filled glass structure is an extension from the original Victorian building, a fittingly bourgeois move for a building from the era of industrial revolution in which many symbolic and superfluous gestures were cultivated. To assess whether the Centre is style over substance, one needs to enter the Cocoon which, relative to the overall Darwin Centre, defies all of my limited ability to describe buildings, but I’ll have a stab at it. It’s kind of like a giant, concrete bean that is partially submerged in the ground, with different levels inside it. Inside this is a spiral ramp on which visitors descend, having the opportunity to examine those aforementioned rounded, child-friendly displays, as well as some progressive yet puzzling displays in which you can apparently observe research scientists at work – like Big Brother for naturalists.

What particularly stayed with me from the visit was an intriguing interactive display at the entrance to the Cocoon where visitors are given the opportunity to meet the curators of various departments of the Museum. Not literally of course! That’s the wonder of modern technology. Visitors are presented with a large screen, in front of which is a table with various insect and plant-related paraphernalia, such as secateurs and a magnifying glass. These are covered in clear, moulded plastic (don’t forget the kids) that respond to touch. When pressed, the relevant curator is zoomed in upon and they give you a short, formulaic spiel about how they’ve wanted to work with spiders/butterflies/beetles/plants since they were a young child and that they really look forward to seeing you later on. Since the display monitor is huge, you can really see how bling their teeth are.

So I’m wondering about the usefulness of this type of exhibit. Whilst it brings those who are most informed about the exhibits almost face-to-face with visitors, it’s evident that there has been substantial stage-prepping going on. Clearly, no one would push someone who is used to working behind the scenes in front of the camera without any training, but it comes across as insincere to then give them a trite script that patronises the viewer. I am not forgetting the age demographic of the audience here – children tend to respond well when they’re spoken to as equals.

However, I am in favour of one nifty strategy that the Museum has come up with to lure visitors into finding out more – the NaturePlus card:

These are displayed at the beginning of the exhibition, with instructions for visitors to use the supermarket-style scanners that are dotted throughout. Scanning the barcode creates a record of the exhibit, allowing for later perusal on the web at your on pace. Hurrah – an approach that satisfies both the marketing and education departments.